Antes | Oscar Diaz

january.

Later, Claudia will think that maybe all of this is her fault.

And  it isn't, and she knows that, but it still feels that way, anyway. It  starts with a promise Oscar breaks and ends with him in jail for the  weekend. It starts like this:

Claudia wants to transfer to Point  Loma Nazarene. Had quietly filled out all the transfer applications,  spoken to counselors, been told that once she submitted her first  semester grades they could probably offer such-and-such (the number  wasn't as high as the tuition, but it was enough to make Claudia see  stars) and in the meantime, would she like to visit the campus?

She  thought it would be nice, is all. The three of them on a mini trip.  Maybe get Cesar to see something outside of Freeridge for once, have  some fun in San Diego in between her checking out campus. Oscar had even  agreed, despite the way their conversations about her leaving for  school the next year were going. She wasn't being subtle when she talked  about how nice living somewhere new would be. It was obvious, not just  in the way she'd steer their conversations towards it but in the tense  line of Oscar's shoulders when she did it.

So they made weekend  plans, found a cheap hotel to stay for the night, and Claudia packed a  weekend bag in preparation. Part of her was giddy. Part of her was  convinced it wasn't going to happen. Her gut feelings were usually  right.

Oscar calls her Thursday afternoon. She's on her way home  from work; she's skipping two classes the next day, okayed it with her  instructors, and maybe she has a spring in her step, walking to her  building from the bus stop.

"Hey," Oscar says, voice too-serious over the phone, "you busy?"

"Just  got home," she says, adjusting her satchel—harder to steal a cross-body  bag, she knows. La Avenida is nice but that doesn't mean the buses are  great. "What's up?"

"I can't come with this weekend," he says, and  she stops in her tracks. Stands, stunned, in the hallway of her  building. "Something came up."

"What?"

"Cuchillos wants—he needs me out here, this weekend. Don't worry about it."

Claudia  doesn't give a fuck about what Cuchillos wants or needs, and she should  say that, but instead what comes out is, "What do you mean?"

"What  I say?" he says, voice still oddly flat, none of that usual teasing  tone he uses with her, "I can't take you to San Diego. Si quieres, I can  buy your bus tickets, but—"

"We've been planning this for weeks,"  she says, moving again now, needing to be in the comfort of her room  where she can lose it in peace, "how you just gonna dip like that?"

"I don't have a choice."

"Oscar, please," she says, and maybe her voice breaks. Inside her apartment it's still quiet. "You said—"

"I know what I said," he snaps, and then, when she stays quiet, "whatchu want me to do?"

"I wish you'd just fucking listen  to me," she says. The words come fast. "All this fucking talk, sabés,  'bout how you want better for Cesar, how you tired of living like this, y  pa' qué? Cuchillos comes calling and it's like you're a fucking dog."

"I—"

"No,"  she says, "no, I'mma fucking speak for once, since it's clear I been  quiet for too long. You proud of your life?" The harder days don't go  away. She remembers cleaning him up, bloody and bruised, she remembers  what it was like, that first time he got arrested. "Is this how you  wanna live, Oscar? You got a fucking kid. You out gangbanging, and you  have a kid. Is that all Cesar's gonna be? Is that all you wanna be?"