What's in the box?

The funeral was nice, if just a tad bit sadder now that I knew Sid was Marie’s father.

He’s pushed me to date her. And now I know why. He was scared to leave her alone. And I guess our little time spent together every day for so damn long now told him that maybe I was a pretty decent guy.

Hell, I’d scrubbed out his fryers one day out of the kindness of my heart – not the $7.25 an hour, plus discount that he was paying me to be there.

But he never told me the damn secret to his taco sauce. And now he was dead.

“What are you ever going to do with the taco stand,” Marie’s sister Fiona asked her mother. Barbara had no answer. She hated tacos. She always believed that was why Sidney opened a taco stand in 1972. Just to get away from her. Even though all he did was love her. But he loved tacos too. Not as much as her, but darn close, he’d always say.

“I don’t know anything,” Barbara weeped. “It’s just too soon. Too soon.”

Marie hugged her mother. It was an awkward hug. She’d told me that her and her mom didn’t get along very well. Ever since she went to work in the taco stand as a teenager. It seemed all this family’s problems revolved around that bright yellow stucco taco hut. Maybe Sid’s passing would put to rest the family’s burden, I started to wonder.

Then I thought about those tasty tacos. And how much I was going to miss them. And miss my hours long conversations with Sid. About girls – little did I know his motive. About traveling – he’d been in the Navy, saw a lot more of the world then I ever would. About movies – his favorite was “The Shining” – “Fucking Jack Nicholson!” he’d always say. About cars – he got my obsession with my old 1991 Celica, saying “The first car you fall in love with is a lot like the first girl. You never forget her, and you always compare every one after to her.”

Damn I missed Sid.

I talked to Barbara about him for a moment. She was still crying and tried to listen to my stories. But they all revolved around the taco stand. And she seemed less than interested. Finally, I told her the story of Sid telling me I should ask Marie out. I’d not told Barbara that story. Nor had I told Marie.

“Oh, he talked about you all the time,” Barbara perked up. “On and on and on and on. In fact, he stopped talking so much about tacos when he talked about you. It’s why I tried to keep him talking about your blonde head so much!”

She hugged me and I hugged back. That was the first time I ever felt comfortable about Barbara. It felt good. There had always been a distance between us in the short time we knew each other. Little did I know she already knew so much about me.

“Well,” I said after a few more hours of standing around, eating mini hot dogs and cold cuts, “We need to get on going.”

Marie looked at me and shook her head. I knew she wasn’t ready to go, but I needed to get back in time to write. It had become an obsession of mine, writing on deadline for no reason except to make that deadline.

“Keeping my chops,” I’d tell her at 11:33 p.m. at night with a deadline of midnight to get it done. “One day, someone might actually hire me to write again.”

Marie knew this about me. She hated it. Maybe writing was my taco stand? I now had something to write about when I got back to the house. It was one she’d not want to read. But, I would show it to her anyway.

“I’m going to stay home with Momma,” Marie said. I’d never heard her call Barbara “momma” before. It was always “Mom” or “Mother”, but never “Momma.” Terms of endearment do indeed come out when they are needed the most.

I kissed her on the cheek and grabbed her hand softly.

“Call me if you need anything, babe,” I whispered into her ear.

“I will,” she said, pecking me on the cheek as well.

I started walking to the door when Rich came up to me. Rich was Fiona’s fiancé. He was a former tackle for the University of Auburn. He was a sure-fire first-round draft pick until he blew his knee out his senior year. The Tigers went on to win the national championship – and Rich had a ring to prove it – but he never got that feeling back on the field. He lasted until the fourth round, taken by the Buffalo Bills. He reported to training camp ready to go, but blew his other knee out on the first day of rookie camp.

Another year of rehab brought him into Game No. 11 of the Bills season. He’d been paid for one year to do nothing but workout, then for 10 games to sit on the bench. Finally he played. On his first snap, the defensive end pushed him to the ground and sacked the quarterback. He laughed all the way back to the huddle.

“Good job, no knees!” the defensive end – Will Bartonsmith – said to him. He went to LSU and never had a sack in the four games they’d gone head-to-head in college. Now, he was 1-for-1 in the pros.

Rich made it through that first season, and was nicknamed the “Revolving Door” by the media for his ability to allow rushers easy access with a push, as Jim Rome said.

One season in the CFL was enough to sour Rich on football. That’s when he came back to New Orleans. Met Fiona. Got married three months later. Now they have six kids and a mortgage. He drives a Saab of all things to the car dealership where he works security and signs an occasional autograph for a former Auburn businessman in town.

“Hey,” Rich says. “You need to see this.”

My attention was purely Rich’s when he took me into the back room. On a shelf was an old Monte Cristo cigar box. It was marked in Sharpie – “For Randy.”

“Sid left this for you,” Rich said. “He showed it to me a couple weeks ago. Told me to make sure Barbara ‘Didn’t steal this from the kid.’”

“What is it?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” Rich answered. “Just don’t let anyone see you take it.”

I put the box under my coat and walked out of the room. Marie, Fiona and Barbara were all waiting in the living room, looking at me.

“What were you two up to?” Fiona asked with a little too much snark.

I looked at my feet, trying to do everything I could to not drop the cigar box.

“We were looking at some old photos on the wall,” Rich said.

“Yeah, especially the one from opening day last month,” I said. “I can’t believe Sid got it on the wall so quick.”

“He was like that,” Barbara said derisively. She walked back into the kitchen. Fiona and Marie followed.

“Take care, man,” Rich said.

“I will.”

“And take care of what’s in that box.”

I looked back, but Rich had already closed the door.

I wondered just what could be so important in this box. But, I wasn’t going to open it until I was safely at home. Will power was one thing I was good at. Unless it came to redheads.