Bacchus

Bacchus: 

“Papi, puedo tomar agua?”

“Todavia no hijo, falta poco…’ 

Fingers swollen, I snip the twig, and pick another grape batch. My oversized baseball cap brushes against the leaves of the bush twice my height. The heat of a 5 P.M afternoon pushed against my burned shoulders. 

I was so thirsty. I imagined my father’s blisters inhabiting my throat. My dad knew best, but damn did I need some fluid in my body. 

Didn’t say anything though. You never do. You never should. 

Es un milagro que llegamos aqui, y tu parece que no puedes callarte cuando trabajas! Estamos aqui para ti! Gracias a Dios que pudimos conseguir trabajo, lo menos que puedes haer es ayudar… Te estamos manteniendo maldita sea! 

Makes sense. I always knew my parents to be the smartest people on earth. They’re raising me correctly. It’s a blessing the I’m able to work in the States. Others would kill to have what I have. 

The grapes, dry and squishy, fell on the others. 

It was a mad scramble to serve. We got here first. We’ll be picking first. 

… 

4 acres today. Not bad. 1 hour left till I’m home. 

Tomorrow there would be un camion to pick up the fruit. Now we had to get home. My dad starts up his truck and I hop in the back. I say hi to my dad’s friend, David, who would be joining us tonight. I lean on his legs, truck bouncing over small patches of dirt, and fall asleep. 

… 

Madly, I rush into my house. I hate car rides. They make me feel so trapped. Feet sliding across the dirt, I swing my door open, the remaining light of dusk seeping into the home. I throw my cap and the keys on the ground and rush to check in on my brother. 

“HERMANO!!!” He shouts, drowning the noise of the junky air conditioning.

I give him a hug. He beckons me to follow him, I HAD to see today’s racetrack. 

Books piled up, plank pulled out and a small table I had not seen before made-up today’s Hot-wheels challenge. I couldn’t contain my excitement. I was so going to win today! 

“Y mama?” I ask my brother. 

“Se fue. No se adonde.” 

My brother was 6. In two years, he’d be a real hombre, just like me. Then he’d have to help out with the fruit picking. No staying home anymore. I bit my lip at the idea of having my brother working with me. He better not slow me down. 

I hear my father and David opening the fridge. Of course, they’re going to drink. We’re men. 

… 

“Gane!” I shout over the screams of my father and his friend. I had knocked my brother’s car out of the race track. 

“Ya me voy pendejo! Como si fueras mas que yo mojarra!!!” I hated David’s voice sometimes. 

He grabbed my dads’ keys and took the truck. 

I didn’t see him the next morning. The truck I saw days later, torn up. The scars reminded me of snakes, wrapping themselves around the vehicle.

“Pinche idiota, ahora como vamos a llegar al trabajo…” Lovely dad.