Why The Come Down Is So Alive
(SZN 1 , EPI 7)
Downtown Manhattan always looked like somebody had paid extra for the sunlight. It struck the buildings differently there, catching against glass towers and polished windows instead of dying across brick tenements and rusted fire escapes. The sidewalks looked scrubbed. The trees stood inside carefully measured squares of soil. Black sedans double parked as if they had clearance while yellow taxis rolled through intersections like a herd of buffaloes.
Cortez had lived in New York for seventeen years and still felt like a tourist south of Ninety-Seventh Street. He had traveled downtown plenty of times. Times Square, the IMax theater, shopping runs when Lauri insisted the Bronx could not provide whatever highly specific piece of clothing she had convinced herself she needed. But Cortez had rarely come without a destination waiting at the end.
He never wandered downtown.
Fashion Avenue stretched ahead of him beneath an afternoon sky clearer than the one he remembered leaving behind in the Bronx. The buildings stood taller. Storefronts gleamed. Even the garbage seemed better organized. Somewhere during the trip south, New York had changed costumes. One moment, the bus had been passing neighborhoods where laundromats shared walls with check-cashing businesses and corner stores guarded their counters behind scratched plexiglass. Then the doors opened downtown, and suddenly everyone walked like they had somewhere important to be, even when they were carrying shopping bags instead of briefcases. It was as though a person could blink on Ninety-Seventh Street and miss the border between poverty and the upper class.
Cortez had not come for the scenery, but he did come for Maria. Her errands had brought her into Midtown, and when she mentioned she would be free afterward, Cortez had met her without pretending he needed another reason.
They picked up where Bethany’s party had left them.
No awkward silence, no strained attempt to recapture whatever connection had existed beneath music, strangers, and wine glasses.
The conversation moved easily. Cortez put his best foot forward without making the performance obvious. He kept the banter light. Asked questions without interrogating. Made observations sharp enough to make Maria smile but never forced enough to sound rehearsed.
He wanted her laughing. Not because he needed proof that she liked him, but because Maria’s laughter changed her. At the party, she had carried herself with a calm precision, as though every gesture passed through several layers of consideration before reaching the outside world. When she laughed, that control loosened. Her shoulders dropped. Her eyes brightened. Something private escaped.
Cortez found himself chasing that sound. Not aggressively, but just enough.
Maria noticed the restraint.
Most men approached her with their intentions hanging openly from every sentence. They tried to impress too quickly. Talked about themselves too much. Mistook persistence for charm and volume for confidence.
Cortez possessed confidence, but he did not use it to crowd her.
He allowed himself space to listen.
As they moved through the crowded streets, Maria relaxed without realizing she was doing it. Her hands stopped remaining folded near her waist. Her posture softened. She walked nearer to Cortez, no longer maintaining the careful distance she used with strangers. The afternoon sun reflected across storefronts and polished cars, turning the avenue amber around the edges. Tourists stalled without warning to photograph buildings. Office workers cut through them with dead-eyed efficiency. Street vendors shouted over one another from carts breathing steam into the cooling air.
Maria held a small purse close against her side while they navigated the human current. Her sleek black bob shifted with every step, occasionally brushing against the curve of her cheek before falling back into place.
“So you really don't come down here often?” Maria looked up at him with genuine curiosity. Her steady brown eyes remained focused on him despite horns, brakes, and conversations crashing around them.
“Come on, look at me!” Cortez stepped away from the curb and spread both arms, offering a slow turn as though displaying himself to an invisible jury. “I stick out like a sore thumb out here! These people can smell the poverty on me. ” A white woman passing behind them caught enough of the sentence to turn her head. Large sunglasses covered her eyes, but the look required no translation.
Cortez noticed.
“See?” He nodded toward the woman after she passed. “These mid-life crisers with all the money in the world are like sharks and I'm just...”
He paused, shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug. “Cute.”
Maria’s laugh cut cleanly through the surrounding noise. It was melodic and genuine enough to draw Cortez’s smile wider. She shook her head, loose strands of black hair brushing her cheek.
