September 2024 Web Feature by Jeremy Kinter
Jeremy is a writer based out of Albuquerque, New Mexico. His non-fiction piece “Shitkicker” has been published in The Blue Mesa Review. He graduated with an English Literature and Southwestern History Degree from Western New Mexico University. He has edited and written for several local publications including pyragraph.com. All of his writing is currently themed around being a Chicano that has grown up in rural New Mexico. He has aged into, and come to love his heritage, which is something his mother had to learn to accept herself—existing in a segregated town between “whites” and “browns” as Mexican.
This piece was originally featured in our Spring 2024 issue and was chosen as a web feature for September 2024
In the Winter of 1996, my half-sister Kim Kinter sued my half-sister Faythe Medina for sixty dollars. It was the half that she had owed Kim for a one hundred and twenty dollar Panasonic VCR they had decided to split as a gift for my parent’s 11th wedding anniversary that previous May.
We are a family made of halves. My half-sister Kim and half-brother Robert on my father’s side, and my half-sister Faythe on my mother’s side. I was the only child my parents Hope Mata and Russell Kinter had together. More than half their lives with their only available parent, the other half gone — each of my parents left alone to raise each half of their child. I was the accident that occurred in 1985 when my father met my mom while she was working at a K-Mart, and he was driving a semi-truck through Silver City. The last half that was left of their lives converged, held together by the blind dogma of religion, and the soundless temperament of honor. My mother’s religion, my father’s sense of duty. The prodigal son of convergence. Not just the youngest, but the only. The prince of privilege. The child to be reared in a home by two parents. Though not necessarily happy in their circumstance, they aimed to avoid whatever mistakes they had previously made with my brothers and sisters. Dogma and duty.
My dad was Faythe’s dad. Her biological father split when she was barely able to remember, and my mother reverted back to her maiden name out of spite; it wasn’t her’s long enough to keep after the divorce. But for some reason my mom let Faythe keep her biological father’s last name, mostly because I think my sister wanted to keep it. To hold onto him. The living ghosts of our blood that haunt us all.
Kim and Robert were raised under the tutelage of my paternal grandfather. My father’s first wife left him and the children. She just left one night. No footsteps, whispers, or kisses. She disappeared from their reality. Then my father subsequently followed, slower and slower until it was my grandparents left with them. My father a truck driver, my grandfather a sign painter in a rotting industry. The dead and dying trying to lead. My brother became a lifelong criminal, in and out of prison more than half his life and my sister became a paralegal. She would become a lifelong criminal of a different sort.
See, at the time of the aforementioned incident Kim was married to a lawyer, Steve White. He was, now looking back at it, your pretty typical white male lawyer in the nineties. Big house just outside of town, young wife, a penchant for cigars and wine; a Conservative with a certain disregard for mainstream society while being its champion. The symbiotic hotel, where if my sister was young, complacent, and good looking enough, her room would be paid for. He was beyond anything I’d seen in terms of affluent flagrance. They would always show up in newly leased Porches, BMWs, or Jaguars. They stood out in our very small town of Silver City and my sister would always complain about the damage the dirt roads leading to our house would do to their cars. Steep taste, garnered from a poor upbringing in Central Albuquerque.
I’m rationalizing the defining parameters of what sixty dollars meant to Kim in 1996. The grip of the mythic Mephistopheles and the squeeze of the devil. When you’re poor it’s not hyperbole. It’s not evil or craven. It’s survival, or the perceived need of wealth that will fall away in an instant. But for Steve, it was nothing but the brandishing of power.
When the agreement was made between them, he hauled out his black polyurethane pocket book and wrote the sum of half of one hundred and twenty dollars. He penned my sister’s name next to it, and had her initials on the line below.
The year bled on into the Fall and the sum was forgotten by my sister, Faythe. Life speaks quickly, and she found it hard to keep up. She was a decade younger than my sister Kim, and things speak quicker and fuller to youth. But the sixty dollars that was owed to them was something Kim and Steve held onto.
They pressed and reminded and pursued in a manner that didn’t match the amount in question. Faythe delayed, and finally they threatened legal action until there was a summons by Steve White suing for the amount of sixty dollars in Grant County Civil Claims court.
Faythe curbed the threat as mere posturing until the papers were served to her:
NOTICE TO DEFENDANT: FAYTHE MEDINA. YOU ARE BEING SUED BY PLAINTIFF STEVE WHITE. PRESIDED BY JUDGE ANAYA GRANT COUNTY, SILVER CITY, NEW MEXICO.
Steve and Kim knew Faythe was with child, yet pursued the matter, based on some twisted principle that had seeded as righteousness in their minds. In delinquent hope of semi-sanity, Faythe convinced herself that they would drop the case until the day of the trial arrived.
