Under Locke

by Mariana Zapata

Even my butthole tensed up in frustration

“You know when you meet someone and you’re immediately annoyed?” He laughed. “It’s her face,

In fact, it was a pale, handsome face—if you liked that rugged, late-thirties, bad-man type.

Sheeeit.

Relaxed and strong, reeking of all the shits he didn't give.

whether or not I'd stopped thinking about my dad years ago, the effect he'd left on me had been stored into the recesses of my consciousness.

"Oh, I know you're not," the smug jerk said. Both my eyebrows went straight up. It was impossible to understand what it was about his little challenges that had started baiting me every single time. "How do you know that?" Those pink corners of his mouth tipped up even higher. "I told you last night you weren't gonna anymore."

"Baby, just cuz you're cute doesn't mean I wasn't bein' serious about spankin' your tight little ass for doin' dumb shit. You do it again, and you're gonna get it."

"They used to call me ‘Gingervitis.’" He paused. "‘Cinnamon dick.’"

I was made of tougher stuff than that.

It should probably bother me that he called me a little shit, but with the big grin on his face and the loud burst of his laugh, I kind of thought that he was using it as a pet name.

It had to be some weird mom instinct that gave them bullshit meters.

"God gave us all these teeth so that we could eat hamburgers, chicken, meat. Not no damn black bean burgers."

“Babe, you go to the library, and you read romance books with a big-ass smile on your face. You still say ‘cool,’ and I just heard you recitin’ each line from the movie.” “It’s a good movie,” I tried to justify it. I’d seen all of the boy wizard’s movies at least three times each.

"I used to want to back when I was a kid, but… shit doesn't always work out that way, you know?" There were no truer words that could have been said for me to understand completely.

The teenage graffiti artist who turned into a tattoo artist? Perfect.

It’s not too late to learn to be good at something, right?”

that was money I didn't have either, dang it. Why exactly couldn't it grow on trees?

"You go, and I'm comin' after you, babe."

I'd been the one stuck with the memories and the wishes.

What had started as a headache didn't need to become a nightmare.

I hoped. To God. And maybe even a few other deities.

meaningless on top of mindless.