Lazy Domingo: Mitochondria

“El Guapo, I’m freaking out.”

Miguel is what one would label a worrier. Miguel and I have been friends since we could throw rocks and know better. He is mi hermano, mi wing man, mi crutch and greatest friend. He has seen my smiles, tears, sweat, and blood. In life, yo creo, that you are given one true friend chosen by God. Miguel is mine.

What is it this time Miguel? What happened to make your brow wrinkle with worry?

“No lo se. I don’t know. I’ve got this thing.”

What thing?

Miguel points to his pants.

Que?

“I need you to look at something.”

There are lines in life. We set these lines without knowing, but there are lines.

“I really need you to look at this. I’m seriously freaking out!”

Some lines shouldn’t be crossed. Maybe the term “friend” is thrown around too much.

I watch Miguel pace back and forth as he runs his hand furiously through his hair. I feel like cereal. Would it be rude for me to get up and eat a bowl? Si. Perhaps it would.

“I have this thing. I’m sorry that I’m asking you, but I need you to look at this.”

Miguel, I don’t want to. I can’t tell you how much I don’t want to. You can not possibly begin to comprehend how much I don’t want to.

“Come ooooooon hombre. You were always good in Biology. Just look at it and see if it’s normal.”

Mi madre used to make me tell the familia what mitochondria was. I could say the definition verbatim from my green biology book in English then I would translate into Spanish. This was always a big deal in my house. To this day, when mi madre thinks I’m not applying myself, she brings up the Meee-toh-kohn-drrrrrrreea. Right now I wish Miguel hadn’t been forced to suffer through my family definition recitals. Is this payback?

Miguel, go to the doctor man. I don’t want to look at it.

“I don’t want to pay the $50 co-pay if it’s nothing. Just look at it. You’re good on the Internet. You can look it up.”

Damn this computador. Fine. Whatever. He is my friend. “Friend.”

Fine. Vamos. Fast. I have to go.

Miguel furiously tries to take off his braided brown leather belt and hobbles over to me. Ah Sunday, I used to like this day. I should have gone to church with mi madre. Joder…

He drops his jeans and lowers his boxer shorts and I see some redness on his hip. I breath a sigh of relief when I realize that I’m not going to have to see what I had originally thought. Maybe God does like me. I scoot closer to have a better look because it looks very strange and is definitely not a mitochondria.

The door opens. “El Guapo, I need your……”

I am one foot away from my best friend’s crotch and mi abuelita is standing in my room looking at us.

No one says anything. We are wax figues frozen in time. The words aren’t coming to mi boca to explain what is happening because I know that nothing will sound good. Miguel has his pants at his hips. Mi abuelita, for once in her life, has her hands at her side. Every single hair on my neck and arms are sticking straight up. I feel like one does after he has finished vomiting and is waiting for the next bout to resume. I still want cereal, but know this is not the time or the place.

My eyes divert from mi abuelita and my hand rises in an attempt to explain what is happening.

“Ahrgh. You two spend too much time together,” says mi abuelita as she fans her hands in our direction without making eye contact and leaves the room. “Miguel, go see a doctor. You have a rash.”

“Do you think it’s serious?”

Miguel, how the hell is she going to know I say as I get up and push him away. Go to the doctor. Damn, man. Eres un verdadero idiota.

There are lines in life that should not be crossed.

Time for cereal. I want Chex.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo