dantesdichotomy (dantesdichotomy) wrote in worldsapart_ic, @ 2019-03-06 17:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | xx_dante ruiz |
Tradition or Obligation?
Who: Dante Ruiz
What: Making a mandated appearance
When: Wednesday, March 6th, roughly 9 AM
Where: The Ruiz family church in Boyle Heights
Rating: PG
It cast a large shadow. Not necessarily the shadow that one would expect when taking a gaze upon its visage, although that was mostly determined on a case by case basis. In truth, it also cast a large shadow in the traditional way. It was a large building, after all. Impossibly old, even though he was sure that there were quite a few people who could tell anyone who asked exactly how old the building was. Maybe once upon a time, he knew. There were a lot of things that he had forgotten over the years.
That was the reason why it cast the shadow that it cast. The shadow that loomed over his entire being, almost swallowing it whole. The Catholic boy who grew up learning nothing more than the teachings of the church. The boy who became a man who, finally free to make his own choices, wasn’t quite so sure that the gospel that had been fed to him throughout his entire life was, well, the gospel. But there he was, taking a moment to look out, just beyond the tip of the steeple. He had to admit that the architecture of the building had always been impressive. But then, most places of worship had a certain artistic quality that made it easy to bask in. That was probably part of the point, he supposed. How could something so outwardly attractive be anything less but equally inviting inwardly? In the years since his faith had started to wane, Dante did not necessarily know the answer to the question. He supposed that it was a question that needed to be asked on a case by case basis.
He opened the door of his car and hesitated for a moment before stepping out and shutting it. If he was going to turn around, if he was going to go on with his life, like it was any other day, now was the time. As he had done many times in the past, however, Dante instead opted to keep his reservations private. If he was expected to play the part, and, make no mistake, he was, then he was going to do his absolute best to ensure that the part was played optimally. It had been his lot in life… for as long as he could remember. Good, bad, right, wrong… everything that fell in between those spectrums, it had shaped him.
A handful of steps were taken before he lightly pressed the button of his key that locked the door. He wasn’t so far away that he couldn’t physically hear the mechanism lock, but if he was, Dante would have surely heard the familiar double “beep” sound that was accompanied by many vehicles which had the same feature. His car was nothing overly impressive. It was used and well over a decade old, but it functioned as expected and had rarely given him many problems.
The reasons for locking the door were entirely practical. He had nothing of true value in the car, except for maybe a quick change of clothes for the gym. Despite the fact that Boyle Heights had been his home for the vast majority of his life, and would almost assuredly be the place that he most closely identified as home until he took his last breath. Even with that fact, and coupled with the reality that he did not, in any way, ever feel threatened in Boyle Heights, Dante was no fool. Theft and other crimes didn’t magically stop happening in the radius of a place of worship. The odds were high that nothing was going to happen to the car, but he was a precautious person in many ways. Hardcoded into him, really. A part of him wondered if it was worth bringing the car in the first place. Even though he was going to go to work as soon as he was done at the church, Dante could have just as easily gotten to both locations on the buses. Years of use had made Dante something of an expert of the lines of the metropolis, and there was no particular area of Los Angeles that Dante knew better than greater East Los Angeles.
Dante walked into the house of Christ, resisting both the urge to dip his fingers in the nearby holy water and make the sign of the cross. He recognized himself as the anomaly in that particular regard, as a quick gaze of his surroundings showed no less than four people who followed the expected manner. The smirk on his face was slight and wiped off his face just as quickly as it appeared. Sure, he might have been slightly blasphemous in his actions, but that wasn’t the reason why he smirked. No, it was just another one of the ways in that he stood out. At least this time he made the choice to stand out, however quietly it may have been. It wasn’t some accident of birth that he had no part in.
The light pierced through the familiar stained glass windows, displaying various religious iconography. He’d been there enough times in his life to know where to expect pretty much every big talking point. He’d also been there enough times in his life to see more than a few familiar faces. Most of them got smiles, a small handful got handshakes, and a few got hugs. None of these people were the people that Dante was expecting to see, however.
Mass, being a scheduled event, was usually met with a certain amount of predictability. Some families, his own included, could almost set their watch to the session that they attended. Ash Wednesday was slightly different. Ashes were given out throughout the day. It was up to the faithful (and those who attended as a placating gesture, like him) to determine when their best time to be there was. Which begged the question… where were they?
The question was met with an almost immediate answer. “There you are, mijo. I saw your car outside, but wasn’t sure if you had made your way inside.” By the time that Dante had turned around, complete with a smile that he wasn’t quite sure he could consider genuine or forced in that precise moment, his face was ready to be pounced on by her hands. Hands that felt familiar. Hands that felt welcoming. He loved those hands. Other things about the day may have been questioned, sure, but how he felt about those hands? Nope. Never. “It’s good to see you.”