“You're being ridiculous,” The words sounded fond rather than scolding. The pedestrian signal changed as they approached the crosswalk to continue their journey.
Maria placed one hand lightly against his forearm and drew him forward with the crowd. Her touch lasted only seconds, but Cortez felt every one. Her New York accent became slightly thicker whenever she relaxed, consonants sharpening around the edges.
“You've got a confidence they could never buy. That's a different kind of wealth.”
They reached the opposite sidewalk.
Maria released his arm and glanced into the window of a boutique where mannequins wore outfits priced higher than some families’ monthly rent. “Besides, if they're sharks, you're clearly a different species entirely. Something... a little more interesting than just cute.”
She turned toward him. One sculpted eyebrow rose.
“So, am I a shark too, then?”
“Look at you laying it on thick, trying to set me up.” Cortez smirked. “But you might be, I gotta keep my eye on you like you did at Bethany's party. Your interests might be scandalous under all that sheep skin.”
The smile on Maria’s face became smaller, warmer. Something glinted behind the composure in her eyes.
“You say that as if I was the only one doing the observing. I saw you too, you know.”
She allowed the statement to settle between them. “At the party. You never did tell me what you decided about me.”
Her head tipped slightly. The clean line of her bob slid against her jaw. “Since we're being honest and all.”
“Decided about what?” The question escaped Cortez with genuine curiosity.
Maria held his eyes a moment longer than necessary. Then she turned her attention toward the passing displays, where mannequins stood frozen beneath perfect lighting.
“Whether I was worth the walk across the room,” Her voice remained quiet but steady. “You hesitated. Just for a second. I noticed.”
She glanced back at him, eyebrow lifting again. “So now I'm curious. What was the verdict?”
Cortez slowed. The party replayed itself inside his head. Maria was across the room. Her dark eyes repeatedly finding him. The way she seemed to observe the entire gathering without allowing the gathering to fully observe her.
He had hesitated a mere second. Something about Maria’s attention had made him feel exposed before they exchanged a word. Like she had already studied him and reached conclusions he had not been invited to hear.
“You noticed that?” Cortez shook his head as they turned the corner onto Seventh Avenue. “You were a little too watchful. I bet you saw all the goosebumps I had on my arm too, huh?”
His eyes moved ahead before dropping automatically toward the sidewalk. It was an old habit. The Bronx taught children to watch where they stepped. Broken glass, dog shit, loose pavement, needles, puddles with uncertain depth. Even on sidewalks clean enough to eat from, Cortez continued checking the ground.
“The verdict... I guess the jury is still out on that one. But that's a good thing if you asked me. I'm not the type to judge a person so quickly. Other than that, I definitely wanted to speak to you. It was either that or continue eating brie...”
Maria looked at him. Her expression remained unreadable for a beat before softening into something almost tender.
“You're full of surprises,” Her voice dropped into a murmur. “Most people would have given me a rehearsed line by now. Something smooth. Something expected.”
She looked toward him from the corner of her eye. “But 'the jury's still out'? That's honest. I respect that.”
The smell of roasted nuts drifted from a nearby cart. Sugar, cinnamon, and heat filled the narrow space between them.
“For what it's worth... I'm glad you chose to come over.”
Cortez looked towards her. He did not answer. A quiet smile formed instead, softer than the grin he used when performing for rooms full of people.
Maria accepted it.
They continued walking. The city shifted around them as afternoon faded toward evening. Sunlight began to lower between the buildings, setting windows on fire and throwing long shadows across the avenue. Office crowds thinned. Restaurant crowds began appearing. Eventually, hunger interrupted the wandering. They descended into the subway and boarded an R train downtown.
The car smelled of metal, warm clothes, and a faint odor that didn't smell human drifting from the far end. Advertisements promised legal compensation, language lessons, clear skin, and careers that required only six weeks of training. A sleeping man occupied three seats while standing passengers pretended not to resent him. Cortez and Maria stood near the doors. The train rocked beneath them, carrying them away from Fashion Avenue and toward Chinatown. Reflections of their faces flickered inside the dark windows whenever the train passed between stations.
