Kids These Days

Chapter 12: Ronan

[REVISED - 1/16/23]

The deeper we delve into Lourdes Park, the more it starts to resemble a close-knit community. I guess Talia's words got under my skin after all, because a lump rises in my throat at the sight of the dried-up flower beds and rusting swing sets. Maybe it wasn't entirely unfair for her to label me ignorant. Sure, my family moved around a lot when I was younger, but we'd always settle down in an ocean-view condo, or a remodeled Victorian, or a tenth-floor suite. We lived in luxury, and I was comfortable enough to hate it.

The lump hardens into something more tangible. Shame.

"Are you okay?" Becca asks. I realize I've been staring into the void, probably looking as guilty as I feel. "You seem... ill."

"Must be the heat. I'm not used to the weather here."

Becca nods, but before she turns away, I catch a glimpse of understanding in her blue and brown eyes. "It's okay, you know," she tells me, lowering her voice so the others don't overhear. "To grow up sheltered. It's not like your parents gave you a choice..." She trails off when she sees the look on my face. "What?"

"Why are you defending me?" I demand. "Why the sudden kindness? I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. At least, that's what you said on the phone. And in the car. And in the motel room."

She winces. "Your phone call... It was bad timing. My grandmother is in the hospital, and she's not getting better, and I guess took my frustration out on you."

"You guess?"

"Okay, I know I did. But that's in the past. What I'm trying to say is, I know what it's like to grow up in a strict household with overbearing parents. You can't blame yourself for not knowing everything when you weren't given the opportunity to learn."

"You don't have to make excuses for me," I say. Somewhere in the park, a radio is blasting Madonna. My irritation increases tenfold. "Really. I don't want your pity."

"I don't pity you, Ronan, I just wanted to say I know what you're going through. Kindness doesn't always have to be conditional."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm being nice to you because I'm not an awful person."

"Really."

"Yeah. You should give it a try sometime."

"Thanks, but I'd rather go talk to the possessed dude." I sidle over to Finn, giving him a brief once-over for, I don't know-- ectoplasm? Black olives? His eyes are fixed intently on one of the trailer homes, a boxy single wide painted Tiffany blue. "How you doing, buddy?" I'm not expecting a response, so Finn's pointed silence doesn't bother me. Nearby, Madonna croons about getting into the groove. "See any psychic visions about red Mercury Capris lately? I heard clairvoyance is really in fashion this summer."

He grimaces. "It feels like someone is hammering a nail into my skull."

"Oh. That's pleasant."

"This is the one," Talia calls out, gesturing to the blue single wide. Ivy swarms the walls of the trailer, tangling with a prickly rose bush and blushing hydrangea, while the front porch buckles under the weight of a dozen potted plants and hanging baskets. The explosion of colors and life reminds me of an oasis in the desert. I force myself to blink, waiting for the mirage to disappear. It doesn't.

One cup-shaped crimson bloom catches my eye. Becca follows my gaze, remarking, "Anthurium. Beautiful, but toxic. My Abuela warned me to never grow one around pets."

"Great. The crazy lady likes to grow poisonous plants."

"They're only toxic if you eat the leaves."

"Hungry?"

She shoots me a glare. "No."

Talia glances around at the four of us. "Well, I'm not knocking. She'll think I'm here for her pizza order, and I'm not in the mood to get fired today."

"You can count me out," Andy says hastily. "I'm not playing ding dong ditch with some crazy old lady who grows poisonous plants for fun."

"Becca can knock," I say. "Apparently, she loves to garden."

The trailer door creaks open, making Andy jump.

"Calm down," Talia hisses. "She's just a harmless old lady."

But when the gray-haired woman steps out on the porch, I can see that Talia has never been more wrong. Even in her lilac bathrobe and old-fashioned hair curlers, the old woman carries herself like she owns the place-- the blue single wide, Lourdes Park, Dusty Valley, maybe even the entire desert. In one hand, she wields an elephant watering can. In the other, she holds up a can of pepper spray. Talia's "harmless old lady" looks ready to kick the shit out of a group of teenagers.

"I assume you're not here about the leaky sink," says Dolores de Leon.

Becca gasps, and the old woman turns to frown at her, something like recognition flickering in her eyes.

Her eyes. Blue and brown, kaleidoscope reflections. I wish I could call it a trick of the light, but the truth is staring me in the face. Dolores and Becca have the same color eyes.

"No," the old woman says sharply. "You can't be here. Not now."

Becca's hand flies to her forehead. "I can explain. Our friend--"

Dolores mutters something under her breath that does not sound grandmotherly. "Goddammit! You kids have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. Just get inside before I change my mind."