Once Upon A Wish : Book One Read Online Free

him for the same reasons.
His own self-talk never shut up.
Hernan came home that night and did not say
a word. Just a quick “hey” and he went to his room.
Nestor turned on the television and waited
for Hernan to come out.
But he didn't.
He walked over and knocked on his door,
seeing him turned over on his side.
“You all right?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“The boss. Told me I wasn't moving fast
enough.” Hernan’s fists clenched and unclenched as he spoke, the
veins in his neck showed clearly.
Nestor said nothing. He had to let Hernan
vent.
“Says I'm moving too slow. Says he wished
he hired someone else.”
“Fuck him! He talks to you like that again
just quit.”
But Nestor knew Hernan would not take his
advice. Nor did he really want him to. He knew he had to suck it up
because if he lost his job that they would be up further up shit
creek.
Hernan curled up into a little ball and
slept for ten straight hours.
     
Nestor could not sleep.
    The words of the
motivational speaker ran through his head. The phrase quiet desperation fit
both of their lives.
In the morning, he forced himself out of
bed. He waited on the strip on East 14th with the other immigrants
for someone to pick them up for manual labor. Usually low-end
construction work picking up scraps after the crew.
Hernan left for his day of washing dishes
and chopping vegetables with his head hung low and shoulders
slumped.
A life of deprivation and drudgery.
Nestor readied to leave when he heard a
knock on the door. He did not have to look through the peek hole to
know who it could be.
They were behind on the rent.
He opened the door and his hunch was
correct. Faisal, the building supervisor, stood in front of the
doorway, walking in without waiting for an invite.
“These are always unpleasant
conversations.” Faisal scanned the apartment's scuffed carpet. He
looked at the walls, and went into the bathroom to scrutinize the
toilet and shower. Nestor followed him without saying a word.
“At least you guys kept it clean,” Faisal
said.
“Why wouldn't we?”
Nestor did not like Faisal. The Arab looked
at him with heavy-lidded eyes that rarely blinked. He had a hooked
nose and his face resembled that of a rat that returned from the
dead. “I need the rent money within forty-eight hours.”
“Fine.” Nestor said.
“You have been out of work for a while
now?”
Nestor nodded.
“Take your stuff to storage. Shouldn't take
too—”
“I'll get the rent.”
“Okay.”
Faisal saw himself out and Nestor slammed
the door on him. Living on the streets again was not an option. He
lived on the streets as a kid. He would not go through that
again.
The situation had its own irony. In Mexico,
he could earn more money smuggling people into California. Selling
immigrants on the American Dream, but his own hopes shriveled up
and disintegrated like a corpse.
Nestor opened the window. Hip-hop bass
lines screamed from at least four cars. Multiple sirens blared. The
beeping horn from a cement truck topped them all as they competed
for to be the loudest distraction in a cacophony of chaos.
The next day Nestor told Hernan to call in
sick to work.
They took the bus to Golden Gate Fields in
a last ditch attempt to make some money. Nestor hoped Hernan's
sixth sense about the ponies could work some magic one more
time.
“When a horse looks at me, I know he's
going to win.” Hernan repeated as he studied the horses coming into
the paddock.
Hernan hung over the railing for the first
seven races. None of the horses gave him a second look. Until the
eighth race.
A beautiful white horse came out of the
stables and into the paddock. He glanced over at the crowd and
Hernan smiled big.
“That's the one,” Hernan said. “He looked
at me.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Nestor looked at the racing form. They
called the horse White Noise. An 18-1 long shot. He bet half of his
remaining funds on the horse. They would need the other half to
move their stuff into storage.
If they won,