It was a night like any other in Lincoln Park. The sounds of the drums, pounding feet, and chachayotes filled the small gym, but soon the tired Aztec dancers streamed out, got into their cars, and left. The park was quiet except for the occasional cricket and the sound of the freight trains pushing through the tracks on Valley Boulevard.
The last taco stand shut down for the night and a group of cholos from across the tracks gathered in the now-still park eating chile relleno burritos, drinking some Coronas, and just hanging. If you were looking, you would occasionally see the flare of a lighter or the red-tipped ash of a cigarette illuminating one of the guy’s faces. Handsome young men, all of them, with the stances of Aztec warriors of old.
They were fierce and dangerous looking to some, comforting and homey to others.
The aliens above watched from their strangely shaped ship wondering what manner of creature these tattooed, brown gods were…or so they seemed to the tiny and bent luminescent creatures invading their planet with destruction in mind. To their race, only gods were tall.
Still, they thought that their gods were more powerful than these savage-seeming ones. Didn’t they have technology? Hadn’t they conquered world after world, galaxy after galaxy? These god-like creatures had to be unintelligent life forms – just in a large mass and like all lesser life forms, they would die and their planet’s resources would get siphoned into pure energy to take back to their world. They never left survivors. Their very name in their language meant destroyers of all life.
Not being burdened with conscience, they saw only their need for energy and the way to get it. Nothing stood in their way – not even strangely marked brown gods.
They waited. Soon, no one was on the streets. The traffic was gone and only the small group of young men stood alone. The ship turned on its lights and made its way into the parking lot near the gym. It seemed a clear enough space to land.
Jaime saw them first. “Trucha, homies! Watcha. What the hell is that?”
“Holy shit cabrón, I think it’s a spaceship!” Ruben dropped his cigarette and reached for the knife he kept hidden.
“Call the homies,” he said calmly as if a spaceship landed in Lincoln Park every day. His heart was beating fast, every sense on alert. He knew there was going to be some shit happening tonight and everyone needed to be on the watch.
He sensed it. You didn’t get to come out of some of the places he’d been – not alive if you didn’t have that sixth sense – instinct, whatever you want to call it. It had saved his life on more than one occasion.
Something was up, and he and the homies needed to be on guard.
Little Alex was already texting, sending out the word that some crazy shit was going down at the parque. Like wildfire and chisme, it spread quickly.
In houses, apartments and cars around the small barrio in Eastern Los Angeles, the vatos were arming up for a war. They didn’t know what the hell was going on but it sounded like all hell was going to break loose in the park. Guns, knives, chains, you name it, were getting pulled together in a hurry and guys were running out the doors still combing their hair back or buckling belts. The women were getting ready as well.
La Smiley realized far too late that she still had a can of Aqua Net in her hand, so she jammed it in the back pocket of her Dickies and kept running, easily jumping the few fences between her and the park.
Back at the park, the group of seven young men knit themselves together in a tight circle, every muscle tense and waiting. Slowly, with Ruben at the lead, they crept towards the spaceship like jungle cats or the jaguar warriors of their distant ancestors. As they neared the parking lot, Shorty whispered, “Damn, yo…that thing looks like a chancla!” And sure enough, it did.
The ship was glowing purple like the neon color of strip joint signs and was oddly shaped like a sandal. It was lit from within, for they could see no outside lights and it smelled sour and rotten. One of the guys gagged and Ruben whirled to glare at him, finger on his lips. Six more steps closer to the ship and they heard a sharp cracking sound that stopped them in their tracks. They immediately hit the ground thinking it was a shot, then realized it was just the sound of the door opening as the strange purple light grew brighter and the smell of rotted meat grew thicker in the night air.
The cholos arose silently from their prone positions and watched the opening door. Ruben pulled his bandana out of his pocket and tied it around his face, covering his nose as the smell grew thicker. The others followed suit. The door opened wider and out from the ship came scrambling these tiny purple creatures who seemed to be made of light, though they smelled horribly rotten. They were small, not more than three feet tall, and seemed bent and crookedly shaped to the young men who watched from the ground. They had long, gnarly teeth – fangs really, that hung in a massive overbite that left their mouths open and gaping. The stench was getting even more powerful and the quiet of the park seemed to be waiting for something to happen.
Suddenly, a screech of tires exploded into the silence followed by the sounds of running feet. The aliens stopped their descent and stood for a moment as if scanning the new threat. Ruben, peripheral vision and other senses sharp saw and heard the homies’ arrival and closed his eyes for a brief second. He felt stronger now with the neighborhood there, but still had no idea what these creatures wanted from him. By their stench and the hairs prickling up on the back of his neck, he knew nothing good would come of this visit. They weren’t here to party. They were here to rumble.