At Mott Street, they emerged into a neighborhood alive with another rhythm.
Signs crowded one another above storefronts. Gift shops competing against each other, trying to draw customers. Cooks with aprons on stood idle just outside their restaurants taking a smoke break. Roasted ducks hung behind windows with lacquered skin reflecting fluorescent light.
King’s Kitchen waited along the block, just beyond the scaffolding. Neither had eaten there before, but Maria had heard enough praise about the Cantonese restaurant to request it for the evening’s destination.
Inside, conversations rose and fell around circular tables. Plates struck tabletops, two waiters moved through a narrow lane with practiced speed. A chef worked the front, turning hung duck and ribs into packaged food to go, while the aroma of lo mein mixed with other spices filled the atmosphere.
They were seated at a smaller table near the wall in the middle of the restaurant. The menus sat in preparation, ready and presented.. Cortez studied the options longer than Maria, his eyes repeatedly returning toward dishes listed without enough explanation. Eventually, he selected the red-wine black-pepper steak clay pot. Maria ordered the Maggi-glazed baked prawns and a Brazilian limeade. Once the menus were collected, she folded her hands neatly on the table. Her attention returned to him with that same calm, observant expression she had worn across Bethany’s party.
“I heard you had a big game last night,” Cortez’s ears seemed to perk up with the sentence. “I'm not sure how'd I feel initially had I known you were a high schooler right off the bat. When was you going to tell me?”
There was no accusation in her tone, no anger underneath the calm. Only direct curiosity aimed toward the space he had intentionally left blank.
“How'd you find out?”
The waiter arrived with their drinks. Maria waited until the limeade settled in front of her, condensation immediately beginning to gather against the glass. She took a slow sip and placed it down with deliberate care.
“Shane,”
Her eyes met his. “He mentioned it in passing when I overheard him talking in the hallway earlier.”
She leaned back slightly. The movement appeared casual, but her gaze remained sharp. “I'm not upset. Just wondering why you didn't bring it up yourself.”
A faint, teasing smile appeared. “Unless you thought it might scare me off or it be a instant turn-off?”
“Now you making me feel like a little kid who did something wrong.” Cortez sat farther back in his seat. His eyes traveled briefly toward the rear of the restaurant before returning to Maria.
“It wasn't I didn't want to tell you, but look at me. I'm a little too big to be using, 'hey, I'm Cortez and I'm a high school quarterback.'”
There was honesty beneath the joke. He had enjoyed the way Maria looked at him when she did not know.
Not as a high-school athlete, not as a kid with potential, but simply as a man who had crossed the room and interested her.
“I would've told you eventually, in a more appropriate conversation. You know, like had you asked me if I was in school or something.”
Their food arrived before Maria responded.
The clay pot was placed before Cortez breathing steam toward his face in a wave strong enough to make him forget the heat beneath the bowl. Maria’s prawns carried a brighter aroma—savory glaze, citrus, spice, and something sweet working beneath all of it. Both nodded toward the waiter before he moved toward another table.
“Eventually,”
Maria picked up her fork without touching the food yet.
She gestured with it as her eyes remained fixed on him. Amusement glimmered beneath the composure.
“You know, for someone who claims he wasn't hiding it, you certainly danced around it like it was a landmine.”
She finally speared one of the glazed prawns.
“I'm twenty. Sophomore—no, wait...” Maria stopped and shook her head lightly. “Junior. NYU. My major is film and television. I'll be twenty-one next summer. ”
She placed the prawn into her mouth, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed.
“Your turn. No more deflection.” Her fork came to rest against the plate. “How old are you, Cortez?”
“Chill, I'm not deflecting.” Cortez grabbed his fork and mixed the contents of the clay pot, allowing the trapped steam to escape.
