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Asteroid
Down in the Dirt (v142)
(the February 2017 Issue)




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Asteroid

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Study in Black
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July-Dec. 2016
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Negative Space
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the Light
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Sept.-Dec. 2017
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May-August 2017
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Confession

Raymond Manuel Aguirre

    Today is the day Ronel decides to come clean about the incident at Derek’s.
    We arrive at the park at five in the afternoon, exactly the time Ronel asked Monina to see him. I position myself beneath a tree, just far enough so that Monina won’t see me, but close enough to see what is about to go down.
    I am watching Ronel from a distance as he begins to squirm in his seat. He is beside Monina, his entire body weight anchored by an arm on one side. His shoulder is tensed up, stiff as a board. Ronel, the sanggano, the one to not be fucked with, is squeamish as a teenage boy asking a girl to the prom. Meanwhile, Monina has her arms crossed. Her expression is bare, as if still undecided whether anger is supposed to be the right emotion to feel at this moment.
    Then, Ronel’s lips begin to move. I hang tight. So far so good. We had rehearsed everything about this moment—from the timing of his tears to the cadence of his speech. Life at the park continues to remain peaceful. I feel a light breeze blow past my face. Children are running. A mother is calling out to some kid named Felipe, tells him to be careful. I watch the people at the park for several minutes and almost forget about Ronel.
    When I look back, Monina is standing. Ronel looks like he had shrunk several inches, while Monina towers like a shadow. I can see Monina steaming. And then, I see Monina slap Ronel. From where I sit, I only hear a tiny click as Monina’s hand lands on Ronel’s face, but I know Ronel is truly hurt because I see his head ricochet to the side from the impact. He rubs his cheek. He looks up to Monina. He shrinks several inches more. A harsher breeze blows by, causing the leaves from the trees to ruffle a little stronger.
    I brace myself. This is where I may come into the scene and be useful.
    Knowing Monina, we projected an epic scandal at the park that will rock the children from their swings, the pets from their bones. We were not exaggerating in thinking this way. Monina is the patron of tormented lovers, destined to one day be selosa emeritus of San Gabriel Valley. Ronel told me that once, he had to jimmy the front door to their apartment after he had failed to text her his whereabouts one night.
    My purpose of accompanying Ronel today is to save him from the onslaught of Monina’s wrath, to be the wheel man that would escort him off the vicinity once Monina goes batshit crazy. Ronel doesn’t drive, since he wrecked his car and lost his license for DUI. Taking the bus is out of the question, too, because by the time the bus arrives, Monina would have already squashed him into a pole with her car.
    But things don’t unfold as expected because Monina doesn’t do anything more after hitting Ronel. Instead, she sits down next to Ronel and buries her face in her hands. Ronel tries to place a hand on Monina’s back, but Monina brushes it off. Fuck off, I read from her lips.
    Ronel hangs around for a couple more minutes. Every few seconds, he acts as if he is about to say something, then says nothing. Then, finally, he glances at Monina again, says something, then walks off quietly.
    Ronel had come out out of “The Talk” relatively unscathed.
    Physically, at least, Ronel tells me as I listen to his lamentations in a bar three hour later. The real pain of a woman’s anger, he says, hurts most not when she chucks your head with a shoe or when she throws you out of the house. A woman’s wrath, Ronel adds, is worst when she chooses to use impenetrable silence as her weapon of choice.



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