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THERE ARE TWO Target stores within a thirty-minute drive from Arturo's home and he walked into the right one on the Sunday before Christmas.
His palms are freezing against the leather seats of Rafael's Corolla and his legs are cramped in the small space. He catches the scowl on Rafael's face when a red sports car speeds past him, inches away from sliding against his. He echoes a string of obscenities out the open window, his words flowing through the wind as he steps on the accelerator with added force.
"Close the damn window," Edwin chokes out, "and slow down. You've already got like three speeding tickets. How much more are you asking for?"
Cool air slaps against Arturo's cheeks from the open window near the driver's seat, frosting his lips and propelling his hair over his eyes. Rafael finally closes the window after Edwin yells at him once more.
Arturo swipes through his phone, the notification from his calendar app freezing his fingers in place, similar to the way the wind did just seconds ago. His throat is dry while the two brothers up front argue mindlessly, throwing insults back and forth as if they were playing a game of football.
"Marc, what do you think?" Rafael's voice pipes up from the driver's seat, steel eyes glazing over Arturo, anticipating his response.
"What?"
He snatches a look of Edwin scrolling through his phone, TV screens and small print swarming his screen. Arturo belatedly realizes his brown-haired friend is scrolling through the Target app, reminding him of the reason he's out with them right now.
"The one on sixty-fourth has to be packed right now. Christmas is two days away," Rafael replies, swiftly exiting off the highway. "I was asking you if you think they'd be as busy."
He catches sight of a sign on the corner of a street, immediately realizing which Target his friend is heading towards. There's an influx of people surging through the streets of Queens once they're off the highway.
"Probably," he murmurs, absentmindedly. His attention has been purloined by the words on the screen of his phone and the faded tattoo on his wrist right above his superfluity of wristbands.
As Rafael swerves into the mall's parking lot, briskly positioning his car in between two others like it's the missing puzzle piece to all other surrounding vehicles, Arturo is still grappling with his thoughts. Old friends and buried memories are at the forefront.
"You okay?" His friends are turned to him, seat belts unbuckled and interests piqued. Edwin and Rafael have the same shade of dark-brown, borderline black, hair with equally enticing blue-gray eyes. They sweep their gazes over him in the backseat and Arturo knows his feelings are painted in watercolor on his facial features. Blues and grays, like his friends' eyes, are streaked across his face, indicating his uneasiness.
