5757 Wayne Newton Blvd

[Cicada]

Clarissa ate. Slow because she wasn’t that hungry. No cheer practice, so she was F like her physics grades. Mostly she just wanted some Oreos. She was listening to her parents talk about her dad’s hometown. Remembering the way it went: Las Vegas to Eunice, NM. A decade of summers that she could remember. One week long summers, then back home. Cars didn’t fix themselves, etc.

“Thing is-” Dadly noodle slurping noises, “Las Vegas dry gets much windier than it does back home. Never needed to use chapstick til I came out here.”

From LAS it was about two hours in the air to MAF Midland International. Out of the plane it was one left to Enterprise, which Dad preferred over Hertz. Enterprise typically replaced their models every year. Dad would always get a midsize, specifically the latest model of the Nissan Altima if it was available.

“It’s funny to me, you love that dustball of yours so much even decades later.” Mom was quiet as always.

The 2023 Nissan Altima was a reliable basic to the point of boring. The entry level of entry levels. The ones coming into the shop typically had issues with poor steering. Tendency for the belt in the CVT to be poor fit due to the assembly being smaller than the equivalent in other similar sedans. CVT was a more expensive repair and failed at double the rate of more traditional designs like automatics. Fuel efficiency at the cost of higher average maintenance.

“I know you’re a Vegas girl, babe. But I didn’t get out of state until I was…? Something. Home never leaves your veins.” Crisp slurpy beer can sip. Loud belch. “Excuse me.”

The Altima’s steering was a common complaint due to the issues with the model’s CVT specs. Poor handling during acceleration was another common complaint.

Clarissa carefully twisted her fork twice into a mouthful of jarred alfredo and chewy spaghetti. Fork past her lips before she mindfully closed her lips and noiselessly slurped. As she’d been taught by Mom or Raya or someone. Comfy in her tummy. Tasted like 2018. Tasted like the opening woosh and snaps of Boo’d Up by Ella Mai. Tasted like she’d had it all her life, because she had. Same brand, same row of the same supermarket. 10250 W Charleston Blvd.

“It’s not helping your dad, dear.”

Clarissa glanced up.

Mom held a hand out, the way she sometimes would before she said something that would make Dad mad.

Dad shrugged, not looking mad.

Clarissa looked back down.

“Doesn’t he complain about how far things are,” Mom continued, “every time he calls?”

They would land at MAF. Exit the airport, follow straight until the Chevron, 10300 TX-40, turn right. 30 minutes. Four lane under an overpass, other side, turn left, TX-176 W.

“He always complains,” complained Dad. “Not my fault my old man can’t be assed to get his license back.”

Roughly 25 minutes total. 20 of those 25 and it was the border of New Mexico. TX-176 became NM-234.

“I honestly couldn’t imagine him driving in his state.”

Last time Clarissa had been to Dad’s hometown in the summer of 2024, the town limit was nebulously demarcated by a white traffic sign on the right hand of the road saying Do Not Pass right as you passed it.

“No thanks to the government, anyway. Damn driving tests are a rip off and a half.”

Mom made an mmhm noise.

“I remember when I took my first test. Total waste of money. Paying for special needs queers in Santa Fe, not a cent in my own pockets, not going back to my town.” Dad’s plate went tinktinktink as he cracked his fork too hard against the dull yellow porcelain. Spinsy’s fluffy brown ears perked up, he stared sleepily up at the noise, a wet bone battle scarred by dog teeth lying abandoned under his paws. Clarissa quietly smiled down at the dog hiding under the legs of the table. Dad carelessly tossed a bit of alfredo at the dog. Spinsy nommed in peace. “Canon is going to make this country great again. Fuck Grisham.”

Left turn at the half-empty trailer park. Another minute of driving slowly, waving at people who recognized them. 811 8th Ave, Eunice New Mexico 88252. Grandpa’s home. Dirt road, dry green grass that only survived in patches. Dusty red drywall, windows drowning in houseplants. A little lot surrounded by neighbors’ fencing.

“It’s a damn shame to see my home in this state. Druggies, wasteful spending.” Dad spoke in the way he always did when he was going to yell at Mom at the shop after a customer was done yelling at him. Quiet like he was trying to hide something behind his teeth. APRILDIDYOUMISPLACETHEFREONRECOVER, words and words and words and her parents making angry faces.

Another forkful of noodles. A sip of water..

“It is, dear.” Mom sighed in a tiny way. “It would be lovely if there were more subsidies for your dad’s home repairs.”

“Subsidies nothing.” Back to normal volume, the volume he had when he was looking forward to a day at work or a fresh Lazy River 12oz. “There’d be honest men working on that home for real wages if all the immigrants from the cities were on the right side of the border.”

