The Phone Call

A short story by Hector Cortez.

Growing up in East L.A. isn’t easy. Being the outcast child in a Mexican family is even harder. I wear black clothes and listen to heavy metal — the devil’s music, as my mom calls it when she’s banging on my door.

I don’t get what the big deal is. It’s not like I’m out in the streets hanging with the cholos, up to no good. I’m a decent student, pulling in B’s and C’s and sometimes an A, usually in art class. At least I didn’t drop out of school like my older brother.

You would think I’d be my mother’s favorite kid since I’m still in school, trying my best to finish and make her proud. Does she want me to quit school and go break my back sixty hours a week for minimum wage instead of getting my diploma and making a decent living?

I got nothing against working in a factory, but damn, I at least gotta try to get my dream job.

I guess the dark clothes and metal are my ways of standing out in my traditional family.

Everyday it’s the same routine for my father who wakes up at 4:00 am to shower and eat pan dulce with Folgers coffee before leaving to work at 5:00 am, returning twelve hours later at 5:00 pm. I’m thankful for my father’s hard work but I don’t want to work twelve-hour days.

I want to be a nine to five guy. I want paid vacations and medical benefits. I want a 401k, whatever that means.

***

I was in the living room watching TV when the phone rang. My mother answered. It was the police. My older brother had been shot in an attempted robbery. My mother fell to the floor and began to cry. Her oldest son was dead.

I held her in my arms and tried to comfort her but my attempts were useless. How could I contain the emotions of a mother who had just lost her son? So we both sat there, my mother crying and banging her fists on our old linoleum kitchen floor.

I stared off into the distance, stunned by the life changing news that a ten second phone call delivered. I heard the phone ring in my head, over and over, each ring louder and louder — the sound of death through old copper phone lines.

***

My mom changed a lot since my brother’s funeral. She now hugs and kisses me every morning and doesn’t get angry at the clothes I wear.

She tells me how she didn’t get to say goodbye to my brother and how she doesn’t want to leave this world a bad mother, how any second the angel of death can come for her and all she’ll leave behind are heartbreaks and resentment.

The house feels empty without my brother. I try not to let it get to me but it does. I pretend like I’m tough when my mom’s around but behind my bedroom door I sit and cry. But I had to be strong.

***

My father had left us without any warning. At least he left a note… “I’m sorry. I had to go.” Nobody knew why he left. Maybe the death of my brother was too much for him to deal with and he had to get away from it all.

As I sat against my bedroom door, my mind began to wander. It should have been me. I was the one heading to the store to get a gallon of milk but my brother said he’d go instead. Told me he had to stop by his friend’s house across the street from the store.

I gave him the five dollar bill and he walked away, not knowing that he’d never come home.

***

A month had passed since the suspect went crazy in Smiley’s Liquor. I was beginning to lose hope that they'd ever catch the guy. That was until Mikey, the son of the liquor store’s owner, told me he had the surveillance tape. I would finally know who killed my brother.

The evidence was all there. It was obvious this was the first time he had robbed a store. I don’t know what made him fire his gun. I guess he panicked. Maybe he was worried the witnesses would turn him in.

Three shots rang out.

Bang! The owner was dead.

Bang! A man buying diapers was dead.

Bang! My brother, hiding behind a magazine rack with his hoodie covering his face, was dead.

As the suspect ran out the door he turned and looked straight into the camera.

The nylon pantyhose he wore to try to hide his identity were useless. His face filled the TV screen. I fell to my knees. My brother’s killer…

My father.

THE END

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