EUPHORIA ✓

The Untamed Lioness

Nicanor Martinez popped off the cap of the spray paint can with a robust energy that rarely presented itself. 

Her heart felt tranquil as her fingertips brushed against the cool metal of the iron container, the smell of the artificial color a heaven to her nose. As she gripped the can in her palm, Nicanor reminisced about her early adolescence alongside her older brother, ex-muralist Angel Martinez, the way that he would just draw without thinking too much, pouring his heart out into the shapes and colors  on the side of apartment buildings that passerby would love and superintendents privately admired. She could remember the way his hands would move with a purpose, the calmness on his face before the storm the very next day. 

Just as the corners of the burgundy wilted flower were almost completely colored in, the red and blue flashing lights of a cop car interrupted Nicanor's meditation session. She dropped the spray paint can quickly into her satchel with a plop, pulling up her hoodie as she swiftly escaped, sprinting down the street as efficiently as she could. She had done this every night for the last seven months, party and school nights included, and had only gotten caught twice by her parents for being out of bed at two in the morning. 

But this time, it seemed that she wouldn't only get caught by her parents, but by a certain officer in a black and blue uniform, her cruiser blaring right beside her on the road. Nicanor groaned as the sheriff got out of the car with a clipboard, as if she had been ready to catch Nicanor right from the start. Nicanor figured that if she continued running from the cop, she would not only be deemed a vandal, but something close to a criminal escaping conviction. 

"Sheriff Latoya." Nicanor greeted, standing at ease before the middle aged officer. "What brings you here at this conventional hour?" If her predictions were correct, her parents would be called in about three minutes. The cop probably had her father on speed dial at the rate that Nicanor had been found in the middle of the night. 

"Don't you 'conventional hour' me, missy. I already called your dad. He'll be at the station soon." The sheriff squinted at Nicanor against the luminescent street lamp that caused her light brown irises to yellow. "What urged your artistic skills to flourish out on that wall?" Winnie Latoya waved back towards the direction that they had come from, a scrutinizing look on her tan face. "And why'd you try to run?" 

Nicanor blinked. This cop was finally on top of her game. Perhaps she did have her father on speed dial. Besides, her parents had run out of ideas on how to discipline Nicanor. From a skipped meal to being grounded for a month, Nicanor had experienced it all. She had accepted the fact that she could never be the perfect Latina daughter that her parents had wanted. It seemed that none of the Martinez children seemed to be normal, preferring the illegal aspect of life compared to the simplistic, obedient version. 

"I didn't think it was you, Sheriff. I thought it was the other guy. If it was you, I'd never run." Nicanor lied sweetly, gaining sudden interest in the design of the cop cruiser. The black and yellow font resembled the colors of the bumblebees on Abuela's ranch back in Zacatecas. 

Whether Nicanor's lies were accepted by Sheriff Latoya, she didn't know. All she was certain about was that Enrique Martinez hadn't said a single word since he had picked her up at the station, a look of pure fury plastered on his face. By now, he would be yelling at her and lecturing her about how guilty she should've felt committing a heinous crime, or about how she would end up just like her brother: six feet under with the tattoo on his right arm as his only sidekick.

Nicanor's father pulled into the garage of their five story apartment building, where her mother was waiting beside their reserved apartment parking spot, her pastel nightgown peeking out from beneath her black robe. As her father turned off the ignition, he glanced in Nicanor's direction, ordering in a low voice, "Go and pack your bags." 

Nicanor stared at his retreating form, confusion marked all over her face. Was he finally kicking her out of the apartment? Would Nicanor finally be embraced by the streets at any hour whatsoever? 

She slowly got out of the car, closing the door softly as her mother started walking back towards the apartment, her long hair let loose down her back. Nicanor was not accustomed to this version of her mother, the woman who stopped caring about appearances. She had always tightly braided her thick, dark curly hair no matter the situation, whether it be because of Nicanor's underage drinking or going out past curfew. 

As soon as the three of them were settled in the small living room, her father pointed towards her room. "Pack two suitcases. You're getting on the first flight to Mexico tomorrow night." Ernesto then turned to his wife, Fiona. "Call Salazar and Luis and ask them to pick her up from the airport in Zacatecas. I'll tell the school to send over all of her work when she comes back, if she even does." 

Something flared in Nicanor's heart, whether it be anger or sadness. "You can't ship me to Mexico forever." She stood up to her full height of five feet and four inches, nearly reaching the tip of her father's nose, trying to intimidate him for the first time in her life. 

"I need to get the message across as fast as you can before you ruin your life just like Angel. If staying in Mexico does it for you, so be it. Està bien." Her father harshly spoke, not even reflecting a tinge of remorse for using his dead son's name in vain. 

"Pero, Papà-" Nicanor began, frustration building up in her veins, ready to pop out at any time. Nicanor closed her mouth, knowing that if she spoke now, with this rage in her heart, she would only make things worse for herself. She could feel what little control she had over her life slipping away, just like Angel had. Hours had turned into days, and soon nights. 

Maybe she would disappear just like he had.