What Has Fallen

6. Jax: Marco and Carlos

September 19th

12:30 PM

"Ahhhh, mi amigo!" Carlos called as he walked up to the picnic table holding his arms out wide. I finished the last of my roast beef sandwich and wiped my mouth. He stopped in front of the table and said, "So what do you think?" He stood, still holding his arms out wide.

I looked over the five foot something twenty nine year old Mexican that calls himself my friend and had no fucking idea what he wanted me to judge. He looked no different from yesterday or the day before or any day since I've started here. Leaning on the table with my elbows, I folded my hands together and asked, "Think of what?"

He moved his hands in front of his torso and raised his eyebrows like I should have known what that meant. He still had a stomach pushing on his shirt and his shirt still had stains of oil and food on it. Nothing new. "My jacket, man." He grabbed the collar of the shiny black leather jacket and popped it up around his neck, "What do you think?"

I nodded, "O... uh.. right." Holding back a laugh, I cleared my throat. Then asked, "Tryin' out for the t-birds?"

His face fell, "Dammit man." He moved to the table and sat down, "I liked your jacket, I thought I'd get one. Ya know, you look all.. ah, mysterious, ya know. And the ladies, man," he closed his eyes, "mmm," then opened them, "the ladies eat that shit up."

I disagreed, but said, "Sure," to try avoiding a long conversation.

"Exactly." He looked around, then leaned forward whispering, "Does it really look stupid?"

Since we've met, Carlos has been trying to be my friend. The other guy that works here blows him off and his older brother is our boss. Having someone new around gave him someone to cling to. His brother warned me he'd be friendly and the other guy warned me he could be a freak. So far he had been someone any person would be able to make friends with easily - that's the type of guy he is. Unfortunately for him, I'm not the type of guy to make friends. I felt sorry for him. His brother got their fathers' business. Since then they haven't spent much time together. The other guy that works here, thinks he's a god, nothing more has to be said about him. So, I play nice, he gets to think we're friends, and the workplace stays peaceful.

I sighed and rubbed the side of my jawline, the stubble pricking my fingers. I stood grabbing my trash, "Just, ah," I pointed to his collar, "Push the collar down." He pushed it down and looked at me wide eyed. "Keep it down."

"Yeah, cool," he stood and followed me to the trash can.

I threw the trash away and turned to him, "Later rough it up a bit. A leather jacket can't look too clean. Otherwise it wears you. There's a difference between someone who wears a leather jacket and someone who owns a leather jacket."

"What's the difference?"

"A man who owns it, doesn't need to wear it everyday..."

"Like you." He let my words sink in and I kept a blank expression. "You haven't worn yours since the day you came in for an interview," he let his thought process slip his lips. "Aye, that makes sense. If you wear it all the time you're trying to push you own it, you're, ah, buscando atencion. But if you own it, wear it every once in a while, it's just you. And mysterious guys, don't need atencion." He looked so pleased with himself.

Most of his realizations fit what I said, even though the push of wanting to be 'the mysterious type' may have made him go a bit far. I nodded, "Exactly." We headed back into the garage and I gave him one more piece of advice. I turned to him, "And women..." - I couldn't believe I had to give someone a hand-full of years younger than me advice on women - "like authenticity." He nodded taking in my every word. "They see through bullshit."