The Overpass

Author: Joe Basile
Date: 7/7/2018

The Overpass


Around a slow, crackling, campfire, sat the likes of Enrique; Jack, and the one they would call, “Mama Rita”. After a run-in with the law, Enrique found sanctuary in a community living under an overpass. At first, he felt his presence to be a temporary arrangement. But, after feeling the warmth; love, and charitable kindness from “Mama Rita”, he felt inclined to stay. And Mama Rita couldn’t ever take “no” for an answer. He missed his hometown and family, back in Chiuaha, Mexico, but had to make due with the circumstances given. The only way he could reconcile with his Madr’e and Poppa now, would be to reminisce about their cooking, whenever Mama Rita lit up a fire and threw on whatever happened to be her “catch of the day”. Tonight, it was squirrel.

If he twisted his squirrel on a stick, just right, he could detect hints of charred Poblano peppers. When he tore off its flesh, he could savor the taste of slow-roasted goat, if he closed his eyes hard enough. The only thing missing from his homelife fantasy, was some of his Grandma’s classic salsa verd’e. He just couldn’t seem to replicate that taste, no matter how hard he tried.

Enrique leaned over to Jack and offered him a piece. Wondering if maybe somebody else could taste his homeland. “You want some, senor’?” His words were muffled by half macerated squirrel and broken English.

“Ain’t ya learnt how ta talk yet there, sonny? I couldn’t hear a damn thing ya said.” Jack whacked Enriques shin with his cane, more-so aiming for his knee. Jack was a mean old drunk, with some left-over racist tendencies, back before karma inflicted him with a cataract disease. Now he had to rely hand-and-foot on people of color, to bring him, what an old; blind, decaying, man, could no longer provide for himself. “Here, eat”. Enrique brought the hunk of squirrel closer to Jacks nose. Jack fumbled his shaking hand toward the smell and popped it into his mouth. A rare grin crept up to Jacks lips.

“Say there, Mama Rita. That’s the best dang squirrel roast yet.” Mama Rita responded with a “mhmm”, in response to Jack. As if announcing her cooking was good was like announcing water was wet. Then, she picked up a pot and waddled over to the river. Setting it down on the shore-line to gather up large sticks. “Say, Enrique, could ya help me out real quick. An’ boil up this pot a wata?” Enrique swallowed his dinner and wiped the grease away from his light 5’oclock shaddow. Rubbing his hands on his tattered dark blue Levi’s. “Si’, Madre Rita!” He ran over to help her.

Enrique took the pot of water, but Mama Rita held on. Not letting go at first. “No honey, it’s MA-MA Rita, child. Say it wit me.” Enriques light green eyes peered up at Mama Rita, as he lipped out the word “Mama”, sounding it out with her. “I reckon he’d drop that Mexican shit by now, tell ya what.” Jacks aging vocal chords just barely registered over the roar of the river.
Hip raised; eyes daggered, sticks dropped, Jack caught the wrath of a full-attentioned Mama Rita lashing. “At least he learnin’, ya ain’t learnt how to do a damn thang but be a grumpy old coot. You bout as helpful as wata on a grease fire. Shoot.”

Nearby community dwellers laughed as they hung up their laundry. Throwing their garments over a fish-line, connected by two adjacent trees. Jack sat quiet and toothpicked out some squirrel meat.


Enrique built the fire back up to a roaring flame and heaved a rusted out BBQ grate on top. Then, placed the pot of water on the grate and waited for the bubbles to pop up. Mama Rita waddled her wide frame back from the river, wincing as she stepped over the sharp rocks. She plopped herself down on a log next to Enrique, letting out a sigh of labored breathing. “Oh lawt almighty. This fanny is fat and these bones is old.” Mama Rita placed her feet on Enriques lap, letting him work his “latino magic” as she put it.

Jack tried sneaking a swig out of his flask. Mama Rita's head snapped back up. “Nuh-uh Mr. Jack! You best put that poison down, right now! Ya know betta.” Jack capped his flask and placed it back in his tattered sock. Complaining under his breath.