“I'm seventeen. Senior quarterback. I'll be eighteen in March... you gonna hold that against me?”
He raised his eyes toward her. Maria studied him.
The restaurant continued moving around them. Glasses clinked. A child laughed from a table near the entrance. Somewhere behind the kitchen wall, a wok rang against metal.
Maria’s face offered nothing. Then she slowly shook her head.
“No,”
Her voice became softer. “I'm not going to hold it against you.” She lifted the limeade and drank again.
“But I do think it's funny. You walk up to me at Bethany's party, all that confidence, calling me gorgeous, doing your little 360 in that ridiculous shirt...”
A small smile moved across her lips. “And the one thing that makes you nervous is telling me you're still in high school.”
She set the glass down, fingertips lingering against the moisture.
“Seventeen. Senior quarterback. Birthday's in March.”
Maria repeated the information with a faintly teasing rhythm. “See? That wasn't so hard.”
Cortez dropped his fork. His head lowered slightly. He tried to conceal the embarrassed smirk forming across his face, but Maria had already seen enough of him to catch it. When he finally looked up, her eyes held the same knowing glint that had unsettled him at the party, like she had seen through the shirt, the jokes, the posture, all the small pieces he arranged into confidence before entering a room.
“... I thought you said I pulled that shirt off though?”
He did not require an answer. “You cold for that... sabotaging my confidence on my shirt.”
His grin returned, attempting to save whatever face remained.
Maria’s smile deepened. Warmth moved quietly across her features. She did not break eye contact.
“I did say that,” Her voice was soft but certain. “And I meant it. The shirt worked. You worked.”
She tilted her head, black hair shifting against her cheek. “But confidence that can be sabotaged by one honest question isn't really confidence, is it? It's just... performance.”
The sentence landed without force, which made it heavier.
Maria reached again for the limeade.
“Besides,” Her accent curled around the word. “I'm not trying to tear you down. I'm trying to see what's underneath the charm. And so far?”
She allowed the question to hang.
“I'm still here. That should tell you something.”
The grin faded from Cortez’s face. He looked down at the plates and absorbed what she had said. Maria had not mocked him for being seventeen. She had not treated him like a child. She had simply refused to let him use charm as an escape route.
The calmness of her honesty struck harder than accusations.
Cortez nodded. “... You're right... Aight, fair game...” He smiled and finally tasted the food.
For the next hour, the table became its own small world as they spoke between bites.
Maria described NYU classes, film assignments, and professors who could reduce a semester’s worth of confidence with one sentence during a critique. She talked about stories she wanted to tell and her fascination with what people revealed when they believed a camera had stopped recording.
Cortez explained football beyond touchdowns and crowds. The preparation. The memorization. How one bad decision could erase ten perfect throws. How quarterbacks were expected to remain calm while several hundred pounds of violence crossed the line trying to fold them backward.
Maria asked about Tottenville.
Cortez described the victory without turning it into mythology. He mentioned the four touchdowns, the two fumbles Kennedy survived, and the handshake from Rutgers’ coach. Pride appeared in his voice no matter how carefully he attempted to contain it.
By the time they finished, their meal had crossed fully into night. The check arrived. Cortez paid with cash Antonio had blessed him with, enough to cover dinner without forcing him to inspect the total twice. He added a tip and folded the receipt beneath the tray.
The thick of the night waited for them when they stepped outside.
Chinatown remained alive, but less crowded as they walked slowly in the direction of the subway, taking the scenic route. Neither seemed eager to reach it.
An older woman walking towards their path holding roses wrapped inside paper and plastic. Most had survived the evening unsold. Cortez stopped, selected one, and handed over cash before Maria could protest.
He offered the rose. Maria accepted it.
The simple gesture changed the distance between them. When they resumed walking, she slipped one arm through his. Her body settled gently against his side.
Cortez looked down at the rose in her hand. “So... what would we call this? A date? or... something like a preliminary trial?”
A faint smile cracked across his face.
