Josée Angel Ramirez is California-based. She is learning how to ride a skateboard, is into science fiction & fantasy & hopes to graduate high school eventually & be who she is meant to be. But for now, she’s going to focus on writing & hopes you like her words.
Excerpt - The Vans Half Cab Legend of Pasadena Heights.
by Josée Angel Ramirez
I am holding in my hands a 1992 Vans Half Cab Shoe – only one, not two.
It’s black with a white sole, broken & worn down, the left shoe (which is missing the right)
I am in the attic of my mom & dad’s house in South Pasadena. It’s on the street **** near the intersection of **** & ****. I’ve just come from my dad’s funeral that was held with an empty casket because no one knows where the body is (This is the story that hopes to find out where)
The rest of the family is two stories down & I can hear everything they’re saying because everything in this house has creaks & gaps for words to fall through & into. If I walk to the far wall by the tiny window facing out to the street & whisper into the crusting, decaying frame a secret, someone in this house, very faintly, will hear & know. So, I have to be very quiet (& so do you) What I am about to tell you is only meant for your ears & no one else, so if I tell you the secret about this shoe – only one, not two – you can’t speak it to anyone else. If you speak a secret against the wishes of the one telling you what it is, you risk very much. This house itself is held together by secrets & if someone were to let even a tiny bit of one out, it would fall apart & in on itself like a collapsing star.
That’s why you hear everyone downstairs speaking softly & not really talking to but talking around. There’s a big difference between the two. Talking around is saying something like “There are a lot of clouds in the sky today.” Talking to is “I know it’s going to rain.” (not implying or inferring what could be but stating what is) Talking around is sipping tea from a teacup looking with your eyes into the liquid until your vision blurs with avoidance. Talking to? It’s holding the teacup at your chest & not worrying about it getting cold because you have something important that you have to say with your eyes.
My dad knew how to talk around, but he preferred to talk to. And I’m sitting here, on my knees, before this greyed & worn breadbox, holding The Vans Half Cab Legend of Pasadena Heights’ shoe (only one, not two)
(…)
You ever heard of the ’81 Mullen Gazelle Flip? It’s like a combination of a backside 360, 360 flip & a big flip (You have to rotate the board one & a half times, kickflip & a do full backside rotation all at once)
You could practice for years & never be able to execute the trick.
(I am going to move over to the tiny window facing out to the street & whisper into the worn-down, crusting & decaying frame the secret of this shoe & the ‘81 Mullen Gazelle Flip & maybe you’ll hear it)
(****)
(***)
(!)
It is said that the universe we inhabit is filled with billions upon billions of galaxies, trillions of stars & an uncountable number of planets, moons, asteroids, comets, clouds, dust & gas, swirling in the overwhelming vastness of space. Hydrogen, helium – things you can’t see – dark matter, but more, dark energy, at once collapsing in on itself but also expanding. We do not understand the nature of this universe – we only call these things ‘dark’ because it is said that we simply can’t define what it is around us. The vast majority of what we exist in we cannot define, understand or know. So, if everything around us is mystery, whatever it is that we do in opposition to break these laws will?
(…)
(“J.”)
(Take a long pause & forget about everything I’ve said to you & come with me into a memory)
(…)
“J.”
(He held my hand & talked to me) It’s my first memory of my Dad. He was teaching me how to ride & I had fallen only a few seconds in on the sidewalk in front of our house. My Dad cradled & carried me to our front porch step (a large slab of concrete that he would always tip his toe, but never step on) Like he was in a street ballet & always performing for a crowd. My knee was bleeding & he put his handkerchief on it (“All gentlemen must carry a handkerchief, J.”) I remember that he took it from his suit pocket & flicked it with a flourish before pressing it down on my knee (& it stung because he scented it with cinnamon & peppermint, but it helped)
“J.” He smiled. “What is the rule?” (I didn’t tell him because it felt like it was more important for him to answer his own question)
“J. If we fall down, but we’re trying & we’re kind to ourselves, we always get back up, or we let someone help us up.”
My father continued to press his handkerchief into my knee & it hurt less.
“One day, I’ll be old. Yeah, that’s right. I’ll be an old man & won’t be able to do those tricks that you see me do at the park. It’s gonna make you sad, J. You’re gonna see me & wonder what happened to me - where did I go? So, you know what you do, huh? You see me fall down, you come get me & you take your handkerchief (because you’re gonna be a gentleman) & you put it on my knee. You pick me up. Alright, J? We got a deal?”
First memory. First memories make an impression. The universe we inhabit is filled with billions upon billions of galaxies, trillions of stars (& an untold amount of first memories & impressions) And right now, only this one matters.
(My Dad knew. He knew. He knew)
(…)
(I need to find him)
JR
Other excerpts from the Anthology (click on an individual’s name to read more)
Dior Rouge by Leigh González
The First Kiss in a New Body by jo pereira
I Asked For Space To Write To You About Love by A I Michael