Chapter 7 - The Man of Wind and Moss

The night before the trip Marco packed a swimsuit, a Nalgene, and a variety of granolas. He packed a flashlight too and a compass and when he picked up the compass he snapped right back to the Black Arms show. Jesus Christ. He called her a chink. She bought a book from him. A grimoire. She didn’t even show Marco the book either. After she was red-faced from sake, she was only eager to go home and read.

Marco held the scene in his mind. Crazy. Weird. Uncomfortable.

Unnerved, he grabbed Paula’s babushka keys and focused on them instead. On what they meant. Feeling superstitious, he put them in a different pocket than the compass.

He texted his family chat as a courtesy reminder of his trip. The family chat was him, his dad, his mom, and Monchito, but Monchito hardly replied. If you did get a text from him, it was a wordless picture of a chicken in a garden, or of some cloud over a beach, and, even then, those photos were months apart.

Be safe have fun his mom replied. That was about all Marco expected. But this time, he felt compelled. He texted Monchito privately: I’m going to tell Pansy how I feel. He pressed send and set the phone down. He knew nothing would happen but when his phone trilled, excitement bloomed in him. His brother texted back. And it wasn’t a stupid photo. It was a real text!

Ten cuidado, was all it said.

Marco typed it into Google Translate: Be careful. Great. Ominous. Love that.

“Any actual advice?” Marco replied, but Monchito was done talking.

He didn’t even get the bubbles.