Maria examined the flower before looking at him. Something unguarded softened her expression. The night carried the distant rumble of trains and the layered scent of restaurants closing around them.
“A preliminary trial,” Amusement entered her voice. “You make it sound like I'm auditioning you for a role.”
She adjusted her grip on the stem. “But... I suppose that's not entirely inaccurate... maybe.”
A pause separated her thoughts. “I don't do casual well. I like to know what I'm getting into.” Streetlight caught against the gold pendant resting at her throat.
“So yes. Tonight was a trial. And you did well, Cortez.”
She said his name deliberately. “What about you? What would you call it?”
A black Range Rover rolled behind them.
Slowly. Too slowly.
The vehicle moved alongside the row of parked cars, maintaining its distance rather than passing. Dark windows reflected the streetlights without revealing anyone inside.
Cortez felt the shift before understanding it. He understood a slowing vehicle could mean searching building numbers in the dark or somebody preparing to make a decision at your expense, no in-between.
His body moved automatically. He kept between Maria and the street, placing his back toward her as he watched the Range Rover approach.
The SUV stopped. The rear window behind the driver lowered. A woman sat inside.
Her face was composed, almost elegant. Her eyes were different—calm but penetrating enough to make Cortez feel inspected from across the lane.
“Mee-Kyong, get in the car.”
The command carried an almost callous tone.
No shouting. No room for negotiation.
Cortez’s hand closed subtly around Maria’s wrist. He looked over one shoulder. “You know this lady?”
Maria’s entire body went rigid. The rose trembled once between her fingers, then a slight calm washed over her. Her composure returned immediately, snapping into place like armor dropped over exposed skin.
“Yes,” Her voice was carefully measured. “That's my mother.”
Maria did not pull away from Cortez’s protective position. Instead, she placed her free hand gently along his forearm, silently telling him there was no danger he needed to answer.
Her dark eyes met the woman’s through the open window. Something passed between them. A conversation being conducted beneath the words before either spoke.
“I was just on my way back to my dorm,” Respect shaped Maria’s tone, but quiet steel remained underneath. “I told you I'd be out tonight.”
She glanced toward Cortez. “This is Cortez. He's... a friend. He was walking me back to make sure I'd make it there safe.”
Cortez relaxed slightly. He understood enough to step back without fully turning away. Maria’s mother continued looking at him.
Not openly hostile.
Profiling. Age. Clothing. Posture. What neighborhood he might belong to. What intentions might have placed him beside her daughter at ten at night, carrying the confidence to stand between her and her daughter.
“In the car, now. We have to go...”
Maria’s mother raised the window. The tinted glass closed over her face.
“Go ahead, go.” Cortez gave Maria a slight nod. “Wouldn't want to keep her waiting. Sounds important.... I'll text you later?”
Maria hesitated. Her fingers tightened briefly around his forearm. Although her composure remained, trouble flickered behind her eyes.
“Yeah,” Her voice was quiet. “Text me.”
She moved toward the Range Rover, then stopped. Without fully turning around, she spoke again.
“I had a really good time tonight, Cortez. Despite... this.”
The rose lifted slightly toward the vehicle.
“I mean it.” Maria opened the passenger door and entered.
He stood on the sidewalk watching the Range Rover pulled away, reached the corner, and turned before the light changed red.
Then it was gone.
The evening had moved smoothly until the vehicle arrived. Too smoothly, perhaps.
The game victory. The recruiting emails. Maria’s attention. Dinner. Her arm wrapped around his.
For a few hours, Cortez had felt lifted beyond the usual complications of his life. Then Maria’s mother had appeared and reminded him that every world came with rules he might not understand.
He entered the subway alone. The long journey back toward the Bronx unfolded beneath fluorescent light. Cortez put on headphones and selected music loud enough to cover the train’s grinding wheels.
He tried not to replay the extraction. The name Mee-Kyong. Her mother’s eyes.
He hoped it was nothing.
A strict parent or a family obligation, perhaps.
He had only begun learning Maria. He enjoyed how easy the evening felt, even when her questions forced him to look harder at himself.
