short fiction
MICHEL SETS A plateful of spaghetti on the table. He made it just the way Alfonso likes it:
Pinoy-style—sweet and spicy. He next arranges a loaf of bread in a circle on a large plate, with a bar of unsalted butter at the center. His plan is to have them toasted later, buttered, and then sprinkled with McCormick Garlic Bread Sprinkle. Just the way Alfonso likes it.
This is going to be one delightful birthday dinner for Alfonso.
Michel’s relationship with Alfonso is complicated beyond words. This is probably because Michel is a Leo, and he can get pretty cranky at times. When they fight, Michel craves for an argument, an exchange of words, so they can settle their issues in one sitting. Alfonso is Aquarian, and he can be such a pushover, a doormat. It pains Michel each time Alfonso caves with an apology immediately, regardless of whoever’s at fault. No matter how you look at it, it’s always Michel who ends up feeling defeated.
The clock strikes seven. Alfonso should be home any minute. Michel walks over to the fridge and takes out a 1.5-liter bottle of Coke then places it on the table. He leaves the bottle of rum inside the fridge for now. He’s sure Alfonso will want to have a drink later, foreseeably rum-and-Coke, as Alfonso doesn’t really drink anything else. Thankfully, though, Alfonso is not totally a drinker. He simply enjoys a nightcap once in a while. Usually Alfonso comes home too exhausted from work he only has time for dinner, a drink, and the first ten minutes of a Hollywood movie that he falls asleep to.
Alfonso is quite fond of Hollywood movies. He is drawn to the glamorous look of the celebrities that star in them. Alfonso’ss favorite movie, as far as Michel knows, is
Heathers, a 1989 film starring Wynona Rider and Christian Slater. The movie, if Michel remembers correctly, circles around the topic of teen suicide, and it amuses him that Alfonso is so into it, even if Alfonso is the least suicidal person he knows.
It’s seven-thirty. Michel is hungry. He pours himself half a glass of Coke and grabs a slice of bread. He figures he and Alfonso should have dinner together, so a slice of bread shall do for now. He considers lighting some candles for a moment. “Candles… Ha!” he says out loud then shakes his head in amusement. Alfonso would never want a candle-lit dinner. It’s too… bourgeois. That is one thing Michel really likes about Alfonso. Alfonso doesn’t thrive on things that are beyond them. Michel can sum up Alfonso with Pinoy-style spaghetti, quasi-garlic bread, and rum-and-Coke. None too lavish.
Eight-fifteen, the clock says. Michel curls up in the sofa and grabs a book. He’s not really into books, but there’s nothing else to do. Alfonso meanwhile is quite literate. The dork has probably read all of Sidney Sheldon and Tom Clancy and Frederick Forsythe. Michel doesn’t even know squat about any of them. He tries to read a chapter off the book he’s grabbed. “’If Tomorrow Comes.’ Interesting title…” Michel tells himself. A couple of pages into it, he dozes off.
* * *
THERE’S HEAVY POUNDING on the door and Michel jolts right up. Eleven-thirty, the clock tells him. He runs to the door and opens it.
“What the fuck took you—“
Alfonso falls right to the floor.
“Jesus! What happened?” He pulls Alfonso up and finds that his shirt is smeared with blood. Alfonso’s right eye is bruised and swollen and his gums and ears are bleeding.
“Trouble with a client…” Alfonso says, barely audibly.
Michel drags Alfonso to the sofa and lets him lie there. “I’ll go get some water.” He runs to the kitchen.
Alfonso starts to sob. “I want to stop doing this.”
“C’mon, now. Don’t say that.” Michel goes back over to Alfonso and has him take a few gulps of cold water. “What happened?”
“The new client, the middle-aged notary public, that sonofabitch. He wanted to take all ten packets but he could only pay for half of them…” Alfonso can barely finish his sentences. He is sobbing and gasping for air at the same time. “Then he started hitting me, and kicking me, and he took everything, including all the money. I could barely make it here. I had to walk.”
Michel shakes his head. “That motherfucker….” He stares at Alfonso, who is by now crouching on the sofa like a scared caterpillar. He strokes Alfonso’s head. “Are you hungry? I cooked some spaghetti for you, and I can toast you some bread with butter and garlic sprinkle….”
Alfonso doesn’t say anything back.
Michel sighs and starts to stand up. “Just stay there. I’ll bring you the food myself.”
In the kitchen, while toasting bread, Michel hears Alfonso calling out to him.
“What?” he yells back.
Alfonso calls out to him again with that scratchy voice. Michel can barely make out any words.
“I can’t hear you, Alfonso. Just wait for me to get back there, OK?”
Michel goes back to Alfonso with a plateful of spaghetti and toasted bread, now buttered and sprinkled with McCormick Garlic Bread Sprinkle. His heart breaks at the sight of Alfonso, all battered like a crushed worm.
“What were you saying?” he asks.
Alfonso clears his throat and hesitates for a minute. “I…”
“What?” Michel grins. “C’mon, it’s your birthday. You can say anything.”
“I want to stop doing this. I’m serious. It’s too much. Please…” Alfonso begins to sob again.
Michel stares at Alfonso for a minute, heaving deeply. Then he hurls the plate to the wall. “You ungrateful piece of shit!” He grabs Alfonso by the collar. “Do you know how much trouble I’ve been through for you? Do you even have any idea?”
Alfonso looks him in the eye, quaking with fear. “It’s just that—“
He strikes Alfonso across the face. Alfonso sobs harder. Michel drops Alfonso back on the sofa. “Look…” he says, gently, in a consoling tone. “Let’s not get into this, OK?”
Alfonso’s sobbing slowly begins to subside.
“It’s your birthday, Alfonso. Just eat. There’s still spaghetti left on the table.”
Alfonso nods, sniffling and wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
Michel sits beside Alfonso, stroking his back. “You’re twelve now. In a few months, you’ll be in high school. Just give it four more years. Just finish high school and then you’re free to go. You do want to finish high school, don’t you?”
Alfonso nods again.
“Besides, once I get to bail Paolo out of prison, your load will get lighter. It’s just difficult right now, what with Mickey’s death and all.”
“OK.”
Michel stands up and yawns. “I’m going to bed. Clean up that mess, will you?” He nods his head towards the broken plate and spilt food across the room. “I haven’t even eaten yet. I waited for you all night. You have to think about other people for once.”
Alfonso starts for the broom and dustpan behind the door. “I’m sorry,” he says under his breath.
“And get something to eat before you go to bed,” Michel says as he opens the door to his room. “I don’t want you to sleep hungry.”
“I will,
Tito.”
Michel gives Alfonso one last look before stepping inside his room. It truly breaks his heart, the way Alfonso submits with an apology all the time. He’s a good boy, that Alfonso, considering.
“Good night! I’ll take care of that dickhead tomorrow, don’t worry.” Michel closes the door behind him. He considers buying Alfonso a DVD copy of
Heathers in the morning, as a post-birthday gift. “And happy birthday!” he yells from his room.
“Thank you,” Alfonso says as he starts to sweep the floor.
THE END
