The Birth of Bane by Richard Heredia Page A

touchy or potentially embarrassing through the
years.
    Instead, we used
it as a means to get to know one another on more levels than we
probably would’ve if it hadn’t hurt her so much and we’d gone at it
like a couple of monkeys in a tree. Don’t get me wrong. We weren’t
suddenly saints, walking the streets, handing out blessings to the
masses and such. We still found time to shed our clothing and
explore, taking our time with things we had rushed in the past. We
were learning. We had fun. I was beginning to understand there was
a lot more to Myra Arroyo than I had first anticipated. Yeah, she
might be crude at times, a little off beat with her sexual
tendencies and total lack of self-consciousness when it came to
anything involving her body, but that didn’t in any way translate
to a lack of depth. Myra was a deep well just like so many other
women I’ve come to know along the path of my life. She just hid the
fact she was like all the others of her gender better than most.
Only those who were special to her got to see what she was really
made of.
    I was glad. I
took the time to want to know her. I felt blessed that she felt
comfortable enough to express it to me.
    After one such
Saturday afternoon in my room, I’d been sitting amongst some of the
new wicker furniture my mother had purchased for the screened-in
portion of the front porch. I was ruminating over my girlfriend
when Valerie walked out through the front door, a book in hand. I
felt her gaze upon me, but didn’t want to rouse myself from
thoughts of my girl.
    “ You really like
her, huh?” asked my sister, after a time.
    My eyes met
hers, a smile of acquiescence plain upon my lips.
    “ Stupid
question?” she queried for a second time, opening the screen door
and taking a seat in an identical chair.
    “ Not stupid,
sis,” I said as I watched her come nearer. “Obvious might be a
better word.”
    She huffed,
chortling. “Just don’t get all caught up in the mix.” There was a
thread of sisterly concern attached.
    “ What
‘mix’?”
    “ She’s just a
little ‘looser’ than the other girls you’ve dated,” she said as a
matter of fact, opening her book where she’d marked it. Then, she
stopped to peer directly into my eyes. “There’s more to us girls
than what’s between our legs.”
    Her candidness
made me laugh out loud.
    “ What?” she
asked through her bangs, her eyebrows rising.
    “ You’re too
funny sometimes, sis.”
    “ Don’t forget
what I said.”
    Chuckling, I
replied: “I won’t.” Valerie had never shown concern in the past,
especially of this nature.
    I was beginning
to wonder if there was more to 1052 Lincoln Drive than I could’ve
dreamed. We were all changing. Whether we realized it or not, we
were.
     
    *****
     
    That Tuesday,
when Valerie and I got home from school, my mother came running
down the stairs to meet us halfway between the street and the
house.
    Immediately, I
was scared. I figured my father had come home early and had done
something to her, because her face was streaked with dirt, her
hands were filthy and there were cobwebs in her long, straight
black hair. But, I was wrong.
    She led Valerie
by the hands and beckoned me to follow.
    When we reached
the patio below the kitchen windows, she sat down on one of the two
stairs, pulling my sister down with her. I remained standing a few
feet away. The slope of the hill was such that my head was only a
foot and a half above there’s.
    “ What’s this
about, mom?” asked Valerie, her petite brow furling.
    My mother
actually giggled like a schoolgirl.
    My sister and I
exchanged a glance, eyes a little wide with surprise.
    “ Last night,”
began my mother, bun-walking upon the concrete, moving closer
toward Valerie. She held both of my sister’s hands within hers. “I
had this dream - this very vivid dream. I was walking around the
yard, looking for things to weed or prune or cut back. You know
just aimlessly walking about with some