From all around the park he could hear low whistles and, “Holy shit, what the fuck is that?” as the neighborhood realized they had a spaceship and aliens in Lincoln Park.
A vato named Dopey was running from the direction of the driveway on Valley holding a long, heavy chain. He almost ran right smack into the ship before he saw it. In horror, Ruben and the homies saw a purple creature turn towards Dopey and suck him right into its gaping maw, chain, and all. The creature spit and all that was left of Dopey was a puddle of purple and two broken links of chain. From all over the park, howls of outrage, grief, and horror thundered in the air.
“It’s on motherfuckers!”
“Cabrones!”
“Hijos de la chingada!” was repeated over ad over as the creature just slowly turned its crooked head and opened up its mouth.
Ruben could feel the gravitational pull and knew the creature would suck yet another of his homeboys into the horrible mouth. He whistled a long, sharp sound and the park fell instantly silent. He raised his hand in the air, pointing, and shouted, “Run!” Everyone hauled ass in the direction he pointed – to the hill just beyond the gym.
The aliens laughed to themselves at how easily these seemed Gods could be killed. They knew then that they were not Gods, only pathetic little creatures. They were in no hurry so they watched in amusement as their food ran, all the while tracking their scent and energy as they lumbered off the ship and towards the hill.
On the hill, the homies were regrouping. Ruben, with all the strategic brilliance of a four-star general, gave orders.
“We know from poor Dopey that chains are nada so probably all metal will be no good. Still, everyone with a cuete get on the roof of the gym and go sniper on those pieces of shit.”
“Who is good at throwing knives? Yeah, ok all of you over there behind the trees. Mujeres, to the rear over by the pool. Maybe water will kill them and si no, there are the showers and other places to hide behind and in the building.”
Quickly, the neighborhood grouped themselves at his direction. There were a couple of vatos with blowtorches and Ruben put them at the frontline. The younger vatos he sent running home to gather sticks, chemicals, and whatever they could find. It was a good way to get them out of danger too. This was a war he didn’t know how to fight, but damn it, he was going to try everything he could. He shuddered thinking about Dopey, but shook it off. Damned if he was going to end up a puddle of purple spit on the asphalt. He thought of his girl Smiley and their little boy at home with his mother. Then, as if he had conjured her, there she stood, on the hill looking down at him as she panted from her long run. Her long black hair blew in the wind and she looked both fierce and scared. He knew then she had seen what happened to Dopey. He pointed to the pool area where he’d sent all the other women and she slowly shook her head.
“No way, babe. We fight together, we die together,” she whispered still out of breath.
Ruben shrugged and said, “Well hell, what did you bring to this party?”
She laughed, “All I have is a can of Aqua Net and some mascara. I just ran when I heard stuff was going down.”
“Fuck it,” he said. “Pull that bitch out and spray the bastards if you need to. At the very least, it might blind them and give us a little time to haul ass up out of here.”
He whirled around to take a good, long look at her, kissed her fiercely, then pulled away. He nodded his head and turned back to watch the parking lot. The creatures were getting closer and the guys on the roof started shooting.
Nothing happened.
More shots, then stillness as the creatures just kept slowly moving towards the hill. One stopped long enough to pick up a bullet by inhaling it, then turned. It opened its mouth ad inhaled again as the air around the park seemed to shimmer with purple-scented funk.
Cholos flew off the roof screaming into the creature’s mouth, guns and all. They went down fighting, kicking and beating the creatures, but down they went. The last guy on the roof turned and ran, leaping off into the swimming pool and coming up on the other end. Ruben, Smiley and the others froze in terror as their friends were consumed.
One of the creatures started after the lone guy from the roof who was sopping wet and still running in his soggy denim shorts. His chanclas made a wet, squishy sound as they slapped against the concrete. He kept running, trying to make it up the hill where the rest of them were trying to figure out what to do next. Ruben and Smiley shook themselves off and began to make their way down the right side of the hill to help him.
As they ran, the running man (Ruben remembered his name was Alex) stumbled and lost a chancla. Without thinking, he bent to pick it up only to feel the creature’s hot and nasty breath starting to suck him in. He felt his body begin to lift off the ground and in terror, he pulled his left arm back as far as he could and hurled the soaking chancla at the creature. He heard a cry of agony and in in surprise, found himself sitting on the grass.
Alex heard cheers from the homeboys on the hill and to his utter shock, he saw the creature gasping on the ground, his wet chancla sticking out of its head. It wasn’t dead but it was hurt and hurt bad.
