Janesway
If you closed your eyes, you could already imagine the feeling of tranquility. The touch of beauty as shades of pink and blue cotton-candy skies collided in the distance. The wind in the grass and dancing foxtails all around you. A simple bliss I took for granted. This was my moment of isolation. This was Janesway Park.
I often found myself drawn to this place when I was at a loose end. On summer mornings, the sky was always clear and peaceful, while at night, you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face—it was pitch black.
The bright afternoon sun beat down on my bare legs as I leaned against the trunk of a willow tree, a cigarette resting between my fingers as I flipped through my sketchbook. The blue cover was folded back, revealing the clean, empty pages beneath it. It was bigger than my hand with only thirty-five pages. My thumbs rubbed on the rough-textured paper. What would it be if I could imagine something more remarkable than cotton-candy skies?
My pencil pressed against the paper, shading back and forth, watching the Valspar gray emerge like magic. The waves broke over each other once they touched the grainy, dotted sand. The background was tinted with a light shade, leaving space for a few clouds.
With another inhale off my cigarette, I gazed at the five-minute sketch.
It felt good to exhale my thoughts on paper. I pressed the pencil down one last time.
Janis Isabella Miriam.
Venice Beach, California.
Paradise.
I shut my sketchbook, taking care not to tear the delicate pages, and tucked it away in my honey-yellow backpack, which had seen better days. The fabric was frayed from all the times I’d dragged it around the park.
To the far right of me were four high school students playing loud music and sitting on a park bench. Looking at the black-and-yellow cans, I knew what kind of beer they were drinking. I could tell you the exact price and liquor store they got it from because it’s the same one I go to, two blocks down, where they don’t ask for ID.
The boys held skateboards as their laughter echoed. One of them noticed me, and his face lit up with a smile. He turned and said something to his friend before waving in my direction.
Did he recognize me? I usually kept to myself unless it concerned my job.
“Hey?” he said, getting up to walk over toward me. “Janis, is that you?”
Squinting to get a better look, I realized who he was—a former classmate and old friend. His face was hidden under a knitted beanie where his long, dirty blond hair fell onto his shoulders.
I stiffened as he walked over. It had only been a few years since we had last spoken.
He sat next to me, using his skateboard as a chair.
“How’s it going?” he said, offering me a cigarette from a pack he’d pulled from his pocket. He talked to me as if I were a lost puppy. It made me feel ill. “I could hardly tell it was you. If it weren’t for those long, blond locks of yours, I’d assume you were lost in Janesway.”
Janesway was a small town surrounded by more prominent cities. The signs welcoming newcomers were boastful of its speed limits, hoping to lure cars off the highway and onto their streets. It was the rock among trees, a town you stop in to get gas and take a scenic picture near the river on your way to Dallas. The Janesway River split it in two, with blue-and-white lines marking the boundaries at each end of town. North and south, two parts that never crossed.
The North Side was a place where families escaped the hustle and bustle of city life. It hugged the famous river that separated the two neighborhoods. There was only one high school, grocery store, park, and movie theater. Being on the same wavelength was essential here since you probably knew someone in each shop you went into. Unfortunately, this drained my energy because I could never make small talk as easily as Janesway could.
The South Side was sparsely populated. Crime, gangs, and drugs ran rampant, with no high schools, grocery stores, parks, or movie theaters around. All I knew was what the northerners joked about it—I hadn’t visited the area. It was a place that I’d been warned was dangerous.
I accepted the cigarette Marco offered, and before he had a chance to light it for me, I snatched the lighter and lit it myself.
“Thank you,” I said.
“So, it’s Sunday,” he said. “Last weekend ever in high school.” He rolled the pack around. “I was wondering…”
I inhaled the smoke.
“Are you selling? It’s cool if you ain’t.”
And then I exhaled.
“Just pot,” I said.
Marco looked behind him and nodded at his friends.
“Gram,” he said, handing me a wrinkled ten-dollar bill. “Please. If not, it’s okay. I’m just planning to hang out with the choir kids back there and you’re the only dealer I know on the North Side.”
I dug into my backpack until I felt a plastic baggy tucked into the corner.
“Here you go,” I said.
He grinned while smelling it as I looked at the street, avoiding eye contact. I played around with the cigarette in my fingers, waiting for him to put the bag away.
“You know, I don’t see you at school anymore. I thought you moved away to Dallas or something,” he said after a long pause. “It wasn’t until Zoey over there told me you sold her brother some weed a couple days ago. I couldn’t believe it was you.”
“Dropped out two years ago. I don’t go outside much.”
“Ah. Are you still skating?” He tapped his fingers against his board.
“No.” I shrugged. “It’s been a while.”
“Oh. We used to skate together all the time as kids. It’s funny how time flies, ain’t it?”