“Jack, honey, make yaself useful and widdle more sticks. They to your right, on the ground.” Jack felt around for the sticks and picked up the largest one. He then cracked open his Swiss Army knife and began whittling a spear with expert level precision. Enrique looked at Mama Rita and pointed up, then down, indicating nightfall. He became good at his own made-up version of sign language. A skill he attained while too busy on the road. Way too busy to sit down and learn a fucked up language such as American English, in its entirety.

Mama Rita adjusted her robust behind over her log and poked the fire with a stick. Manipulating the tree branches so they’d burn more effectively. “Yeah, I know, I know… but we ain’t got no clean drinkin’ water. Once this batch is done we’ll wrap it up fo’ the night. Alright, honey?” Enrique nodded.

Now having taken Enrique under her wing, Mama Rita became more paranoid over what she called “the invaders”. Enrique never quite understood what she meant by “invaders”. But then again, most of the language around him consisted of merely sounds and noises he never understood. He learned a few common greetings. After his 8th winning-streak knock out, from his days as a touring fighter, he also learned how to count up to 10 in English. After a few months of living with Rita and her “family”, he learned her commands. But mostly, he just went along with whatever was going on at the time, without fully understanding what it was they were doing before they did it.

The fire had to be stomped out before dark. Lanterns and flashlights were to be shut off. Everyone had to remain quiet until sunrise. A quota of whittled spears and traps were to be made, every day. Whenever Mama Rita would yell the word “invaders”, everyone laid down flat from wherever they were, and remained quiet until Mama Rita announced it was clear. It’s just what they did, and Enrique went along with it. As long as he wasn’t in jail and had a meal to look forward to, he was happy.

Night had fallen and it was finally time to fill everyone's canteens. Enrique ran the cooled water through a tea cloth as all of the community dwellers lined up around the fire. He gave everyone their portion of water, as Mama Rita wrapped everyone in a blanket and walked them back to their tents.

Jack showed up last after whittling nearly twenty spears. His body shivered against the chill of the pacific northwest breeze. Something Enrique himself was still trying to get used to. “More-o, water-o, alright sonny? Did ya git that?” Enrique squinted his eyes. He had no idea what Jack said, but knew it had to be negative. Both of them had been at each others necks for no good reason ever since Mama Rita brought Enrique to their community.

“Agua, el’ pour-o, more.” Enrique squinted with even more confusion. “More ya dang wetback”, Jack impatiently barked out, as his cane whacked against Enriques shin. Wetback, was definitely a word Enrique had known. He remembered hearing it from a gringo tourist back in his country. And a few other times from when he was fighting in the ring. Heaps of popcorn and flying water bottles usually followed the word as it was yelled out from the crowd.

On top of that, he understood getting hit with a cane, as violence was a universal language. Instinctively, Enrique snatched Jacks cane and threw it in the river. He then yanked Jack by his red flannel and punched his eyebrow with a swift left hook. Enrique slipped a little on the forest debris as he swung, making his left hook not quite the devastating knockout blow it used to be. Still, Jacks frail bones dropped to the ground.

“Don’t...hit! Old man…” Enrique pointed his finger at Jack, just like his Mom used to do to him and his brothers back home. Jacks voice grew increasingly worried as he fumbled for his cane.”Now… why’d ya go and do that… I… can’t… I… need that, sonny…” Enrique quickly regretted what he did. Hitting an old man was one thing, but ripping away Jacks cane was like poking out somebody’s eyes. Enrique looked at the river, but saw no sign of the cane. The tide was just strong enough and the river was just deep enough, to snatch any loose object off and into oblivion.

Enrique ran down the riverbed to try and find the cane to no avail. Once he came back empty handed, he was now the one to face Mama Ritas wrath as she awkwardly sprinted down a nearby hill. “Jack! Oh lawt Jack, what’s wrong hunny? Ima comin’!” Jack curled in a ball and started shaking uncontrollably. His old man whimpers sounded like a rabbit caught in a bear trap, left alone to die a slow and painful death.