“Mami… I was just home for dinner on Saturday.”
“And?” Imelda asked with a hint of disregard. “I went from seeing you every day from the day you were born until the day that you moved out, and now I’m lucky if I get to see you. And don’t give me that stuff about facetime or whatever it’s called. It’s not the same.” She kissed him on the cheek and when she pulled away, while she had a wide smile on her face, Dante could see the tinge of regret in her eyes. That longing for the closeness that they had shared for so long. While he knew that moving out, living on his own, was better for his personal wellbeing, the fact that he also knew that he was the direct cause of that regret gnawed at Dante almost every time.
Catholic guilt clearly didn’t leave you once you stopped being a devoted practicing Catholic. What a surprise.
“He’s not a little boy anymore, mi Amor. It was time for him to move out.”
“Papi…”
Imelda Ruiz had a presence that was large and overwhelming on any given day. Her physical appearance did not quite match the feeling. For a grandmother, she was young. Hardly unexpected, since her first grandchild was in her arms when her daughter was 15. Even so, she also felt young. Full of energy. Vibrant. Rodrigo Ruiz, by comparison, didn’t have the same kind of energy. It was softer, quieter. Even so, Dante could not deny that he had long harbored a fear of disappointing either one of them.
The hug that the men shared gave Dante a quick flashback of all those times that Rodrigo had picked him up to put him into bed, or helped him stay in shape at the gym. It was strong and firm, but lacked any hint of intimidation. By the time that Rodrigo had moved an arm’s length away from Dante, he was smiling. “Even so, you could come by more often. We wouldn’t mind.”
Dante chuckled. “Both of you?”
Rodrigo linked his fingers with Imelda’s right hand. “We’re a team. It’s part of the reason why we’re still together.”
Dante had seen a lot of love in his time. Fleeting, longstanding, superficial. His grandparents were role models to him in so many ways, and while the way that they stepped up to act as surrogate parents to him was undoubtedly the aspect of the pair that Dante valued the most, the strength of their union was undoubtedly up there.
“Where’s everyone else?” Dante expected a larger contingent. To be anywhere and only have three members of the Ruiz family representing was something of a minor miracle. Not really water into wine or anything like that, but highly unexpected.
“Work and school, mostly.” Imelda replied. “They have all day to come and get their ashes, so whatever works for them. Your mother thought about possibly coming, but she’s been sad ever since that 32007 guy died.”
“90210, Mami.” Dante didn’t expect his grandmother to remember that. Even when that show started, she was running a house of five children, a husband, and her own father. “I called her when I got home from work that day. I offered to come over, but she said I didn’t need to.”
Luke Perry, Dylan McKay, Fred Andrews… one of Marisa’s earliest crushes. Kind of an indicator that his mom had a type. That type was white, obviously. She was at the right age when the show started, not even really a teenager yet, just on the cusp. The perfect time to form feelings for a man. Besides, it wasn’t like there were really any Mexican, or even Hispanic, characters in prominent roles on the show. Not that it really mattered. Marisa was known to date white men almost to the point of exclusivity, starting with Dante’s father (if that could be considered dating). It was almost like she wanted a white savior to come and take her away from the relative homogenization of East L.A. None of them ended up being “the one,” though. He met them all, of course. Very few of them attempted to impress him as the child, probably because they knew that they didn’t really have to try and fill the role of “father” for him. A few of them, Dante actually liked. Most of them he was indifferent towards. A few of them he actively loathed. Still, Marisa never stayed in a bad relationship. She had enough self-worth to not put up with that kind of union. Dante always appreciated that about his mother, and respected it.
Of course, that probably meant that the most toxic relationship that his own mother had with a man was the one that she had with her son. Her only child. Best not to think about that. It occupied enough of a part of Dante’s subconscious.
“She’ll be fine.” Rodrigo stated with a firm sense of assurance. “You could have come later, too. Shouldn’t you be at work right now?”
“I took a few hours off for this. Kind of hard to deny a religious event.” Or kinda-religious… in his case. Still, deeply based in religious, so it wasn’t really a lie. Right? He wasn’t getting smote, so that seemed appropriate. “If I have too many hours of PTO, I can start losing them… so, no big deal. All I’ve got to worry about is having a half dozen people, at minimum, tell me that I’ve got something on my forehead and I should go wipe it off.” A common occurrence every year since he left Catholic school. In Catholic school, nobody asked that. Unless they were trying to be ironic. And failing at it.
