Juan was quiet for a long time. When he was at home, he had a role to play. He was the head of the house, the decision-maker. But he’d grown up with Roberto. They’d worked the same jobs together back in Mexico. When Juan first came to the United States, Roberto supported him until he got on his feet. Roberto was one of the few people on earth Juan could confide in.
“All my life, all I’ve ever done was work,” Juan looked down at the can in his hands. He absently swirled the contents around. “Now, I feel like I’m losing everything. It’s getting bad.”
Roberto came around and placed a reassuring hand on Juan’s shoulder. “Yeah, sometimes I feel that way too.” For once, Roberto dropped the bombastic act and spoke to his brother from his heart. “It always seems like the system is rigged against guys like us.”
Juan looked up. Roberto held up a bottle of Modelo, rocking it gently, silently asking if Juan’s was empty and if he wanted another. Juan declined with a shake of his head, returning his gaze to the can he was holding.
“Let’s get some music going!” Roberto tried to change the somber mood. “Look, hermano,” he said over his shoulder as he walked towards the speaker. “Nothing ever stops the Torres men! We’ve been through a lot worse times than this. It’s gonna be OK.”
Juan smiled as the first strains of “Cielito Lindo” began to crackle from the speaker. Roughly translated as “Lovely Sweet One,” the song expressed a guitar player’s sorrow for love lost as he played beneath the sky of his beautiful homeland.
Juan held up his can, indicating he was ready for another. “Sometimes I just wonder if any of those politicians understand what it’s like for working men like us.”
“Joe Biden just won the Democratic Primary, I think maybe he understands,” Roberto screwed up his face in concentration. “He’s been through a lot. His wife and baby daughter were killed in a car accident just before Christmas, back in the seventies.”
“They were? I didn’t know that.” Juan shook his head slowly. “Losing a child would be the worst thing that could happen.”
“Yeah,” Roberto continued, oddly enthusiastic about showing his knowledge of the subject. “He lost a son to brain cancer, too.”
Juan nodded, “I heard about that. Wasn’t he a soldier?”
Roberto nodded and popped the bottle cap off his Modelo with his bare hands.
“Do you really think Biden is a good leader?” Juan stretched out as he leaned back in his chair, one hand moving to massage the crown of his head. “I mean, I support him, but sometimes I wonder if he’s gonna take care of us.”
Roberto returned to his chair. It creaked, protesting loudly as he settled his great bulk in it. “Nobody’s perfect,” he also leaned back, stretching out his legs. “But I think Biden understands us. He made my little brother a citizen, didn’t he?”
The two men clinked their beers together, “Salud!”
“Yeah…” Juan mused aloud.
“Yeah, what?” Roberto asked.
“Oh, I’m just thinking that politics is messy,” Juan’s gaze was focused into the distance. “But we’ve got to have hope, right?”