“Ugh, what kinda operation you running here Pipo?”, Ace groaned to the gas station clerk, “You only got red and yellow Gatorade? This like the 80’s or something? They got more than two flavors now fam-- it’s 2018, you gotta adapt, I’m only lookin’ out for your business and stuff.”
Your local gas station clerk always saw you at your worst--the crusty t-shirt, sweaty after running, looking for respite, pajama bottom’d self. For Ace he looked particularly haggard this morning, last night had been #Swiftball and the running back hadn’t gotten much sleep. There was too much running in his mind and the after effect of that bump of E still could be felt in his muscles and mind. He felt emotionally exhausted and physically too. When he had finally crawled into bed somewhere north of 3AM he didn’t manage to get more than an hour or two of sleep before finally deciding around 7 to just ride out to the gas station...mostly to just get out of the house.
“I’ve told you kid, that Gatorade stuff ain’t even good for you, too much sugar, get the water,” the middle aged man said with a grin, “I recommend the FIJI stuff, it’s real nice.”
“You would recommend me the most expensive one, huh?”
“Sign you should probably focus on the football field and not on my business, eh?”
“Alright, alright, I see you, I see you.”
Breakfast at midnight with Meilin had been nice, I mean, it had been a little awkward when he had showed up to Waffle House with no shirt but luckily the chef kinda took sympathy with him and leant him one they had in the back--even let him keep it. He and Meilin found the whole thing very funny, but, then again he had found everything funny that night. He’d blame the E but he couldn’t really do that anymore, he was starting to feel normal. He still felt warm though, that night had gone about as well as it could’ve gone. Things were easy with Meilin, easier than he thought going to dinner late at night with a girl while tripping on MDMA could be. It felt wrong but that wrongness made him feel alive.
Not so much a L7 now, eh Beats?
He had gotten in a bit of trouble and gotten away scott free, shout out Scott. What else more could he want? He reached for the yellow Gatorade.
“I’ll take this yellow thing and a banana--try and get Arctic Frost though bro, that’s my shit.”
“I’ll think about it next time I fill my order kid.”
“Thanks man, have a good day!”
[Ace Ortega Continued From: Just Dance]
Of course, he felt dehydrated and dry of mouth and he had left his Ruckus at Forrest’s so he had walked the half a mile to the gas station. It wasn’t much but it was a bitch he didn’t really enjoy on like 3 hours of sleep. It wasn’t the E or the vodka’s fault he couldn’t sleep, he was also replaying his night with Meilin in his mind. Over and over again. Which was a bit pathetic because aside from kissing her on the cheek, hand holding and conversation it was really nothing. He was such a dork, he couldn’t be so friggin’ obvious...still was being obvious even that bad?
Was the E still in his system chilling somewhere with a pecan waffle with extra syrup?
Maybe I should ask her to Prom, huh?
Would that be so bad?
Nicer than Waffle House…
Well maybe, let’s not go too far.
When he had entered his mother’s small two bedroom, two storied house he closed the door gingerly, as it was still fairly early in the morning. He didn’t want to wake her or cause any trouble, instead he nearly groaned as when he entered the doorway he heard the light humming of hypnotic late 70s guitar and the faint clapping of a crowd.
Shit.
Fuck.
Frampton Comes Alive.
Dad stayed the goddamn night.
Kill me now.
Beats’ Beats (Papa Beats Edition):Do You Feel Like We Do (Live) - Peter Frampton
There was no shame to Michael Ortega’s game, he didn’t live with Ace’s mother, but it was clear he was making himself at home. He was in his boxers, in the kitchen, making eggs--his stout 5’9”, 220 plus pound form leaning over the stove...making bacon and trying to avoid collateral damage.
“Oye! Aceito!”, he said exuberantly, his belly shaking as he turned his head to meet Ace’s eyes, “You got in pretty late last night--stay outta trouble?”
“Uh, for the most part, there was a party and stuff and a couple of the guys on the team went--it was a good time.”
“You drink?”
“A little.”
“Smoke any reefer?”
Ace rolled his eyes at his father and went to the fridge to put away the little bit of Gatorade he still had left.
“Nah, never that.”
“Good, say no to drugs, don’t need you pissin’ hot at Memphis--sit down, I’ll serve you up some eggs.”
“Thanks for the a’okay Officer Ortega.”
“Oh, the kid got jokes huh? Cheese on the eggs?”
Ace hadn’t smoked any weed (he refused to call it reefer, what kinda shit was that?) but he hadn’t just drank. He didn’t need to tell his Dad about how he was snorting E in the bathroom with his gay teammate, even if Ace was pretty secure in his sexuality. Like, his Dad was from that AIDs was gay cancer era--it wasn’t really a surprise that the A/C tech from Tennessee didn’t have the most progressive views on LGBT relations and junk.
Also, like, if he was concerned about Ace smoking what was he gonna say about him snorting?
“Did you smoke weed with Ma last night? What’s scrambled eggs without cheese?”
“Alright, alright, I get it, I trust you man--don’t beat the dead horse.”
As his father cooked Ace spent the few minutes going through his phone looking at pictures from #Swiftball--apparently shit had got gully after he left: people were on the roof, chicks were getting topless, folks were chugging, it was a good time. It was crazy the stuff that you missed while you were on E and talking to the girl you had been smitten with since Sophomore year. At least according to Snapchat, shit was kinda insane in the membrane.
Made the right decision to leave early tho…
“Here you go papo.”
“Thanks Pops.”
Ace put down his phone and began eating, unlike his Mom, his Dad had always tried to be honest and almost like a friend to him. Ace loved his mother but he was more open with his father--there was that elephant in the room though. His Mom and Dad dating again was something he had mixed feelings on and not something he really wanted to address. His parents had been taking it slow so it seemed. Ace appreciated that.
There was a bit of silence for a bit as Ace and his father both shoveled down their breakfast with abandon.
“So, uh, let me ask you somethin’...”
Ace paused as his father seemed to dance around the point, his head was still sore and his body tired from the night before, his Dad didn’t seem to care barrelling through with his question.
“Who was that girl that dropped you off last night? You gotta secret girlfriend Beats?”
“Pfffft…”
Ace shook his head and stared at his Dad quizzically--some nerve, huh? Meilin was just a friend and Ace hadn’t made any moves towards her in that regard. He had liked her for a long time, but he had always been focused on sports and getting his scholarship. He didn’t think he had time for a girlfriend and he didn’t want to fall in love in Chattanooga and be scared of moving to Memphis.
“Nah, not like that--that was Meilin, a friend.”
“Ooooooh Meilin,” his Dad teased, “You get friendly with her? I got rubbers in the car to give you--always wear a raincoat Aceito.”
In normal situations Ace would’ve rolled his eyes, laughed and put his plate down and go to his room. His Dad was loud and ignorant, he didn’t have the most tact in the world and he didn’t expect his father to know the nuances of his feelings. Mike Ortega had never left Chattanooga, he had never been married...he wasn’t the expert on romance other Dad’s were. Ace’s birds and the bees conversation mostly just centered around not getting girls pregnant.
This wasn’t a normal situation and he wasn’t a normal Ace--tired, emotionally exhausted and definitely insecure about the buttons his father was pressing.
“Y’know,” he said almost defiantly, “I don’t go investigatin’ your love life old man, kinda would like you keeping your nose outta mine, ya heard?”
“Ooooooh, look who has some cajones--now I know this Meilin thing is serious.”
Ace glared at him…
“More serious than whatever you’re doin’ here with my mother.”
This caused Michael Ortega to pause and the mood shifted immediately, he found himself staring at his son with a quizzical expression.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t play dumb Pops,” he said with a renewed sense of bravado after seeing how his own words hit his father, “I dunno what your game is here, but it’s messed up--you can’t pick and choose when we’re gonna be a family.”
Mike grimaced…
“Ace, I’ve never fuckin’ abandoned this family--you ain’t ever gone hungry, missed Christmas, you were in the best sports programs I could get you into,” his Dad was clapping with every statement, like he was in a battle rap or something, “I fuckin’ chopped copper in Tennessee July for you kid, I don’t deserve whatever chip on your shoulder you got about me and your Ma getting back together.”
Ace shook his head--he knew his father would respond like this, probably why it was better to just shut the fuck up. He hadn’t though and now that this hornet’s nest was kicked, he had to deal with the stings. He was ready though, he wasn’t backing down--the headache in his skull almost matching the heartache in his chest.
“You remember when I was lil’? When I asked you why you and Ma weren’t together?”
Mike paused, considering what he had said to his son--the look on his face showed that it didn’t immediately come to him, fine, that proved Ace’s point more. He answered before his father could speak…
“Because you said you couldn’t be a father and a husband, you had to choose one,” he said with finality, “You said you loved me too much to love her the way you should.”
“Are you for real Ace? Is this shit really ‘bout jealousy? I love you and your Mother, life is long kid, you’ll learn that soon enough.”
“Nah.”
“What the fuck you mean nah?”
“I mean fuckin’ nah, this ain’t about jealousy,” he said calmly, “I just think it’s funny that you can’t be there for both of us and then when I’m about to leave you come dancin’ back in her life. Don’t gotta worry ‘bout lovin’ us both when one of us is on the other side of the state, eh?”
Mike Ortega looked hurt at that and Ace felt bad, he stared at his father who stared at his eggs with a bit of guilt. How’d it get to this point? Their conversation had been so innocuous and now all these feelings he had buried deep came exploding out.
“What do you want from me Ace?”
“I dunno...I just don’t like this shit, I know that much.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“You’re the old man, figure it out!”
He got up from his eggs with a start and then turned around to head to his room…
“Just don’t stay the night here,” he finally said with a desperation, “This is my home, not yours and it’s been that way for seventeen years--you don’t count here.”
His father looked down at his plate, Ace didn’t look at him, instead going up the stairs, entering his room and closing the door.
He slept until 8 at night.
He awoke to his mother knocking on the door and hip-hop blaring from his computer speakers...
Beats’ Beats: Still Got Love For You - Beanie Sigel ft. Jay-Z & Young Rell
“You alright?”
“Yeah Ma, just tired…”
“You talk to your Dad?”
Does she know?
“A little bit this morning...why?”
“Because I dunno what you said, but he very much wanted me to tell you that if you’re planning to go to Prom,” she said nicely, “He’ll rent you like a Beamer or a Benz or something, so you can look real nice.”
“Oh...shit...that’s cool.”
“You gotta prom date then? Asking your Dad for advice? Who’s the lucky lady?”
“Moooooooooom!”
She snickered and closed the door, Ace turned over and stared at his ceiling…
Am I the asshole or is he?
Him.
I learned it all from him.
((Ace continued elsewhere...))
