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.
