"The Dried Tomato"

Vaqueros in Brooklyn, NY

by Angela Pailevanian

Six in the morning, Ruben woke up for his shift at The Dried Tomato, a sandwich shop in the Lower East Side. Ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, put on the weird-looking hat, and off he went to ride the subway to work.

"Ruben, you're late!" Alice said. She was like the veteran of the place. Eighty years old and still working. With at least 20 grandchildren.

Ruben apologized and ran into the back to get his apron. Conversation continued amongst the workers.

"Hey Riley! Have you caught the kid that threw a baseball through your window?"

"No! I can't even fix it, I'm two months behind on rent. I swear that kid's gonna get a beating when I find out who it is!"

It was noon. People were pouring in. The orders were accumultaing quickly.

"I want a turkey bacon sandwich, hold the mayo."

"I want a chicken sandwich on wheat bread, and fries on the side."

"I want a large coke, with a bacon sandwich, no tomatoes though."

Around 2pm, a boy walked in. He had on a Led Zeppelin shirt. Green eyes. Dark skin. Looked like he was ready to kill somebody.

"Welcome, what do you want to eat?" Ruben asked.

"You want to know what I want? I want to know why my father left. But you can't tell me that, can you? Nobody can. Not even my momma. Now she's three months behind rent, he aint paying a dime and we're gonna get evicted."

"Oh. Well I'm--"

"You have any idea what it's like to grow up without a dad? Watchin' my momma struggle every day, not comign home. She's got five kids. Six including me. I'm the youngest."

"How long has he been gone?" Ruben asked.

"Oh, he was gone before I was even born. Momma said she met him at a bar out in Buswick years ago."

"What's your momma's name, son?"

"Ayleen."

Could it be? The Ayleen he met in Vaqueros 15 years ago? The boy had Ruben's eyes, Ruben's nose, Ruben's slick straight hair. But she never told him anything, never called him. They broke up just as soon as they had gotten together.

Ruben stayed silent for a moment. Then he said: "Man, if I found my father now, he gon' wish he never left my momma."

Ruben shook his head and tried to stay focused on the food: "What do you want to eat, son?"

"Song"

by Jessie Baum

The playground was covered in children, all cutesy clothes that would have been tacky on anyone else but were unbearably adorable on tiny people on monkey bars. To the mothers (and occasionally fathers) that lived near 9th Street, the playground was a place to let their children off of their little leashes and chat with friends. Only one man didn't know anyone else at the 9th Street Playground. The dirty man lying on the bench.

He was technically breaking rule #45-A of Parks Service Public Conduct (“only guardians and their children may enter”) but he didn't care and the police weren't about to bother him. They weren't eager to encounter him again.

The parents, for the most part, ignored him, though occasionally they'd snatch their children away from his radius. He was tired, and wanted to sleep, but as soon as he drifted off, a child's shriek would rouse him. He was about to slouch off when a little girl, thin with slip-on-shoes and droopy socks, danced up to him.

“Are you his daddy?” She pointed at a little boy trying to do the monkey rings.

“Go away, kid.”

“'Cause he says he don't got a daddy and I said everyone has one and that's when I saw you, and you look like him.”

He squinted at the boy. He did look like him.

“What's your name, kid?”

“Song.”

“Song, if that's your real name, I don't got a son, okay? So leave me alone.”

She cocked her head. She actually looked a bit like a bird, with bright dark eyes and dark hair. He closed his eyes and prayed Caroline wasn't the child's mother.

“Why?”

“Why what? Go.”

“Why should I go?”

“Cause I don't like kids.” He did his best fierce homeless-guy face.

“Why? You were a kid too, right? And why don't Oliver got a daddy?”

“I don't know. Someone's not a daddy unless they're in a family.”

So I can't be the kid's father, he added silently.

“Why is your voice so scratchy?”

“'Cause I used to smoke. Don't smoke.”

“My mommy smokes. But I love her. She showed me how to cartwheel. Look!”

Song stepped back and ran a little and gave a jump, but tripped and skinned her knee.

“Oh no! Hey! You okay kid?!”

“Yeah.” She smiled bravely.

He smiled.

“Song!” A woman called form across the playground.

“I gotta go.” She looked at him almost wistfully.

“I'm here all the time,” he called to her as she skipped away.

The Mask

"The Mask"
by Delia Taylor

“I'm tired of this crap... You said you would stop. I don't think I can do this anymore!” she exclaimed.

“But it's for our own daughter, Jullian! Why can't you understand that? She needs this, we need this! Don't you want to keep our baby girl alive?”

Jullian sat in her chair and stared at Paul as if she'd never met him before.

“I think you're addicted to it, Paul. What about last week, huh? When you drew all that damn attention and almost got your face on NY 12?”

Jullian stood up and walked away from the table with Katherine in her arms. Paul grabbed her. This was how things had gotten. Ever since Katherine developed her disease, their lives had turned into endless bickering, constant cursing, and the ever-frequent “Why don't you act like the man in the family?”

“Maybe someday I will,” Paul would always answer. Jullian never expected him to make good on his word the way he did.

*

Two months after receiving Katherine's diagnosis, Paul woke up, took a long look at his slowly fading baby girl, and knew that he'd chosen the right path. He put on a black mask and got his gun out of his sock drawer.

He reminded himself of how it would go. First, he'd tell his wife, “I just need to clear my head.” Then he'd drive off to the nearest Commerce Bank. And it wouldn't be for the free pens or the red lollipops.

*

Jullian stood in the door frame crying off her makeup.

“You can't do this, Paul!” she cried. Paul was used to this. He was done yelling, done fighting a battle he couldn't win. “But don't you see how much better Katherine's gotten lately? She's smiling again, Jullian. I haven't seen her smile in so long. I'd forgotten what it looked like...”

“But that doesn't give you the right to keep breaking the law!”

Paul wrapped his arms around her waist, like he did when they were in high school. “To me it does,” he said.

He kissed her on her cheek once like he used to. He patted Katherine's head. He looked in his wallet, which had grown in size since he'd... switched professions.

He grabbed his keys and took the black mask—it was his shelter, the assurance that he'd have enough to pay for his daughter's medicine. It was the thing that filled him with adrenaline and kept his heart beating at an unnatural pace, in unnatural places, late at night.

He put the mask on and suddenly had a very clear conscience.