Conrad Ilesia
Bio
Stories (35/0)
Girl # 3
Friday, June 22, 2018. Caligula. Austin, Texas. The first one approaches from my right, Coors Light on the small table in front of me, leans over and asks if I want company, seeping into my atmosphere, decent rack. Oh, I just walked in. Maybe later. She floats away. Nothing interesting on the stage, just the dimly-lit bump and grind.
By Conrad Ilesia3 years ago in Filthy
Dixieland
The Two-Four consisted of eight acres, two by width, four by depth, just outside the north most suburb on 87. When it was summer at the Two-Four, it was like a Kiss song—hot, hot, hotter than hell; in the winter, it was just hot. Carter had four kids, two girls, grown and off at A & M, and two boys at home. You had to look hard to realize that the boys weren’t his—a product of his second wife’s first marriage, step-kids. Not to Carter. To Carter, they were his boys. End of story. And Cheryl loved him for that; “Cher,” the lovely and talented, as he called her on his radio show every weekday morning during rush hour (such as it was) in Sendera. The day she saw his body, propped up against a tree trunk on the back one acre, as if he were a migrant worker taking a break against the merciless South Texas sun, was, however, not a weekday morning. That day in fact was a Sunday and the boys, Randy and Shooter, were getting ready to go to the Baptist church down the street. On pleasant days, they could probably walk to the church from the back one. Or at least throw a rock at it. But there were no pleasant days in Sendera. Surely not after today. Not after this particular Sunday in August.
By Conrad Ilesia3 years ago in Humans
Postcard From Quarantine
I have been talking to Lenny since I was 14. Technically, she started it, her silent voice at 4 a.m. Sometimes I will ask her for things. She always answers me and sometimes she grants what I ask for. Lately, we have been talking about isolation. She says, “You know, Jesus laid in the tomb, alone, for three days.” But she already knows that I know that. I’m tired of the isolation but she says, “Hang in there; we have a plan.”
By Conrad Ilesia3 years ago in Families
On Love Street
Amber Sanchez, her brunette hair curling just above her blouse, top two buttons open, the hint of a pink embroidered bra underneath, is on my right; Cecilia Contreras, in a blue and gold UTSA tee shirt, is to my left. I am smiling, squinting, a slight sweat above my eyebrow.
By Conrad Ilesia3 years ago in Families
Macy Portela, Part One: Compulsion
I had already been on the patio once. Not smoking; decompressing, watching a couple of guys with acoustic guitars set up on the far side, getting a weird look from Derek (Party’s on the other side, dude.) and taking deep breaths. The cook, smelling like the kitchen, walked to me, greeted me, shook my hand. I put my hand in my right pocket.
By Conrad Ilesia3 years ago in Filthy
Birthday Wish
She awoke to the buzzing of the cell phone beside her, her head flat on the mattress between her two Sonoma pillows. The alert was probably about a missing kid, she thought. She lifted her head, only to feel like the ceiling was crushing her brain. She moved to her right side, settled into Pillow # 1, pulling Pillow # 2 to her chest. Welcome to thirty-one, she thought, exhaling. She drifted in and out of sleep for the next few moments, certain the missing kid would be found. When her phone buzzed again, she brought it close to her face, squinting, her glasses somewhere in her bedroom, hopefully not on the floor again. She read the notification: it was not a missing kid; it was a package delivered to her front porch. She still had her jeans on from the night before. Other than that, she was stripped.
By Conrad Ilesia3 years ago in Criminal