Alex jumped up and ran the few feet left to Ruben and Smiley. Together, they ran back up the hill to the rest of the group.
At the top of the small hill, the cholos were still cheering at the fallen alien who was struggling to get up. Ruben got everyone quiet. He was thinking fast. Was it the chancla that had damaged the alien or the water from it? He was taking no chances.
“Everyone with chanclas or huaraches, take them off and put them in a pile. Joker, you grab four of the vatos and run down to the hynas at the pool. Get water in whatever you can fill from the dumpsters or whatever and start sending it up here. We’re going to start throwing chanclas!” A los chanclasos cabrones!”
Payaso laughed and said, “We should go get my Ma yo. She throws a mean chancla!”
“Sabes que homie? That’s not a bad idea. Send one of the dudes running to the back of the park and tell him to round up every chancla in the hood and get the abuelas and mamas over here. My mom can still whip my ass with a chancletazo al diablo.” Ruben said.
Payaso looked up at Ruben kimd of stunned, then grinned wide and said, “Orale, ese” and ran off to round up the neighborhood’s meanest chancla-throwing women.
On his way down the back end of the park, he ran into the younger kids, who were coming with everything from rakes and machetes from Tio Chuy’s gardening truck to bags of fertilizer. He took care of the stuff, selecting two of the kids to haul it to Ruben, then headed back down with the rest of the kids to round up chanclas and women.
Quickly, a rather large pile of chanclas of all varieties formed, and the best throwers in the group took to the frontline armed with chanclas. Buckets, old beer bottles, and soda cans of water were being rushed up the hill while the aliens still lumbered forward slowly, their wounded friend at the rear.
From behind them, the cholos could hear the women of the neighborhood coming. The highest-pitched voice was that of Doña Belen, a mean old viejita with the strongest throwing arm he’d ever seen outside of Dodger Stadium. Not a kid in the hood was without scars on their nalgas from her “chanclas of doom.” He winced and tensed up his butt involuntarily as he rememebered, then tried to relax as he realized that this time, she was on his side.
Doña Belen’s high voice was screeching out, “Donde estan esos desgraciados que han matado a mis chavalaos? Cabrones, veten de aqui pinche espacemen!”
She was marching as fast as her little old legs could carry her, chancla in hand and the pockets of her apron filled with flip-flops. She looked like a cross between an avenging angel, La Llorona, and a crazy homeless person.
Despite himself, Ruben laughed and got a whack to the back of his head.
“Malcriado! What are you laughing at cabron? This is a war pendejo! Portate como un guerrero and not a stupid kid,” she shouted and hurled her beloved and very bedazzled chancla at one of the aliens.
It flew through the air with a wicked whistling sound that every Latinx kid knows all too well and landed right smack into the gaping mouth of the closet alien. FUACA! The smacking sound rang through the park and the alien fell to its knees. Cheers rang across the park and more chanclas started to fly through the air as an army of apron-clad, masa-fingered grandmothers began their assault.
As the chanclas began to wound the aliens and their horrible howls of pain resounded through the air, the cholos realized they didn’t need water, so they sent for more chanclas. They were wounding these cabrones like crazy, but not one had died and they were speeding up, getting closer. Ruben and Smiley at the front of the group looked at each other in concern. Could they be killed?
The pinche aliens were getting closer. Ruben couldn’t feel that pull though, they had wounded them enough to where they couldn’t just suck them in from a distance, but still they kept coming. The line of purple creatures seemed endless and when they fanned out to try and block the chanclas, he could see there were hundreds of them. Smiley’s eyed widened and her face paled a bit under her heavy makeup.
“Shit babe, the chanclas aren’t killing them. What are we going to do?” she whispered.
“I don’t know mija, keep hurling them and we’ll keep trying to find something else. Maybe if we hit them hard enough and fast enough, they’ll go down for good. Fuck, there’s a ton of the bastards though.”
He scratched along his jawline thinking as he paced along the frontline of cholos and abuelas. Seeing a blowtorch on the ground, he picked it up and nodded to the guys who had brought the torches.
“Let’s try and hit them with fire too, eses. Maybe that will kill them.”
The group of cholos with the blow torches nodded and moved up as close as they dated, then turned up the heat and based the aliens with a fiery wall.
Nothing happened.
The aliens got closer and Smiley saw one trip and fall after it had been hit with both fire and chancla. She wanted to burn it. She hated it so much that she was beyond reason. The damned thing reminded her of one of the pinche potato bugs or niños de la tierra that used to crawl out of the dirt in her yard as a little girl.
