“Saturday Night at the Maytas”

The evening started out like every other Saturday night at my Aunt Olga’s house. There was a festive vibe in the air. The adults were drinking Bacardi dark mixed with Coca-Cola, laughing, playing Spades and having a good time with one another. Stevie Wonder blared on the stereo in cassette tape and things were fun. 

I liked whenever my family got evicted and had to go live with my Aunt Olga. It meant that I wasn’t going to get beaten or anything for as long as we stayed with her. I was always safe with her. Sleeping on the hard linoleum covered living room floor represented good times for me. As long as my aunt Elsie, her husband Ernie and my aunt Olga kept each other occupied, I was able to be like any other 5 year old kid and draw, watch cartoons, dance and be as silly as I wanted to be.

My Aunt Olga was a Scorpio and true to astrological legend, she was a very sensual woman with sexy, intense eyes. She wore clothes that complimented her womanly figure and she loved a drink or two. Within a few drinks, she exuded even more sexiness. Her voice became sweet and sultry and she became very affectionate. Her womanliness was a constant source of conflict between her and her sister, my aunt Elsie, a Gemini to the tenth degree. My aunt Elsie was a very attractive lady in her day, but alcoholism and cancer had worn her out and it showed. Her bitter, angry energy only made her more unappealing. Even a 5 year old could see that my aunt Elsie was very jealous of my aunt Olga.

I was sitting in the living room on the corner of the plastic covered sofa, in my own little world, drawing my version of Superman flying over some choppy buildings with the art pad and colored pencils that my aunt Olga brought me for these occasions. I looked at the portrait that my Uncle Pete painted of Olga when he did time in prison. I was afraid of it. I imagined that the eyes moved with a life of their own. It scared me. Next to it was a painting of a happy clown and a sad clown. I felt that the clowns were evil and was scared of them as well, especially if I was alone in the house. As long as there was people and noise in the house, I was fine.

The laughing and joking stopped and I heard shouting. Elsie and Olga were going at it again. Elsie was accusing her of wanted to to have sex with her husband Ernie.

“What’s wrong with you, Elsie? Trust me. Nobody wants to fuck this little shrimp! Olga protested. She mock laughed at Ernie. Come on, you have to be kidding me!”

I knew Ernie was a weak example of a man. I didn’t have the vocabulary at the time to describe what I thought about him, but he was pretty much spineless. My aunt Olga at the time had strong, manly boyfriends and lovers that I looked up to and liked a lot.

“You fucking bitch! You fucked all my boyfriends. You fucked Tito and now you want to fuck Ernie!”

I heard a barrage of obscenities that no kid should ever hear. The argument spilt into the living room. I cringed tightly into the corner of the sofa, hoping not to be noticed.

You always been jealous of me! I can’t help it if Ernie wants to fuck me and he won’t fuck you! I’m a real woman!

Elsie lifted up her blouse and ripped her bra off, showing Olga her breasts, along with all the crude abdominal operations that she had acquired over the last couple of years from Cancer. I hated being exposed to her wounds. She had been severely butchered. As much as it disgusted me, I could not help but stare. at the the pained woman.

I’m a real woman too! I have tits too. Look at you! You’re disgusting! Who wants those?

Ernie was at the doorway of the living room, shaking his head.

Look Ernie! My aunt Olga called to Ernie. He looked at her as she tore off her top and snapped her bra open. The two sisters had nearly identical looking breasts with pink protruding nipples. My aunt Olga’s swayed upwards though.  I looked at Ernie. He was having a hard time not looking at Olga’s breasts.

You fucking cunt! Elsie yelled.

Elsie swiped at Olga’s face with her nails, scratching her cheek. The two wailed at each other, pulling one another’s hair.

I sat, motionless, fearing that if noticed, somehow the violence would transfer to me. For a sick woman, Elsie was getting the best of my aunt. She was a fearsome woman. In between hits, Olga pleaded with Ernie to break it up. The man sprung into feeble action and had a tough time peeling his wife off of her sister. My aunt retreated to her room.