Mama Rita held him in her arms as she looked up to Enrique. “What on earth happen!? Wheres his stick? Enrique, boy, what happen!?” Enrique looked down solemnly. He tried explaining what happened with his hands, but the situation was far too complex to not put into words. “What the hell does that shit mean? Tell me, child!” Enrique buried his face in his hands and shook his head. “No otra vez”, (not again) he whispered to himself, then ran off into the pitch black woods.

Next morning, Enrique woke up to the smell of something he hadn’t smelled in years. Mama Ritas wide frame towered over him, blocking the sun. “Wake up my child, ya gonna need ya breakfast.” She held out a cast iron pan with a few unevenly cooked strips of bacon inside, cooling down in its own grease. Enrique sat up against a tree, brushed off the forest debris, and looked at Rita with a sense of confusion. Mama Rita leaned in forward impatiently, jabbing the pan in his scrawny sternum. “Boy ya know betta than ta turn down Mama Ritas cookin, eat child.” Enrique peeled off the cooled bacon strips from the pan and chewed. “Good, huh? Or uh.. Let’s see, Bueno, right?” Enrique couldn’t help but chuckle at Mama Ritas understanding of what the word meant, but not understanding a lick of its prononciation or dialect.

“Up my child, we got work to do”. Mama Rita smiled and picked Enrique up to his feeet.

They walked back to camp as long as it took for Enrique to run off. Seemed like miles. Mama Rita walked alongside Enrique, holding one of her spears. “Ya gots ta be careful out here, child. Invaders might see ya, and snatch ya up, (Mama Rita snaps her fingers) just like that. Happened to me befo’ I won’t let it happen again. No sir, mm mm.” There was that word again, invaders. Enrique looked at the ground the entire walk back, wondering what was waiting for him back at camp. Mama Rita continued on “Now, listen here, child… Jacks meaner than a hornets nest, when ya shake it real good. Can’t say I never wanted to pop him one ma’self.” Enrique nodded. He connected the word “Jack” and “child” with Ritas pleasant tone, hoping it meant he wasn’t in trouble.

“But listen here now, Jack ain’t got nobody else. Nada. Zip. His grandbaby left him out here, all alone. Jus’ drove away. I found him on his lonesome. Scared outta his pig headed mind. Jus like how I found you.” Ritas eyes connected with Enriques, as they crunched leaves under their feet with every step. “I don’t know your story, wish I could know… when I saw you gettin’ chased by the invaders, I knew you was scared. Needed help. That’s why I saved ya out here, in these here same parts as Jack.” Mama Rita stopped and took Enriques square jaw in her hand, as she looked slightly down into his eyes. “But I know you a fighta. Ya got the cauliflower ears.” Mama Rita chuckled as she pulled down on Enriques ears. Enrique smiled, feeling a warm presence. He remembered when his own Madre back home would pull on his ears, after he fought. Asking what happened to them. Rita placed her hands on his shoulders. “That’s good my child. Don’t ever lose that. But ya also can’t wallop on old men when they piss ya off either. Save it for the invaders, my child.”

Enrique nodded again. Not knowing a single thing that was just said. They made it back to camp.
Jack sat on a rock, holding his eye with an old bloody rag. He sat precariously toward Enrique and Mama Ritas direction, as if to add dramatic effect. Enrique walked up to Jack and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, Senor Jack”. Jack nodded his head quietly, usually one to correct any word in Spanish. But held back this time. Enrique looked around at the camp. Wooden spears and nasty looking traps laid everywhere. Like a huge African war tribe invaded the Vietcong, then dropped their spears and surrendered once they saw guns. Mama Rita stood on top of a rock on a hill, and made an announcement.

“My child Enrique is back y’all. I don’t want no mo’ fightin’ round here. Hear that y’all? Can I get a yes mam?” A silence fell. “I said...can I get a yes mam?” The surrounding camp all answered back, “yes mam!” in unison, Enrique trying his best to match what they said. Enrique held Jack by his hand to try and walk him to the campfire, Jack swatted it away. “I don’t need your help, sonny. What? Gonna pop me one again?” Jack picked up a nearby spear and used it to guide him back. Mama Rita held her hand over Enrique’s shoulder. “Don’t ya mind him, he’ll live. Go fetch us some mo’ firewood.” Enrique went off into the woods, looking around for sticks and wood with flammable potential.

