"I caught the medicine ball"

  We were knee deep in

  Mud

  Children

  Another Country's problems

  Speeches.  The folding chairs had been set up with precisely two inches of space between.  "That is why," a calm stifling tears, "I owe this," the binder of Certifications raised in one arm like the Statue of Liberty torch, "To mi madre y Pops." Perfectly make upped mascara-eye flutter of eyelids forcing self to stay on the Sunnyside.

  The next person-who-got-a-job speech began after a group hugging of people sat down.  People of all ages listened intently.  The young man wove in and out of speaking Spanish and then English.  "So we have to be the generation that CAN."

  "Because we should," someone listening said.

  A cellphone rang.

  "Becauss we can."

  And rang.  Then I realized I have a phone.

  Shut it off, someone hissed.

  "Hello?" 

  "I caught the medicine ball!  I did it!!  I caught that motherfucker."

  I covered the whole thing like it was a mouthpiece on a real phone.  "It's my wounded Veteran friend!"

  "Isss MY speech," the young man said and swept his hands, scoot, scoot.

  Squealing tires and what sounded like gun shots had some people running to the window, some non-plussed, and one woman sit on her pocketbook, so the little mamas with her did the same with theirs.

  "What the fuck?" Someone asked loudly.

  The speechmaker explained just Carlos picking up Uncle Tito who they'd been stashing in the mop sink closet for the few hours before job drop-offs.

  "Probably somebody pissed they didn't get a job."

  "Or a certificate." 

  "Maybe drugs." 

  "My speech.  Iss not done." 

  "Yes it is."

  Caterers started to bring out food.  Again like a ballet in which people just knew what to do, almost everyone picked up their own chairs and moved them to the sides.  Folding tables were set up as Congratulations and plans for the future rolled around the room. 

  Smokers went outside.  A flask of spiked punch was nipped from by some.  A youngish guy waited until there were only a couple people lingering.  Said to one of the cousins, "I'm going to let him know today."

  "Who? What?" 

  "I'm going to let him," drymouth swallow, "know I'm in love with him."

  "WHAT?!"

  "Michael.  He's been so torn up about what to do." 

  'Dios mio amigo.  I would stay out of it."

  "Why?  I would be a perfect first." 

  "No amigo.  You don't get it." 

  "I get it.  He'd gay and so you all hate him." 

  "No boppy.  We don:t hate him.  He's not gay amigo." 

  "He's not?" 

  "Noooo.  He's into music and history!  And he got in the screws because his poppy is construction and his mama is restaurant.  Should he be like his mother or father with his life?!"

  "That's what his tension is?"

  "Yes boppy."

  "Oh man."