We Cry Together |Franklin Saint|

1

"Ma! I'm home!" Lola called out into the darkness of their home as she opened the entrance door. It was late, so she figured her father was out patrolling, probably harassing some brown teenagers for whatever reason.

She hung her bag up on the rack next to the door and stepped out of her black sandals. No shoes were allowed in their home, despite the fact that they had hardwood flooring.

"Eso es mierda de gringos." Or, "That's white people shit." Her father would say.

Javier Carrillo was a... intricate man to say the least. Complex. He didn't like chicanos, he wasn't partial to most black people, and he was resentful towards the white man.

Lola figured he didn't like chicanos because he was one. He loved being Mexican, loved Mexico, loved the food, the culture, loved that war zone Tijuana that he called a home, but he never was quite Mexican enough, was he?

Which would explain his hatred for the white man, wouldn't it? On the other side of the spectrum, he was a born American, raised in Compton, California. Graduated from an American college, joined the American military, married an American woman and had an American child. Do you think it was enough for them? Of course not. To them, he was just another slick haired, browned skin Mexican.

She figured he didn't like blacks because of the torment he faced from her mother's family after they started dating as teens. You see, her grandparents were former black panthers, and they couldn't bare to picture their black daughter with anybody other than a black man.

Her father was a resentful man by nature, he had nothing if he didn't have his pride- his machismo.

So he took his anger out on the world, became a cop, figured he was doing the community a bit of good, breathing down the necks of the young and colored, scaring 'em straight.

"Ma?" She called out again, slightly louder, alarmed that she didn't get an answer. Tammy was usually up at this time, waiting to see her daughter come home.

She walked throughout the house slowly, cautiously. They didn't live in the ghettos of South Central but it wasn't necessarily the Hamptons either.

Noticing a dim light emerging from the kitchen, she sped her steps up and entered.

"Ma!" She gasped as she stared down at the floor. There her mother laid, barely half conscious, shattered glass, trash, and miscellaneous items scattered around her.

Semi alert now, Tammy just barely lifted her head to see Delores, "Oh, hey baby," she slurred, attempting to sit up.

Lola rushed over to her immediately, gently grabbing her arms and pulling her into a sitting position, paying no mind to turn broken glass surrounding them.

"Damn ma, what happened?" She asked incredulously. She genuinely was wondering where the hell all of this glass came from. What was she carrying?

Tammy brushed it off tiredly with a flick of her hand, "Girl I was just cleaning, felt a little dizzy and fell, that's all."

Lola stared at her suspiciously. That wouldn't explain the broken glass, and if she was cleaning, why were all of the lights off? She didn't smell no damn bleach.

"Oh, that reminds me-" she tapped Lola on the shoulder, "Go down to the corner store and get us some trash bags please. And get me some cigarettes too," she said, passing her some cash and placing an unlit stick in her mouth, "This my last one." She muffled.

Lola nodded, gently taking the cash, "I will as soon as I get this shit up and get you into bed." She stated as she began to pull her mother up.

Tammy shook her head and got to her knees, "I got this baby, you just go on now to the store 'fore it get too late. And watch ya damn mouth."