Suddenly, she remembered she and her brother burning those bugs with hairspray and a lighter one night. He dad had caught them playing with fire and they’d both gotten it good with the cinto. These damned aliens reminded her of that night of those hideous bugs that gave her nightmares. She was going to burn one if it killed her.
Sneaking away from the group, she grabbed the torch on the ground and crept down the hillside slowly. Smiley was good at keeping quiet. It had taken all her stealth to sneak out around to see Ruben when they were secretly dating and she’d become an expert at the sneak.
Flattening herself against the ground, she slithered like a culebra down the hill. The aliens were distracted with the chanclas that were still flying and getting in some good chingasos.
She choked and almost vomited as she neared the alien that was down on the asphalt. Its reek was intense. Steeling herself against the smell, she kept closer and at that moment the alien turned and looked her dead in the eye with pained yellow eyes full of hatred. It began to open its mouth and Smiley felt its horrible pull. Without thinking she grabbed the blowtorch and turned it on, feeling the blast of heat on her face. Snatching the can of Aqua Net out of her pocket with her other hand, she sprayed it, causing a huge conflagration that burnt off the few eyebrow hairs she had. She screamed and yanked herself back, dropping the blowtorch on the ground in her hurry to get away from the creature.
Aqua Net in hand, she kept spraying and to her surprise, saw the creature dissolve into a purple puddle. She’d killed it. Smiley wanted to scream out her victory but she kept quiet and ran as fast as she could up the hill and to Ruben.
Smiley found Ruben on the hill hurling chanclas with the old ladies.
“Ruben!” she panted, grabbing his arm.
He turned and saw her blackened face. “What the f…””
“Shut up. I killed one! It’s not fire that kills them, it’s my Aqua Net!” she pointed excitedly at the purple puddle below.
“You went down there? You pinche loca, you could have been killed!” He was yelling, out of control.
Smiley shook him. “I. Fucking. Killed. One.” She said in her most pissed off, ‘I’m talking to a real pendejo’ tone.
The realization hit Ruben and he sent the four vatos running to grab all the hairspray they could get their hands on. How was he to know they’d break the window of the 99 Cent Store? They returned with an arsenal of hairspray just in time. The abuelas were tired and there were no more chanclas to be found.
The best and the bravest of the vatos and cholas grabbed cans and ran headlong into the fanned-out group of aliens, spraying Aqua Net for all they were worth. One by one, the aliens dissolved into nasty purple puddles on the asphalt till the whole damned parking lot was purple. A few cholos found themselves pulled up in the air and sucked up towards the mouths of the remaining aliens but as they neared those nasty books, they sprayed them right into the face and the alien would melt. One guy slipped on the sticky purple mess but got up and sprayed just in time to kill the alien bearing down upon him.
From up on the hill the abuelas were now hurling full cans of hairspray whenever someone would pull their arm up and scream out, “Empty!” It seemed like hours but then Ruben saw the last alien coming towards him and he sprayed it right in the face. It dropped and melted before his eyes.
Stunned, the neighborhood looked around the parking lot and cheered. They’d done it! Saved the world and killed a bunch of cabrón pinche alien babosos. They were sticky, dirty, and smelled as foul as the creatures they’d killed so they all jumped into the pool and rinsed off, leaving the pool with a thick scum of purple muck.
A few of the homies went to check out the spaceship, Aqua Net in hand to make sure no one was still aboard. Seeing no one, they stripped it for parts and the younger guys pulled it all away to store in garages around the hood. They’d sell that stuff somehow and raise money for the guys that had died. Grief-stricken now that the adrenalin rush was over, they’d mourned their fallen homies whose bodies couldn’t even be buried. Struggling with grief, exhaustion, and ebullient happiness that they’d won, they headed home to sleep and plan a pachanga in honor of the guy who’d died.
The next morning the LAPD rousted the homies demanding to know about the purple “graffiti” all over the park, their “sniffing” of Aqua Net to “get high,” littering the park with its bottles as well as the broken windows of the 99 Cent Store.
You could save the world, but some things never changed.
Pressed up against police cars in handcuffs or kneeling on the ground with their hands behind their heads were the vatos who’d saved the world from aliens. As Ruben turned his head against the hot metal of the police car hood, he saw the goddamned ICE van pull up and knew he was going to be deported yet again. He could see Smiley on the porch holding their baby boy and knew that she’d be driving down to TJ tonight with her uncles to get him. He’d be home in time for the pachanga and hoped there’d be some of his mom’s great salsa negra to go with the tacos he was already craving.
Ya estuvo.
This story originally appeared in the anthology, Ban This!