Don’t fuck with me, bitch! They use to call me Blackie! I’m from the old school! Elsie taunted Olga. She looked at me with arched eyebrows. I looked away. Elsie became distracted by a wall mirror. She saw that she didn’t get away unscratched and got pissed off.

I should kill that fucking bitch!

It’s not that bad. Ernie offered.

Elsie’s voice changed and got softer. You still love me, right, Baby?

Come on, Ma, you don’t have to ask that?

The two kissed, pecking each other on the lips. I thought that they were gross.

Olga entered the living room with a small metal object in her hand. It took several seconds for me to realize that it was a gun. My eyes widen, thinking that this about to get very serious.

How dare you come into my fucking house and attack me and think you’re going to get away with it. Fuck you!

Olga pointed the gun at Elsie’s face. I froze, unable to move.

You’re going to shoot your own sister, you fucking animal!

BOOM! Olga squeezed the trigger. I shut my eyes tight. This was something that was only supposed to happen in the movies, and usually with guys. When I opened my eyes, I was confused to whether Elsie had been shot or not. She was clenching her chest as she was. She was also wobbling around, unsteady and looking like she was going to fall any second.

My sister shot me!  My own sister!

There wasn’t any blood to be seen. Realizing that she missed, Olga aimed at Elsie again. I braced for another explosion. Olga pulled the trigger, but I only heard a clicking sound. Frustrated, she rushed Elsie and bashed her on the forehead with the gun. Blood spurted out in abundance. Elsie was drenched in her own blood within seconds

Oh my God! She shrieked over and over.

Shut the hell up, you fucking bitch! I’m sick of your shit!

I wondered if this kind of stuff happened in everybody’s house. It didn’t happen on the TV shows with the nice white families like on Happy Days. Why couldn’t I be with my nice Irish mother in California?  Was it because I looked more like my Latin father than her? Was this my punishment?

Ernie helped Elsie out of the living room. I heard the running water coming from the bathroom. Elsie was sobbing like I never heard her before. My aunt Olga glared at me as she left me alone in the living room. I didn’t dare bulge from where I was at. I stared at the paintings. I could have swore that the eyes on my aunt’s portrait shifted, scaring the shit out of me. I tried not to look at it, but couldn’t resist. The clowns looked sinister, staring at me with evil eyes. I wanted to cry, but was afraid that if I got caught, I might be bleeding too.

I overheard Elsie crying to Olga. How could you do this to me?

Olga was stern. You abuse everybody. I’ll be dammed, if you abuse me in my own house. You abuse Ernie and if Louie could see what you do to that kid, he’ll roll over in his grave. You have to stop it. What do you get out of this?

Vincent’s fine.

No he’s not! He’s a freaking basket case! The boy’s afraid to say two words in one day.

I wondered what a basket case was. I thought about a basket and a briefcase. I didn’t get it.

Why did you take him from California if you were going to treat him like this?

Mind your business. I’m his guardian!

He’s my nephew!

I wondered if Elsie could send me back to California.

It wasn’t long before the police arrived. Two tall white men with mustaches, one of them waved to me and asked how I was doing? I nodded, okay. The other one just stared at me. Who knows what he was thinking. The cops had a conversation with Olga, Elsie and Ernie in the kitchen. Every time Olga or Elsie raised their voice, one of the cops told them to keep it down, reminding them that there was an innocent kid in the living room. This made me happy.

My cousin Patricia came home. She made a scene of her own and argued with the cops for wanting to take her mother to the police station for additional questioning. The cops assured her that she would be home tonight.

This is fucked up! Patricia screamed before she retreated to her room and slammed the door. Soon the house was silent. I pulled my pajama bottoms over my feet and slid across the linoleum floor to the bathroom. I didn’t want to make noise or have Patricia come out her room. I didn’t like her when she was angry. I was afraid of her too. I peed and made back to the living room successfully. I saw something shine within the carpet. I picked it up. It was the bullet. I thought it was cool looking. I pointed it at the evil clowns and threw the bullet at them, imagining that I shot them dead. This made me feel safe enough to finish drawing Superman.

Posted on November 06, 2007 at 08:23 AM   |   Previous Entry   |   Next Entry   |   Entry List   |   Email Entry   |    Digg

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