There had been no old arguments, no accusations, no cheating, no history waiting to reopen every time one of them breathed incorrectly.
Maria was new terrain.
Cortez wanted the chance to explore it before something complicated the path.
The train carried him north. He was not returning to Antonio’s house.
It was still Evelyn’s weekend...
———————————————
Last Sunday morning had been different. Strange. He and his mother had occupied the kitchen without hostility. She had eaten the breakfast he cooked. Complimented him. Allowed silence to exist without treating it as disrespect. Cortez had wondered whether exhaustion had lowered the walls between them, whether peace might become more than a temporary accident. By the time he reached Evelyn’s building, he understood the truce had expired. He could hear the argument before the elevator doors finished opening onto the fifth floor.
Two familiar voices carried through the hallway: Evelyn and Lauri.
The words were muffled behind apartment 5G, but the proverbial heat inside them traveled through wood and drywall without difficulty. Cortez reached the door and the volume increased the moment he stepped inside. Evelyn stood near the living room with anger tightening every curve of her body. Lauri faced her several feet away, shoulders high and jaw set, looking as if she had been attempting to retreat before deciding she refused to let the final accusation stand unanswered.
“I don't give a damn who he is, where you met him or what he do! You are a child! Sixteen years old! I do not want my daughter hanging around some twenty year old boy!”
“Why, Ma? Why? Shane is cool peoples! It ain't even like that! Why are you making a big deal out of this!? He came along to make sure I was good. The people I was supposed to work with was unprofessional, unprepared and untimely. What? You want them to shake me down too? You should be thankful I got friends who look out for me!”
She stepped too close. Her voice carried too much passion. Neither registered Cortez standing near the door.
Evelyn’s hand moved faster than the room could process.
The slap cracked across Lauri’s face. Her head turned from the impact.
For one suspended second, everything stopped.
Lauri recoiled.
Shock appeared first. Her hand rose toward her cheek without touching it, as though part of her still expected the pain to vanish before her fingers arrived. The fire remained in her eyes.
“Watch yo' damn tone with me!” Evelyn’s voice climbed into the dangerous pitch that always arrived before the apartment became something worse.
“You think you grown? You ain't grown enough to get your ass beat!”
Shock drained from Lauri’s face. Hurt and rage flooded into the space it left.
“Cazzo!” Italian surfaced whenever English could no longer hold everything she felt. “Ne ho piene le palle di 'sta merda!”
She turned to storm toward the bedroom. Evelyn reached for her. Cortez crossed the room before conscious thought could catch up.
“Aye! Aye! Chill with that!” He forced himself between them, using his body to separate mother from daughter.
Evelyn attempted to reach around him as Lauri tried to pull free.
“What the hell is wrong with y'all!? Stop this shit right now!”
Cortez looked directly toward his sister. “Go to your room, sis. Please. Now.”
Lauri backed away. Her palm pressed against the cheek Evelyn had struck. Tears gathered against the lower edges of her eyes, bright beneath the living-room light.
She refused to let them fall.
“Bro, you see this?! This is exactly what I'm talking about!” Her words were aimed past Cortez toward their mother. “You always gotta put yo' fuckin' hands on me! Ti odio da morire!”
Lauri spun and stormed down the hallway. Her bedroom door slammed hard enough to rattle photographs against the wall.
“You don't slam no fucking doors in my house, little bitch!” Evelyn breathed heavily as she pushed against Cortez, trying to force her way around him.
“Cortez! Move!”
“Yeah, nah, that's not happening!” Cortez planted his feet.
His mother shoved again. He absorbed it without moving more than half a step.
“You seriously need to calm down, leave her alone!”
“Cortez, I swear to God, if you don't...” Evelyn stopped pushing. Her voice lowered as she attempted to recover the authority brute force had failed to produce.
“That's MY child! You not gonna tell me who to leave alone!”
“I'm not letting you through. So you may as well just take a breather and calm down.”
