How Can You Not Like Tabasco?

Our Kindergarten class
was learning how to count to ten
in Spanish.
My father had tried to teach me
but I never had any interest in learning
at five years old.
He would say something and ask me
to repeat it.
I would just say, 'Blahblahblah'.
And after awhile he got pissed
and gave up.
But the one thing he did teach me
besides a few select curse words
was how to count to ten.
Well my teacher was white
and counting along
when she got to three.
Tres.
She said it like,
'trace'.
I immediately interrupted her
"That's not how you say it."
"Excuse me?" She asked, surprised.
"It's tres, not trace. I'm Mexican, I know."
"Okay, well Daniel I'm the teacher--"
"But that's not how you say it, though."
"Daniel. I....am....the teacher. You are the student--"
"You're just a bitch."
"WHAT?!"
She sent me home with a note
telling my parents what I'd said
and giving me a 'red light' for the day.
Being a naive little five year-old
I walked in the door
and handed the note right to my Mom.
I don't know why I wasn't more scared
of what would happen to me
but then again
I'd never really gotten in trouble at school before.
My Mom stood reading it
her eyes getting wider
and more white
in the way that terrified me.
She was really pissed.
The scary thing was
she didn't scream or yell
no
she just said, "You wait until your Dad gets home."
I began to cry.
"You better dry it up!"
All afternoon long
I sat in my room
like a man about to be executed
sitting in his cell
counting down the minutes.
After sundown
my Father finally came home.
My door swung open
and there stood my father
His hardhat and work gloves
still in his hands
reeking of sweat and the Arizona sun.
"Get out here. NOW."
I hurriedly walked out to the kitchen.
Slowly my Dad began to talk
"Spanking you doesn't work, taking away your toys or your Nintendo doesn't make you listen. So maybe this will."
He said, pulling the bottle of red Tabasco sauce from the cupboard.
I'd seen the old man put it on his eggs
and just about everything else he ate
besides his cereal.
Just the smell of it across the table
had burned my nose.
"You think it's okay to talk to the teacher like that? Huh?!"
My father said, kneeling down
his large brown hands gripping my shoulders
his bloodshot eyes piercing into my soul
"You are the student. She is the teacher. You think you know it all? You don't know shit.
Is that having respect for an adult?"
I stood silent just staring at him.
He quickly swatted my stomach
to get my attention
"Huh?"
"No."
"No, what?"
"No, that's not having respect."
"No, it's not. Now, Rhonda....gimme that."
He said reaching for the bottle.
"No, no, no, no!" I began to frantically cry, covering my mouth.
"Hey, this is what happens son. For every choice that you make, there is a consequence.
You can't just do whatever you want. Nobody can. Not even me. Now here....take your medicine, son."
"It's medicine? I thought it was chili..."
My Mother stood her hand over her mouth
her stomach shaking with laughter
she finally turned away from me
laughing in the corner by the fridge.
"Take your medicine, son. It means, take your punishment. And take it like a man. You fucked up, so pay for it."
"Okay." I said, with a sniffle
as my father unscrewed the red cap
"Stick out your tongue."
I did as I was told
and he let one little
tiny drop
hit my tongue.
Steam might have come out of my ears
I don't remember
I was very young.
But I ran throughout the house screaming
and wailing like a goddamn banshee.
My Mom and Dad both just laughing their asses off
faces red
tears in their eyes
as I fought to climb the counter
and get my mouth under the faucet.
Tears and drool all pouring from my face.
But the water didn't help
it only seemed to make it worse.
My tongue burned so much
I couldn't even feel it anymore
my mouth was just engulfed in flame.
"Danny...." my mother said
in a 'poor thing' tone.
My Dad, smiling, poured me a little glass of milk
which I downed
and the burning finally ceased.
Like a flame snuffed out
it just stopped.
And then I remember
trying to catch my breath
saying,
"I......can't.....breath...."
in between sobs.
And then my Mom picked me up into her arms
and my father ran his big fingers through my hair
and kissed my cheek.
They were just trying to teach me
the law of cause and effect.
Crime and punishment.
And it worked.
To this day
if I'm eating somewhere with friends
and I even smell Tabasco
while someone douses it on their eggs
I always get pissed off
when someone asks
"What's the matter? You don't like Tabasco? How can you not like Tabasco?"
Ha!
Well let me tell ya about it, pal.

