Enrique

Earlier this week I asked for a prompt and got the following from R.Sativus and tnkerr: 

Well, that’s just delightful
Spindly
Embroil
Charlatan
Crying won’t help you
Jacket
Tank
Melody
Green
Misunderstood poet
Broken down garbage truck

Alrighty, then…(crack knuckles)…Here ‘goes…


“Well, that’s just…” Melody started to say.

“Just, what?” Enrique asked. “Exciting? Fantastic? Terrific?”

Melody scowled. “No. Not the words I would use.”

Enrique shrugged on his leather jacket over his white tank shirt, grabbed his wallet and keys from the coffee table, and gave Melody a swift kiss.

“I’m out. Later?”

Melody kept her gaze on the television. “Freakin’ charlatan,” she muttered.

“Whoa. Big S.A.T. word, babe!” Enrique chuckled, and bent down for one more attempt at a kiss goodbye. Melody recoiled, holding Enrique back with a soft jab to his gut.

“Why can’t you be serious about this shithead?!”

“Why? Because he’s no more a shithead than any of the rest of ‘em, is why.”

“Oh my God, he’s so much more of a stupid shithead…”

“Hey, ya know what? I need you to stop this shit, OK?” Enrique walked from behind the couch to stand in front of Melody, blocking her view of the TV. “You’re all, like, wrapped up in what they’re sayin’ on the news. You getting’ too worked up. Seriously, you are, like, totally out of control.

“I’ll tell what’s actually serious shit,” Enrique continued, as he headed again for the front door, “My boss’s be up my ass if I don’t get goin’ out to that broke down truck he called about, fast.”

He waited for a response, but Melody was silent. She reached for the remote and turned off the TV. Enrique noticed she was crying. He looked at his watch and sighed.

“Now, what?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” Melody said without turning to look at him. “You go, alright?” she said, flicking her hand dismissively, “last thing we need’s you in shit with your boss.”

Melody stood up, still not looking at Enrique, and walked down the hall to the bathroom. Enrique checked his watch again and followed her down the hall.

“Babe, I’m sorry I yelled,” he pleaded, “but you have to stop watching that crap and stop freakin’ out about f-in Trump!”

Melody started bawling again.

“Fuck,” Enrique muttered.

“No, go! Go!” Melody yelled, “Please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just…go! You’ll be late.”

“I’m sorry I yelled, seriously.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then, what?”

“You’ll be late. Go. We’ll talk later. Seriously, go!”

Melody pushed Enrique backwards out of the bathroom, down the hall and to the front door. He gave her a hug and held her a moment. She started crying again.

“Please tell me what the fuck is up with you!” Enrique begged.

Melody took in a sharp breath and in a shaky voice said, “They’re going to send you back. I just know it. They’re going…to…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…OK…no…No, they’re not.”

“You don’t know that!” Melody snapped. Her tears continued to stream down her face. She wiped her runny nose with her sleeve.

“OK, first, all this crying’s not helping. Take a deep breath and get a grip, OK?”

Enrique held her shoulders. “Hey, I got a green card, so I’m legit, right? OK?”

“Yeah, I know, but…” Melody interrupted, “but they said on the news that even people with green…”

“STOP with the FUCKIN’ NEWS SHIT! I’m fine! I’m goin’ nowhere! They just getting’ everyone scared shitless, but I’m goin’ nowhere, I swear, except maybe the unemployment office if I don’t get goin’, and like, now!”

Enrique kissed Melody and then placed a hand on her belly. “Nowhere, but here, with you, and little Enrique. I swear.”

“Little Melody,” Melody corrected.

“Whatever. Just as long as she doesn’t have your mom’s skinny-ass legs and arms. Fuckin’ things so skinny, freaks me out.”

“Stop picking on mom,” Melody said, sniffing.

“I love you. We’ll be OK, yeah? OK?”

Melody nodded, wiped her eyes and kissed her husband. “Go,” she said, pushing him again, “because now you’ve made me late, too,” she teased.

Enrique playfully acted shocked at the audacity of her remark as he walked out the door, “ME?!”

He turned and jogged to his car parked down the street, head held high, a smile across his face; a vision of a cool, casual, confident young man without a care in the world. He wasn’t worried. Nothin’ and no one was going to touch a hair on his, or anyone in his family’s head ever again. He’d made sure of that when he put his uncle in his grave.


All, but one! And a few loose interpretations, but hey! Not too bad for being a bit out of practice!

2 thoughts on “Enrique

    1. Debated for a long while whether it was … “appropriate,” or, “too soon,” so I thank you for the compliment.
      You and April’s ability to take random stuff and turn it into such well-told and emotional stories has always been an inspiration. Thanks for the prompts!

      Like

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