I looked at his board as if it resembled my old one. Beaten up and chipped, like he used it all day.
“Anyway, graduation’s tomorrow,” Marco said with a wide smile.
“I heard.”
“It just blows my mind. I never thought I’d achieve anything in life. Look at me, though; I did it. I’m getting my diploma and all, might even go to college—who knows?”
“Good for you,” I said.
“You know, Jan, it ain’t never too late to go back.”
“Back where?”
“Back to school,” he said, still smiling.
I looked down at the wrinkled ten-dollar bill tucked into my hand.
“I’m good,” I said, smirking. “Besides, I got a job now.”
“What? This? Selling weed at a park?” he said, laughing, probably hoping this wasn’t what I meant.
“Why are you even here?” I said, furrowing my brow.
He looked down at the grass and rubbed his hands against the lining of his board. Who was he to tell me what to do with my life? He didn’t even know what I’d been through.
“You’re right,” he said. “I ain’t meaning to offend. Do you want to join us? We got some beer.”
I looked back at his friends, watching us from a distance.
“I gotta go,” I said and stood up.
“Janis, wait.”
He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and doodled on it with his pen. He then folded the paper and gave it to me.
“This is my number,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “If you ever wanna hang out.”
The folded paper in my hand felt warm as I slid it into my back pocket, wiping my palms on my shorts. I waved goodbye, turned around, and walked toward the street.
”Jan?” he called.
“Yeah?”
“You’re too smart for this.”
Pursing my lips, I turned and walked on.
Marco’s comment angered me and struck like lightning. What if he was right? I hated admitting other people were right, yet I had to face my mistakes. Janesway seemed inevitable. I couldn’t help being born in a small town without opportunities for change.
The following day, I woke up early and decided to go for a walk before my dad came out to the living room. He always stayed up late, yet had a strong habit of waking early. He wasn’t a fan of staying sober too long.
After brushing my teeth, I splashed cold water on my face and went to the fridge to grab my favorite black-and-yellow can.
I walked over to my old high school with the open beer in a paper bag. The taste of the bitterness on my tongue was enough to start my morning. I took a couple more sips and leaned against the football-field gate. Today was crucial for others, but it was such a dreadful time for me. All the familiar faces sat together in plastic folding chairs, wearing the same outfits.
Dark-blue gowns that matched their dark-blue caps.
These were my old high school colors. They had a picture of the mascot, a sloth, printed on a giant banner above the ceremony. I smiled at the memories of first seeing this sloth as a kid.
After several minutes, the ceremony began, and they called out each name through the speakers.
Claire Adams was the popular girl who wore high heels on her first day of freshman year. She bullied me until we had a science project together. After that, we’d stay up laughing until we couldn’t breathe.
Briana Axel was the teacher’s pet in the third grade. Her hair was always in a slick ponytail. She was my best friend, the first to introduce me to video games. She and I would play together every Saturday. Her momma baked the best apple pies.
Kyle Crass’s name was called. He was my middle school crush and first kiss. He once kissed me before my math class, and I sat there for forty-five minutes with the biggest smile on my face.
Jack Dapper, the high school’s football star. The first time I ever drank a beer was with him after a game. I swore I was drunk after the first sip.
The Fowler twins would skip school to hang out at the park, where they would smoke cigarettes on that same bench.
Edward Jackson failed every history and English test and was held back for two years straight. Dropping out wasn’t an option for him. He’d rather fail than quit.
These were the graduating people, with me stuck on the other side of the fence.
They called out Marco Lopez, who stood up with his fists in the air as his friends cheered him on.
“Marco, Marco, Marco,” they chanted as he danced up to the stage to grab his diploma and shake hands with the principal before scramming back to his seat.
I could point out most of the names that were called out, as each person had a memory attached to them. These were my friends—well, old friends. I wondered if they’d even recognize me.
As the ceremony ended, the graduates tossed their caps in the air, hugging each other while everyone cheered. I couldn’t stop smiling. This was it, a group of people I’d been with my whole life, experiencing such a special moment without me. In the pit of my stomach, I felt a sharp pain that zapped up to my heart. I would never be able to get this moment back.
Marco shouted with his friends as they high-fived each other. He no longer had his beanie on but, sure enough, he kept his skateboard in his hands.
My thoughts made me feel warm inside. I imagined myself in the middle of the crowd, feeling the silk cap between my fingers.
I turned around because I couldn’t take it. One of my biggest regrets was dropping out of Janesway High, even though I didn’t have a choice; it was something I had to do for the sake of my family.
Why was I even here? What did I expect? For them to call my name after I magically appeared on the other side of the fence?
The last sip of beer tasted sweet as it slid down my throat. I dropped the empty can on the ground and crushed it with my shoe.
