Page 18 of Styx & Stones

“Can’t complain,ese. What about you? How you doin’ with the health stuff?”

“Er ...” I pull the collar of my T-shirt aside and show him the bandage covering a tube that feeds meds right to my vena cava. “Not so great.”

“Ah shit, that’s fucked up, bro.”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“This is Alaska.” I say. “She’s not my friend though.”

Carlos’ brows shoot skyward. “Yourmamacita?”

“She wishes.”

Carlos laughs and shakes his head, while Alaska just glares at me. “Bueno, parece que tu mujer quiere matarte, hombre.”

Stones smiles sweetly and says, “I may kill him, but not until I’ve eaten.”

Carlos laughs, but I can only stare at her in shock. “You speak Spanish?”

“Fluently, duh! I did grow up five minutes from The Mission.”

Touché.

After the best burritos in San Francisco, we walk down Capp Street and head to Clarion Alley. Stones’ face lights up when we see all the murals. “This is my favorite street in SF.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but street art is kinda my jam.”

“I noticed. You did the mural at the back of school, right?”

“Yeah, I had some help though. It was a class effort.” She smiles. “Mostly I just do the sides of buildings or shopfronts here in The Mission. Or my bedroom walls and ceiling, though that usually freaks my mom out. I think she’s worried I’ll start taking over the rest of the house. She did let me paint the back fence though.”

“That’s awesome. I’d love to see it.”

“You will.”

Holy shit. Did she just give me an open invitation to her house?

Alaska stares up at a mural, completely oblivious to the effect her words have on me. I know I should be studying the surrounding colors and linework too, but she’s the only art I see.

“What I’d really love is to paint this alley,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Of course. It’s iconic.”

I shrug. “I guess. My mom knows the people who run it. She takes the pictures for their website, so I was down here every other week as a kid.”

“Your mom’s a photographer?” She stops, grabbing my arm in a vise grip. “Holy shit, your mom is Viv Hendricks?”

I frown, though this is usually the response I get when people figure out my mom istheViv Hendricks. “You know her?”

“Are you kidding? Her work is amazing. That series she did on SF’s homeless epidemic? Wow! Do you know how lucky you are?”

I laugh. “Yeah. She’s alright, as far as parents go.”

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