Cortez remained between Evelyn and the hallway. The apartment filled with hard breathing and whatever music leaked faintly from a neighbor’s wall. He waited, hoping enough silence might lower the temperature.
“What's got you trippin'? What happened between y'all?”
“Shane! That friend of hers!” Evelyn threw one hand toward Lauri’s bedroom. “Some twenty year old boy she's running around here wit'! Caught their asses hangin' around in the courtyard. Talking about, 'he was making sure she'd get home safely.”
Her fingers made sharp air quotes. “ Safe my ass. More like sniffing around for something specific, I bet.”
“Shane?” Cortez sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Nah, you got that all wrong. We knew him for a hot minute. I had that same run-in with him initially too, but he don't paint himself that kind of dude. He's straight.”
Evelyn’s eyebrow lifted. She examined Cortez’s face for deception. He believed what he was saying. That did not mean she planned to accept it.
“How you know? You around him all the time? You know what kinda shit he gets into when he thinks nobody lookin'?” Her arms folded tightly across her chest.
“Besides, even if he's 'straight,' that don't change the fact that he's too old for my baby. Ain't no young man concerned about a teenager's safety unless he wants somethin'.”
“Yo, you really blowing this ish out of proportion, for real.” Cortez released a hard breath.
The frustration from the evening began curdling into something darker. Earlier, Maria’s mother had looked at him with the same instinctive suspicion.
Someone near her daughter. A male whose intentions had not yet been proven.
But Maria had been twenty. Lauri was sixteen.
He understood the concern, but he could care less to understand the handprint rising across his sister’s cheek.
“Look, I'm not gonna tell you how to prejudicially feel about someone, that's on you. But, 'your baby'? Nobody lays hands on her, not even you. I don't care if she's your child, that's my sister, she's forever under my protection.”
Evelyn’s jaw tightened. Her anger sharpened around the challenge.
“You saying I can't discipline my own daughter?” Her voice dropped dangerously low. “You not gonna be around forever.”
She stepped closer. Cortez towered over her, but Evelyn looked up without hesitation. Whatever pain lived beneath her anger made her seem larger than height could measure.
“And let's get something straight, little boy—I raised you both. That means I can and WILL put my hands on either of you if you deserve it. Age and gender don't factor into that equation.”
The apartment became still.
Cortez looked into his mother’s face. Sunday morning flashed through his mind for a brief moment.
Breakfast. Orange juice. Her quiet thank-you. The temporary softness in her eyes while admitting she had been too busy to see them grow. That woman felt like someone he had imagined, a projection created by exhaustion and dawn light. The woman before him carried the old certainty that parenthood gave her ownership over their bodies. That pain became discipline as long as she administered it. That love could exist comfortably beside fear if she called both by the right names.
“Nah...” Cortez shook his head once slowly. He locked his eyes onto hers.
“You wacked out. You not putting hands on us, especially Lauri...”
Evelyn stared back.
Cortez looked her up and down as though seeing her entirely different. Every weekend visit that had begun with hope and ended with one of the siblings counting hours until Monday.
“Nah... this ain't it. This ain't what we're here for... I don't know what you got going on in your life, but we wants no part of it...”
He stepped backward, creating enough room to make the decision real.
Cortez turned his head toward the closed bedroom door. “Yo kid! come out, we're leaving...”
The come down had found Cortez before he reached home. He had spent the previous twenty-four hours climbing.
Tottenville's defeat. Meeting Greg Schiano. College programs discovering his name. Maria’s arm linked through his while carrying a rose. Every moment lifting him farther above the streets, the old wounds, and the apartment where too much of his childhood remained trapped.
Then the Range Rover. The train ride back to the Bronx. His mother’s palm struck his sister’s face.
The come down felt so alive.
Scrapes and bruises was never quiet in the Terrano family. It breathed, it kicked and screamed. It loved you so hard in one place that it fractured around others.
But this time, at least for Cortez, for the sake of his sister, that kind of reality—enough was enough...
but I dig the improvements