“Hey-yo, Janis!” Marco said, running toward me, smiling. “You’re here! Living that party life, huh?” He pointed at my crushed beer can on the sidewalk.
“All day, all night,” I said, trying to think of an excuse for being here other than the fact that I wanted to see my old class graduate. “I just wanted to say…congratulations.”
“Oh, thanks. I’m finally free—no more school! I ain’t never going back.”
We rested against the fence that separated us. Marco chewed his lip as if he was struggling to find the words he wanted to say.
“Look,” he said, “I wanted to talk to you about this yesterday.”
“What?”
“Remember when we used to skate together as kids in middle school, well, I kinda always had this silly crush on you. I loved watching you skate. You were the coolest girl I’d ever met, but I know life happens. Anyway, my friends and I going to Los Angeles this summer, and I have an extra seat if you want to join in. My cousin has extra rooms, and we’re going to surf all day. You know, bonfires, beer, parties. It’d be fantastic if you could come with us.”
“Um…I…”
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, and the sensation bolted up my spine. There was only one person who called this phone.
“Hold that thought,” I said to Marco. I answered the phone: “What is it?”
“Get home now,” my dad said and hung up.
Marco stood there, waiting for an answer.
“I ain’t that same girl. I have things I need to do, but have fun for me, will ya?”
I started walking away, then turned around to give him a wave.
He waved back and said, “Call me!”
My little brown house was squished in the middle of my neighborhood. Piles of dead weeds were scattered over the pavement, and a twisted tree stump rested forgotten in one corner. An old American flag flew from the roof of my house, slapping against a metal pole with each gust of wind. We had abandoned garden pots that collected dust and long spider webs that spun up to the corners of our front door.
I placed my key inside the lock and had to shake and twist the doorknob a couple times before it finally unlocked. I used all my body weight to push open the door. The smell inside the house was horrendous, especially in the summer. The mix of mold, rotting food, and rat feces tainted the air, and it was enough to make others feel nauseous, though I was immune to it.
The fan whirred as I opened the window in our living room, stirring up dust. Even though I tried to ensure the house was neat, several beer cans were still scattered across the floor, though they hadn’t been here in the morning. He must have drank them all while I was gone.
“Scotch?” I never called him Dad. I always felt more comfortable calling him by his street name. It was his second-favorite drink. His first was tequila and coke, but he never admitted it because it reminded him too much of Momma.
“Scotch?”
He leaned against the kitchen counter, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He wore a stained white shirt, black pants, and old blue sneakers. The gray skin under his eyes sagged as if he were older than he actually was.
“If you’re going to drink beer this early, at least clean up your mess,” I said.
There was an empty trash bag near the fridge where I always put the empties. I assumed recycling would help make some extra cash on the side; Scotch didn’t care. Still, I placed the cans in the bag.
“And where were you?” he said, slurring his words in a broad Texan accent.
“Out.”
“Out? Business, Janis. You ain’t allowed to run around wasting my—” He burped and took another sip, forgetting what he was talking about. “Did ya sell yesterday?”
“Weed.”
“Weed?”
“Yes, just weed.”
“When? This mornin’?”
“Yesterday. I went to pick up some cigarettes just now and got distracted.” I reached into my wallet and pulled out the ten dollars Marco had given me yesterday. Scotch snatched the money from my hand and pushed it into his pocket, where I knew I’d never see it again.
“Distracted with what?”
“Look, I’m here now, so what’s the emergency?”
“We got a big snow order down on the South Side,” he said, gulping down the whiskey as if it were water.
“South Side? We never sell there, ain’t that J South Gang territory? They’re partnered with the cartel down in Mexico.”
The J South Gang started in 1997. They were the main reason why the north and the south divided. Although I hadn’t met anyone from the gang, I’d listened to stories from people I’d sell drugs to. So it was obvious I needed to avoid that place at all costs.
“It was an offer your old man couldn’t refuse,” he said.
“Well, how big are we talkin’?”
“Our biggest one yet, Jan. Go ahead, take a peek.”
The lights dimmed as he shut the curtains, lifting a finger toward a black duffel bag on the kitchen table.
I stepped closer, my heart thumping like a drum. I grasped the zipper with my trembling fingers and pulled it down. Inside were two bricks of cocaine, stacked with precision and encased in thick, opaque plastic.
“Holy shit,” I mouthed as I looked over toward Scotch, whose eyes glistened with more joy than I’d ever seen. “How did you even get your hands on this?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “No offense, but you ain’t very trustworthy. You’re a drunk.”
“I met some folks at the bar last night,” he said, looking down at the tile, “a couple boys came up to me, had a small chat, pulled me aside, and asked for a favor. I said, ‘Buy me another drink if y’all really need my help.’ So they did, three of ’em, now that I think about it.”
“And these men…they trusted you?”