Right as Enrique picked up his 5th batch of wood, he heard Mama Rita’s voice bellow off in the distance. “Invaders! Invaders! Everybody drop! Invaders!” Enrique and the nearby dwellers dropped to the ground. He was just about fifty yards away from camp, but the hill he had to climb down to get there was just at the right elevation to block any view of the camp below. Silence filled the air. The usual soundtrack of birds chirping in the forest played, but nothing else, for what seemed like an hour. But Enrique looked at his Casio and noticed only ten minutes go by. Just then, he heard a womans voice yell from below. A voice unfamiliar to him. “Hello?... Jack! Jack?... Are you around?... Jack?” Enrique heard Jacks weak voice croak out in the distance, in response. “Ar...Arlene? Is that you?...”

A momentary shriek pierced the air. Like a rat letting out its last yelp as it finds the cheese connected to a spring and a spike. Enrique heard a grunt from below. It was the sound he heard whenever Mama Rita tried doing something physically strenuous. Then a faint thud. “We all clear now, my children. Y’all can come out!” Enrique hesitantly approached the top of the hill, looking down to see what happened. Finally, he could see what Mama Rita meant by “invaders”. But what he saw, confused him.

A young blonde woman laid on the rocky terrain, just about ten feet away from their camp. Her turquoise top was now mostly soaked dark red. Her long, youthful, bright blonde hair, reflected off the sun. Her bright pink hiking skechers slightly twitched, side to side, as a trail of blood made its way down her dark blue skinny jeans. She couldn’t have been any older than 20, Enrique thought to himself. Why was she so dangerous?

As if she’d just slain a tribal war leader, Mama Rita wiped the blood off her spear with a handkerchief and tossed it on the ground. Jack tried to stand up quickly from behind a rock, but fumbled forward, as he limped a mad dash down from the adjacent hill. “Arlene?... Arlene! Where are you!? Arlene?...” Jack fumbled his old shaky hands around the campsite. Only a few feet away from the blonde womans slain body. His hands felt high and low; up and down. Tears mostly of lost confusion streamed out of his wrinkled face. Not a word was said as he looked around for the voice he swore he heard.

Everybody stared in shock and awe, frozen. Including Enrique. He was a bad dude sometimes. Hell, he’s probably on America’s Most Wanted List by now after clocking his manager in the face, with his famous signature “brown bomber” left hook. Then snuffed out a few of his security guards before running away. But that was because his manager had taken advantage of Enrique, and stole thousands of dollars from him. Money he was saving up to provide a better life for his family back in Mexico. He still had a heart. Just didn’t know how to hold back a punch whenever he felt provoked to do so.

Mama Rita let Jack fumble his way around, before breaking the news to him. “Sweety… Jack, honey. She was an invader... An invader. Can you understand that sweety?” Jacks voice cracked as his words erupted, he cried even harder. “What do you mean? I..I.. don’t understand! Where’s Arlene!? I know I heard her somewhere… what did you do!?” Mama Rita placed her arm around Jacks shoulders, trying to comfort him the same she always did, all those nights he had nightmares about his granddaughter slipping away from him. He had been gone for three years, but could still remember her voice from all the nightmares he had about her leaving him.

“She was gonna take ya away, my child. Take ya away from Mama Rita. Ain’t nobody take away Mama Ritas family. Nuh uh. Not again. No way, no how.” Jack broke away from Rita and took a swing at her that caught nothing but air. He swung a few more times, near Mama Ritas voice, his third swing dropping him near his granddaughters corpse. He could smell her perfume and instantly knew it was her. Not some “invader” like Mama Rita said. “Arlene?...You okay Arlene?” He tried shaking her but received no response. He could feel that her head was face down in the dirt and turned her body over. He held his hand to her face and stroked it. “You said.. You’d be right back. You’d come right back for me. Where did you go!? Where’d ya go God damn it!?”

Just then, he could feel a familiar wooden handle dangle from her grasp. “My.. my cane! How’d she find that? Oh God…” Mama Ritas eyes flared with fury, she took her blood-stained spear and marched to her vantage point on top of a hill. She looked out her binoculars and saw several policemen march down the riverbank. “Get ready y’all! The invaders is here! They here!” Mama Rita charged into the forest, community dwellers scattered behind trees and rocks.

Enrique just about ran the other direction, as he saw badges reflect in the sun, out in a close distance. Then he turned around and saw Jack, still mourning over his granddaughter. Nearly twenty people crouched behind Enrique, with spears in hand. He heard one plop on the ground in front of him. A scraggly haired woman wearing a tarp, motioned her head for him to pick it up. Twenty other sets of eyes also strongly suggesting that he do so. He picked the spear up and laid in the grass. Planning to high-tail it out of there as soon as everyone became too distracted with the ambush to notice him. He saw Mama Rita run down again and place her hand around Jacks weeping mouth. Two other dwellers picked Arlenes body off the ground, like she was a sack of flour, and carried her up the hill, throwing her lifeless body behind a rock. Mama Ritas massive, jiggling, arm, covered Jacks mouth as she snatched away his cane. She struggled, but managed to carry him up the hill just in the knick of time.

A tall, very young, stocky, spiky haired, policeman, slowly emerged from the underpass on his radio. Calling out Arlenes name, in between radio calls. Arlene! You here?... Hello? (radio static) uh… copy that. We’ll turn back. There’s nothing up here. Just as he turned around, he saw a red substance wash its way around his foot. He knelt down to take a closer look. Then, Arlenes cell phone rang. Hand on his holster, the policeman walked over to the sound, seemingly confused to its location. Considering the river and echo’s from the forest. But he found the rock as he crept up the hill and found Arlenes body. He swiftly drew a glock from his holster and screamed on his hand-held radio. “187! The girl is hurt! Come here now! Through the underpass! Quick! Uh… 2-82? I don’t know the fucking codes!”

A spear swooshed right over the cops shoulder, as he turned away just in time. He fell backwards, gun still aimed near the supposed location of the spear. “Was that a fuckng spear!?”, he cried out. A few other spears missed their marks as well. He quickly got up to his feet and started shooting blindly into the forest, running backwards in the opposite direction.
His right leg fell through a grass-covering, as feces covered wooden spikes, drove through his foot. Ahh! Help me! Fucking help me! He cried out. Then, the scraggly haired tarp woman, hopped on his back and started stabbing his chest repeatedly with a pocket knife. A gunshot zipped its way through and knocked the woman off his back. The cops reinforcements ran through to attend to him, as a couple others kept watch on the two opposing hills.

Mama Ritas voice rolled down the hill like a warcry. “Now!” Wooden spears rained down on top of them, mostly getting swatted away or bouncing off their arms. A refrigerator fell from a tree and smashed a cops head, as he laid unconscious. Gunshots tore through the forest in both directions. Mama Rita sat still with Jack, still covering his mouth. Smiling every time she saw an “invader” get hit. Jesus fucking christ! What the fuck is this!? Three cops remained, as they each took a knee and dropped as many oncoming dwellers as they could. Bodies rolling down both hills each time they fired.

By this time, Enrique was halfway through the forest when he heard the gunshots. He sprinted toward an opening of sunlight, not seeing any sirens. He was finally out of the forest, and saw an empty road. Unsure of where to go, he kept walking. Attempting to hitchhike the whole way, to no avail. Then, a red pickup truck pulled over. A generous middle aged bearded man offered him a ride. He got in the back of the pickup and drove downtown. Enrique took some clothes from a donation bin, outside a store, and walked the streets of Bellingham, till he found some train tracks.

He met some nice enough homeless people and blended in their community just as he did before. A few months rolled by as he lived his life on the run. He sat in a non-operational train, with another buddy he met. A newspaper got tossed in his lap. “Say, ain’t that you on the cover?” Enrique looked at the newspaper and saw his face in a “wanted” description. A little worried that a constantly half-drunk homeless man, could see through his disguise. He flipped to the front and saw a picture of Mama Rita. His heart sank. Just seeing her face gave him chills since he found out what she really was. Just then, he looked up from the newspaper, and saw a wide framed black woman… smiling at him. “Hey y’all, got room for one mo’?”