Page 1 of Lourdes & the Mafia
Lourdes
Theinternetisfullof creeps.
Of course, I expected this when I threw the ad up online. I think I just underestimated the number of weirdos Santo Domingo had.
I mean, when men fill out a roommate interest form using hashtags, that’s a big fucking nope. Then there’s the ones that tell me they need extra space for their doll collection.
Sounds like some serious serial killer exorcist shit right there.
And because I have no interest in beady eyes following me around when I get up in the middle of the night to take a piss, or to be startled by some creature hanging from a ceiling corner, it’s a hard pass for me.
“Who knew how fucking hard it would be to find a roommate?! Coño!” I grumble as I click through the options.
Nope, nope, and uh, yeah…never.
“Itoldyou not to put an ad up on the internet.” Queenie sighs with exasperation from the edge of my bed.
I roll my eyes at my screen, pretending she can see my annoyance even with my back to her.
Sure, shediscouragedme from posting, but the bitch is too cautious abouteverything.Literally, there was a time when she hardly trusted me with her secrets.
And oh, what amazing secrets they were.
In retrospect, I should have known what the fuck she was hiding, but that’s the thing about my magic. I can see the future.
Not the past.
Which is why I felt relatively safe throwing the ad up in the first place.
ROOMMATE WANTED.
Creeps, move along!
I thought it had been pretty clever, but the number of creeps who don’t even think they’re creeps is astounding. Good thing mygiftcan help me wade through the candidates.
Unfortunately, Naomi doesn’t think so. She thinks looking for a roommate online is a bad idea.
“It’s dangerous,” she reminds me. “That’s white people shit.”
White people shit. It’s become an ongoing joke in the community. It’s all those movies we watch. Because only white people in películas will hear a noise in the middle of the night and wade down into their creepy, cobwebbed-filled basement and stammer, ‘H-hello?’ right before getting axe-murdered.
A Dominican hears a noise, you know what we do?
We fucking run.
Or get a weapon.
And then it’s bye-bye axe murderer.
Now, I’m not onwhite people shit.At least not in the way that Naomi thinks I am. Sure, what I’m doing could be construed as dangerous, but the D.R. is a relatively peaceful place, particularly in Santo Domingo. Of course, we have our run-of-the-mill pendejos, but it’s never been something I couldn’t handle.
And, okay, it’s not like the uno nunca sabe gene skipped out of my DNA completely. I’m cautious. Within reason. But I’m also not gonna let generations of stupid, unnecessary worry keep me from living my life the way I want to. If that were the case, I never would have gotten a job working as a web designer, I never would have moved out of my family home, and I never would have met Naomi.
So actually, who’s the real winner?
With a sigh, I push away from my desk and roll in my chair to glare at her. She glares right back, though I know the little concave between her eyebrows speaks of concern.
I appreciate it. I really do. But sometimes I feel like Naomi lives in a different reality than I do on account of how she grew up.