“Or was it four drinks…”
“Scotch, it doesn’t make sense that these men picked you out of anybody to give these drugs to J South Gang. What about T-Bum or Stevie from down the street? They help sell the harder drugs, so why’d they pick you?”
“Jan, my precious Jan. It’s all about presenting yourself, tellin’ people what they wanna hear. You know your old man knows all about business.”
Scotch sold cars in Dallas despite his seedy past. Every morning, he’d dress in a peachy pink suit and slick back his blond hair before pouring whiskey into his coffee. He said the alcohol freed him but also turned him into the world’s biggest manipulator.
“Okay,” I said, rubbing my eyes and trying my best to be the logical one. “How many grams of cocaine is this?”
He put up two fingers: “Kilos.”
“Two kilos!”
“Relax,” he said, opening up a can of beer and handing it to me. “Have a drink with me.”
“Dammit, Scotch,” I said, ignoring the can in front of my face. The stacks of cocaine on our kitchen counter gave me a heavy feeling in my stomach. “We could go to prison for years! I just turned eighteen. Remember my birthday? Or no, because you were too busy passing out at the bar. Call it off. We’ll move to bigger numbers when more people are on board, but for now, tiny baggies only.”
“You ain’t trustin’ me?” he said, frowning. “I’m the one that knows business!”
“Oh, please!”
“Who sold fifty cars in less than a year, Jan? Want me to take out my trophies so you can count ’em? Who’s the one that managed grocery stores and bought their own apartment before the age of twenty-five? Who’s got their associate’s degree in business? Who’s the one that’s got a diploma?”
Scotch waited for my response. If it were a couple days ago, I’d be chucking bottles, screaming, fighting, and ending up getting drunk with him after my anger finally settled. But instead, the image of Marco standing on the other side of the fence with his cap and gown made me feel at ease. Almost as if I was taking the next step in life with him. So I didn’t speak.
“Look, Jan,” he finally said, barely audible, “they want the drugs by tomorrow night. I need your help.”
“Do it yourself,” I said. “I ain’t going.”
“Dammit, listen to me!” He got in my face. “This is your job, you hear? How many kids in Janesway have a job right now? They’re still stuck in school with no money. You’re so good at this, honey. I’m very proud of you. If we do this right, we could leave Janesway. After this big move, you and I…we’re gone. We’ll get a big house with a pool and a yard or live in New York with your aunt. All right? Just this one time. After this, we ain’t sellin’ no more. No drugs, no beer…just the ol’ American dream.”
“No.”
“Think about it,” he said, putting down his bottle. “I’ll sober up, promise. We could leave this town and move to wherever we want. Heck, we could leave the country.” He looked deep in my eyes. “Fifty thousand dollars.”
Fifty thousand dollars.
I froze.
“You see what I’m saying now, Jan? This is our ticket out. It’ll be easier than pickin’ an apple off a tree.”
“I know what you’re doing,” I said, shaking my head as I stepped away from him. “It ain’t gonna be that easy. You’re just using me as bait. We don’t even have a car.”
“Then walk.”
“What?”
“Take a bus and walk.”
“You want me to walk, really? With all this cocaine in a duffel bag? Do you want me to take a nice moonshine stroll down to the South Side? I bet these men got you so drunk out of your mind so you’d agree. Find someone else.”
“Dammit!” Scotch banged his fist on the counter.
“What? Finally realizing that was a bad move? If Momma was here, she’d shove you out of the house for getting me involved.”
With the darkest fury in his eyes, he grabbed the collar of my Dallas T-shirt and slammed my body into the old refrigerator. My heart fell as I realized I’d let the monster out of its cage again. He cuffed his dirt-stained hand around my neck as if it were a bottle. Struggling to breathe, I kept eye contact with him as the lights flickered in the background.
“Listen here. I better ain’t never hear you speak about Momma again. We don’t talk about her in this house anymore.”
“Get off,” I said with a hoarse voice.
“Take it back.”
“Momma died because of you,” I said, forcing out all the air I had left in my lungs. “Because you’d rather go to the bar than share a single damn meal with her.”
“Tomorrow afternoon, Jan,” he said without missing a beat. “You walk there, hand them the drugs, and get our money.”
He released his hand from my throat, and I sank to the floor, coughing and gasping until I could catch my breath.
“So what?” I said. “So you can drown yourself in booze? Die already. I hate you!”
He was walking out of the kitchen, but something made him stop at the doorway.
“What?” I said.
“I’m sorry, Jan. I ain’t gotta choice, you know? They didn’t give me that option.”
He walked out of the kitchen, then I heard the front door close.
The silence was so loud as I leaned against the fridge with my sore back and bruised neck. The thought of graduating with my high school class lingered in my mind like a song stuck in my head. Finally, I grabbed the beer he’d offered me and drank the night away.