Clarissa wondered if Dad would let her drive the route to Grandpa’s home. Maybe someday when she was a bit older. Maybe by that time the next generation of cars would be in Enterprise’s fleet.

“It’s a damn shame,” Dad continued. “My old bedroom windows’ been cracked, half falling out even, for the past decade.”

“Your dad won’t let us fix it,” The chair next to Clarissa neatly squeaked, the scrape of wood against wood as Mom started to get up. Plates to clean. Dad wouldn’t do it and Mom refused to let Clarissa do it. Big Bro might have done it if he was home. He hadn’t visited at all since 2023. “Heck. Won’t even let Clarissa do it and Clarissa could do it in her sleep.”

Clarissa briefly glanced up.

Mom noticed and glanced back. Smile met smile. Both warm, both small. Little fire embers.

No need to respond.

She looked back to her plate.

“Dad was raised in a different time. Man of the house, always the man of the house.” A Dadly sigh. “You’re the exception to the rule, babe. You too, Princess.”

Clarissa looked up again. Princess was also her name, her name just Dad used.

Dad wasn’t looking up at her, his expression buried behind a mess of Dadly facial hair.

She looked back to her plate.

“Girls in this age need to be doing real work. Too many social media barbies. You two dodged some degenerate shit.”

Clarissa had heard that the 2026 Nissan Altima was likely to run with a hybrid powertrain. Adding elements of an EV essentially came at the cost of handling due to the additional weight to be distributed over the chassis.

“What about Raya?” Mom’s voice echoed from the room over, along with the woosh of a sink turned on.

“Jacob’s girl? Her too, yeah. Princess is better though.”

Clarissa looked up again.

Dad was now looking at her, smiling with his eyes and through the gray of his grizzly facial hair.

[[Clarissa Shoemaker, Memory Thread - 3]]

Clarissa rolled her eyes to a measured angle.

“Dunno about that Dad.”

“Learn to take a compliment will ya?” Dad exploded with a grizzly laugh.

Clarissa nodded.

“But like I was saying babe.” He abandoned his plate and began to encroach on the doorway to the kitchen. “The problem with New Mexico’s dumbocrat governor is-”

Clarissa looked back to her plate.

Another slow forkful of pasta and sauce, as Clarissa mused.

The 2026 Nissan Altima would apparently take chassis design cues from the 2025 Murano which would definitely be an interesting silhouette design, especially with the new headlight design from a mechanic’s perspective Clarissa imagined a quick change out would be more of a

[Cicada]

Clarissa had been idly Googling this and that instead of putting her pencil to paper in pursuit of higher education. She occasionally chomped one from a stack of Oreos on a plate sitting next to her copy of Jane Eyre.

On her mind was the place Dad and Grandpa called home. Lazy summers when she was still too small to lift the torque wrench without help, begging people she nowadays still called Aunt and Uncle and still remembered by name and face to take her on rides around their tiny town in their cool old cars. The 1980s Hammers and Cameros and M3s and

All of a sudden:

“Mom! Dad! Oh my god, look at this!”




Mom was watching Animal Planet in the Mom and Dad bedroom, and Dad was at the cleaned up dining table checking through a brown canvas ledger, the new one for Q1 ‘25.

Mom had said:

“Wow! That’s a coinky-dink and a half.”

Clarissa didn’t know anyone who said coincidence that way in real life except for Mom.

Dad had said:

“Meant to be, ain’t it? Next time we go to see your grandpa, let's stop by and see if we can meet Miss Clarissa. Been a while since we’ve been to Outlaw..”

About six months more or less. Clarissa thought their pasta was okay, if she picked out the shrimps which they’d always include but she always asked them not to.

“‘Kay. Do you think my name is a common one Dad?”

“Hmm…” He’d scratched at the scruff of his goatee with the ballpoint in his hand. “I’ve only known another one besides you, Princess. I named you after my favourite teacher back in Caton.”

“That was your middle school right?”

“Yep. She was one in a million. Told each and every one of us we had the potential to make other people’s lives better. Needless to say I succeeded.”

He offered her the most Dadly of bear paws to her shoulder.

Warm and cozy.

She hummed a happy note.

“She might still be there. I wanted you to be that kind of girl when I thought of her. Mrs. Clarissa Bukoski. Brave. Hard worker. Smart without being annoying.”

Clarissa had smiled and Dad had too.

They’d hugged in the awkward way, the way only a Dad and a Daughter could.

Dad was always slow because Clarissa sometimes took a moment to notice hugs were happening. He’d hover at her with his arms out, like a T-pose, and then Clarissa would remember! Hug!

It was easier when she was outside of the house. Like with Sylvie. Sylvie was very huggable, but Clarissa was not sure what precisely the difference was.

But yeah. Hug!

It had been a pleasant moment before she’d had to go back to her room to try and slog through her stupid English homework. Homework assignments over a holiday…