Férnan takes the cash for the bike and puts it into the empty tray of his cash register.
He stares at the bills, thinking about his mother again. Férnan was at a crossroads for work, torn between continuing on as a technician or opening his own business. Then his mother passed, and he thought often of her many superstitions. His palm itching was one of them. It meant his luck was turning around and he would receive money soon. The thought of being a pawnbroker soon followed, knowing he could honor his mother’s spirit by being the reason someone’s luck turns around during hard times. For all he’s done for the community, today someone brought him money.
This is a sign to rebuild his business and his relationships.
Férnan closes the cash register and takes the bike off the wall.
Family first.
Orion
9:39 a.m.
Capturing Valentino’s firsts on camera is hella fun: First time visiting a bodega to get a hot black tea to stay awake and fill his stomach. He even played with the cat after I made sure he wasn’t allergic and about to drop dead next to kitty litter.
First time seeing a pay phone, which he said is different from the ones back in Arizona. He posed as if he was on a call, head tilted down but blue eyes up at me. That look did something to my heart and dick, that’s all I got to say.
First time buying a bacon, egg, and cheese roll off some dude on the streets. He’s still refusing to eat because of the possible operation, which bothers me, especially as he breathes it in. I can tell he wants to rip apart that aluminum foil and devour that sandwich in one bite, even if the hotness sets his insides on fire. But instead he gives it to some woman who’s asking for money to eat; we don’t document that, obviously.
First time passing the legendary Strand Bookstore, and Valentino wishes he could tuck himself into a corner and read one last book.
And now his first time buying a copy of the New York Times from a newsstand. His expression is moody, and I wonder if he’s going for some intense, scholary vibe. Then I see the newspaper’s headline: THE END DAYS ARE HERE. The photograph on the cover is of Joaquin Rosa in the Death-Cast call center as he’s on the phone.
I almost drop the camera when I realize what this means.
“This is when he told me that my life is over,” Valentino says.
It’s hard to process something so wild like this.
“You okay?”
“It’s strange seeing the other side of this call in print.”
“It’s history, I guess.”
Valentino trashes the newspaper. “I’m not history, Orion. I’m here.”
Then he’s not here because he’s walking away from me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just—I kind of went through something similar with my parents the day they died. The morning newspaper was already out, but they had released another at some point. I’ll never forget, the New York Times had some headline about the United States being attacked and how hijacked jets destroyed the Twin Towers. Right there on the cover were the burning towers. The fire and the smoke . . . I remember squinting hard, like mad hard, thinking I might’ve been able to find my parents in a window.”
Valentino stops and stares at me.
“I was nine and stupid, sue me.”
“No, I’m not judging you. It’s really sad.”
“Yeah, well. Same deal with you and that Joaquin photo. Everyone thinks that moment is only Death-Cast history when it’s your history too.”
“And 9/11 history is also your history.”
“Proof of our lives changing, all on page one.”