“Have you decided what you’re going to give up for lent?” Imelda inquired, genuinely curious. She was lucky, she knew. So many other mothers, and grandmothers, that she spoke with gave responses which implied their loved ones were giving up truly dangerous vices. Alcohol, mostly. With Dante, anything he gave up would basically be superficial, at least to her.
“Mami, you know how we are in this family. We keep that to ourselves.” True statement, that… but also, Dante didn’t know what the hell he was going to give up, if anything, to help relate to Jesus or whatever it was that giving something up for Lent was supposed to prove (he’d forgotten that part, too). So, again, not a lie. Divine justice did not fall upon him. Cool.
Although the figure of Jesus on the cross in the center of the church did seem like it was forcing its way into his spirit just a little bit. So maybe ease up on tiptoeing that line. Good plan.
“Why don’t we go and get in line to get our ashes from Father Moreno.” Dante said with a gesture, holding his arm out so that his grandparents could walk in front of him, still hand in hand. Was it a little bit warmer in the room… or was that just him?
Dante didn’t have an answer to the question about what he was going to give up, even as they walked out of the church, foreheads all displaying a cross, or something that was supposed to signify a cross (Father Moreno was no artist, though Dante was not equipped to judge anyone for their artistic prowess). The air did feel good on his skin.
“Walk us to the car, Dante. I have something for you.” Imelda requested… or sort of requested. It wasn’t an order, really, but it had more heft than the seeming simplicity of the words. Still, Dante wordlessly showed his complacency by heading in the general direction of their vehicle. Much larger than his, which was hardly a surprise. He couldn’t remember a time when his grandparents didn’t drive vehicles that didn’t have at least one car seat. It was a trend that continued to the present.
“I’ll be home for dinner again on Saturday,” Dante mentioned as they walked. “I’m going to go to a rally in the afternoon, so I’ll be in Boyle Heights.” Tensions in East L.A. were a bit more agitated recently. Supernatural based, racially based… a mix of them both. And from up on high, over on Capitol Hill, the idiot in charge was doing his best to fan the flames of discontent. Or maybe he wasn’t on Capitol Hill. Wasn’t he doing some Korean summit thing?
“I wish you didn’t feel the need to put yourself in danger so much by going to things like that.” Imelda grabbed Dante’s hand and held it tightly. “I know that just because they’re not human that doesn’t mean that they’re bad, but you are just human, and you could get hurt.”
“He’s standing up for something, Imelda. Part of that comes from you.”
“Papi’s right. A big part.” So much of what Dante considered important to him came from Imelda. He couldn’t even begin to reason why it was his grandmother, of all people, that had such a profound impact on shaping him. It wasn’t just as simple as being the person that did the most to raise him, although there was no denying that did play a part. Whatever the reasons, Dante was grateful for it. If any portion of his actions brought up comparisons to his Mami, well, Dante wasn’t going to complain. “But I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“I guess that will have to do.” At that point they made it to the car and Imelda unlocked the vehicle (that’s where he got it from, after all), reaching in the car for a moment before pulling out a traveler cup. “I had a feeling that you’d be here, so I made you…”
He could smell it almost immediately when the door opened. That strong scent of cinnamon came through. It was alluring. It was comforting. “Canela.” It wasn’t that he was surprised, because he wasn’t. Imelda wasn’t magical in the most specific way, but the way that she could anticipate the wants and needs of her family might as well have been magical in nature. “You didn’t have to do that, Mami. But thank you.”
“Of course, my angel.” Again, she reached out to touch him. “We’ll see you on Saturday. And maybe sooner?”
“We’ll see.” Dante put the cup on top of the trunk, but not before he took his first drink. It was still hot, but not blisteringly so. Probably because it had made the trip from their home to the church, and then it waited while they got their ashes. Even if it was dangerously hot, Dante probably would have powered through it.
“Love you, Mami.” He wrapped her tightly for a moment before moving over to his grandfather. “You, too, Papi. Drive safely.”
Canela cup in hand, Dante watched as they drove away before making the short walk over to his car. As expected, everything was exactly as it was supposed to be. He took one last look at the church, which somehow seemed more intimidating, like the structure was somehow judging him. For all Dante knew, it might as well have been true.
He still didn’t know what, or even if, he was going to give up in observation of Lent. He didn’t know if making the decision to come was even the right choice for him, personally. What he did know is that it made his grandparents happy… maybe even a little proud. Dante also knew that feeling, the one he got from his grandparents, greatly outweighed the opposite, less pleasant feeling. And for now, that was reason enough to continue to deal with the theological tug of war that brewed in his being.
But it was possible that might not be true forever.