The Fourth Date of Death

It was their fourth date.
They'd been going out for about
a month.
Most of their time had been spent
at his place
she'd just drive over there every night.
And they'd sit and talk
share music with each other
and enjoy some mutual favorites
like ole' Hank and Miss Patsy.
And that always led to kissing
which usually led to lovin'.
But that was all they'd really done
besides a few late nights out on
the weekends.
He'd never been to her side of town
gone to the places that she liked to go.
So he bused it to the light rail
and rode into her side of town.
Downtown Phoenix.
She picked him up and
they went back to her place
so she could finish getting ready
"Hey can we get some Italian food tonight? I've really been craving some Alfredo."
"Sure thing darlin."
They ate at the shitty Olive Garden
and then stood by her car
while he had a cigarette
stretching his back
trying to get it to pop.
"So where to pretty lady?"
The first place she took him
was a parking garage
deep in the heart of downtown Phoenix
amongst the tall buildings
old and new.
They just walked up to an elevator on the street
took it to the roof
the only car up there was a cop car.
"That cop is always up here. He never says anything to me, doesn't bother me or anything. Just sits in his car. He probably sees my running mascara
and just knows to stay away."
And she laughed
and he was just staring out at all the buildings
recognizing that all the biggest and tallest
had the names of banks on them.
Across the street
down below was an old church
the roof crumbled and caved in.
Crackheads and tweakers
waiting at bus stops
not waiting on any bus
just hanging around
whistling and yelling at anyone that will listen.
She tells him about an old homeless woman
that sang down below often
and she said it was the most beautiful
singing she had ever heard
and how it was so sad and at times
so happy.
Like nothing she'd ever heard.
"We'll come watch the fireworks up here on the Fourth of July, yeah?"
She said in her cute little mid-west accent
that made him smile.
He pulled her close and went in for a kiss.
"Hey, my lipstick..."
"Lipstick, nothin."
He pressed his mouth hard to hers.
Her red lipstick rubbing off all over his face.
Holding hands walking back to the car
smiling
both of them looking like red faced clowns
and laughing like children.
So they went to the next spot on her tour
drove down the street of an old neighborhood
all the houses and everything around them
looking like they were in the 1940's.
He combed his greasy hair
and daydreamed about
how it would be living there.
"This was my house. It's so haunted. Just look at it."
And she kept driving down
showed him where some Vampires lived.
"I was walking home one night and this man stopped me. He was like an older greaser guy, and he told me that there were
some real vampires that lived in this house on the corner. The guy was dead serious, it really freaked me out."
"But how do you know for sure?"
"Well, it all made sense. The guy told me that he hadn't seen me around before, at Rockabilly shows or anything, and he just warned me
to stay away from that house. He said, they like to hypnotize girls and drink their blood."
"But how did it make sense?"
"I'm getting to it! It made sense, because....they never, ever, came out in the daytime. And at night they'd have all these red lights on
and be standing outside smoking. All greaser guys. But seriously, real fucking vampires!"
"Crazy."
She drove deep into a very bad neighborhood
a place he knew to stay out of
especially at one a.m.
on a Friday night.
"There's a cemetary in the middle of this ghetto neighborhood. And I always try to get people to go in there with me and they never do.
They're all scared. You have to hop this fence to get into it. Will you come with me? Or are you gonna be chickenshit too?"
"Darlin....this is not the kind of neighborhood that you just go fuck around in. You do know that there are crips, bloods, and Mexican gangs
back in here right?"
"Ugh. You're no fun, just a square in disguise."
"No seriously baby, you shouldn't fuck around out here. And who you calling a square?"
"Oh my God. We're right by the railroad yard! Yes!"
They pulled forward down the street
and got stopped at a railroad crossing.
The gate was down
the lights were flashing
and the train sat motionless.
Waiting.
She put the car in park
and they sat there a minute.
"Don't you ever just wish you could hop a train and just ride it somewhere?"
"Well yeah. All Woody Guthrie and shit. That'd be awesome. But you can't really get in any of those ones there."
He said, pointing to the train.
"Yeah, but we could grab onto the ladder on that one right there....ride it a few feet, jump off, and walk back."
"What?"
"Yeah! Oh my God! Come on!"
And she got out. The car just sitting there.
Running to the train.
He got out of the car
lit a cigarette and stood watching.
"You really shouldn't do that lady. Seriously, if that thing lurches forward, it could throw you off..."
His stomach turned and he felt sick
this was all wrong
but still
he just stood watching.
"You're no fun! It'll be fine."
She reached up and grabbed onto the bar of the metal ladder
on the yellow boxcar.
She began to pull herself up
when suddenly the train
lurched forward with a very hard jerk
the sound was like a metal thunder clap
just deafening.
He immediately turned around
looking the other way.
Shaking and terrified
at what could have just happened.
He called her name.
Nothing.
He called it again.
Still no sound, but the train.
He took a deep drag off the cigarette
turned around
straight into a sprint for the train.
He saw it
the second he turned around.
She had been thrown
under the train
it rolled right over her.
Her head
and left arm were taken clean off
from the rest of her body.
Her legs were twitching
one high heel left on her right foot.
He couldn't see her face.
It was under the train
which was now picking up speed and moving forward
her head somewhere under there
the body at the side of the tracks.
Blood flowing like a fountain
down the rocks on the side of the tracks
and down into a little ditch.
He couldn't breathe
as he frantically tried to call 911.
"No, no, no, no. Fuck! No, no, no."
He repeated over and over again.
Taking in quick & shallow breaths
walking back to the car
his fingers were sweaty
and his touch screen phone
wouldn't dial the numbers.
So he took a seat on the hood of her car
getting his breathing under control
rerminding himself that she was dead
and there was nothing he could do.
The Etta James CD still played loudly
from her speakers.
'I'd Rather Go Blind' boomed from the speakers,
"Something told me, it was over..."
As he wiped his sweaty hands on his Levi's
until they were bone dry
and made the call.
The little box of condoms in his pocket
digging into his leg.
As the operator answered the phone
and asked what his emergency was
his eyes welled up with tears
a lump in his throat
as the train blew it's whistle
and the car sat running idle.
You could still smell her perfume in the air.