As an eleven year old hearing whispers of this while it occurred, I simply ignored it and thought it was nothing more than feuding siblings of the step-variety. More likely I didn’t care, because I was eleven years old, and I’m remembering this adolescent perspective through muffled memories. Russell and Hope Kinter had a penchant for not talking about things, things related to money most of all, and my mother, I came to find out, treated the situation with a certain disregard. I remember an instant in which she tossed her hands up to Faythe and yelled that she and Kim needed to figure the situation out themselves. It wasn’t until I was thirty-four that the full story was related to me from Faythe. Duty and dogma make for tight lips amongst family.
My sister showed up to the tiny courtroom late while Steve, the lone representative present for the matter of the prosecution, sat dressed sharp as fox teeth. Kim was not present, I assume out of shame. Or, I hope out of shame.
Judge Anaya slammed his gavel down in semblance of procedure, barely looking up from his chair. “In the matter of one Mr. Steve White versus Faythe Medina for the sum of sixty dollars…” The judge halted his speech immediately and looked up to the sharply dressed lawyer. “Mr. White you are well aware that the court fees could potentially amount well in excess of the sum you are suing Miss Medina for, correct?”
“Your honor,” Steve issued with latent ease. “I’m well aware of that, and ready to proceed as necessary to obtain the sum the defendant is contractually obligated to.”
Judge Anaya fixated his gaze to my plump sister, the lone defendant. The Clerk and Bailiff now moved their gaze to her in alignment with the arbiter of the proceedings. His eyebrows raised and his shoulders hunched forward for a better look. I wasn’t there and these last two details I added but assumed as true. As most details I have added and assumed are true.
“Miss Medina, do you not have counsel?”
“No, I don’t, your Honor,” she said nervously. “I,”she looked to the Bailiff, Clerk, then up to the Judge. “I didn’t think my brother-in-law would bring this case against me.”
The hunch of the judges shoulders pressed deeper into his back in reaction, then eased. Judge Anaya turned his gaze back to Steve. “Is she, in fact, your sister-in-law Mr. White?’
“Yes your honor, that is the case. If you will let me proceed with an open…”
“Bahhht.” Judge Anaya raised his finger up in oratory defense. “My assessment is not yet done in order to allow you to proceed. Please go ahead, Miss Medina.“
“Well, your honor, like I said. I just didn’t think it would come to this and it sort of all got away from me. Things happened and all of a sudden, here I am in court for sixty dollars, ” my sister said.
Judge Anaya looked into her pinning gaze of innocence under threat of punishment, a look he’d seen many times before and then looked to her belly. “Mija, I know this is stepping outside of my bounds, but are you with child?”
“Yes your honor,” she said, rubbing the palm of her brown hand against her ripe belly for gravid effect.
Judge Anaya plopped back into his chair, rubbing the dense white hairs of his beard that spoke with celestial authority against his umber skin.
“I am going to reschedule this hearing for next Fall and assign Miss Medina counsel.”
Steve rose in protest but his white suit wilted in the heat of Judge Rudolfo’s gaze, the words did not rise within him.
“Is that ample enough time for you to have this blessing and become situated Miss Medina?”
A red hue took over her radiating cheeks. “Yes, your Honor.”
The words from Steve finally rose with a sharp edge that took the altruistic blessing from the moment.
“If I may request from your Honor that we refrain from further delay and proceed as scheduled. It would less burden the courts and yourself.”
“You have already burdened the courts, and I will not have you prosecute a pregnant woman without counsel in my court. Sixty dollars—or whatever the amount, this shall be a fair civil preceding, Mr. White. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”
“Yes, I can, your Honor.”
“Miss Medina, I am going to assign you counsel under one of our best public defenders, Jimmy Santiago Baca.” Steve’s sharp white teeth bit into the inside of his lip.
Court was adjourned and the gavel sang with a resurrecting echo that called to Jimmy Santiago Baca.
The insects came in the late summer. They birthed then burnt and fertilized the soil during the monsoons. And when the rains came, my niece Daisha was born from that enchanted terra firma.
Talk about the case began to permeate throughout the small town of Silver City, not only because of its sheer absurdity but also because of Jimmy Santiago Baca’s reputation. My mother and father sank further into the background out of shame.
Santiago has long since retired from practicing law, but his cases have been canonized in Grant County. He’s the closest thing to a living Saint that’s never served a sermon in a church. They said when he strolled the Gila with a rifle on his shoulder hunting Elk, the bulls wouldn’t call to their mates for fear his words would find them and bind their hooves to the dirt.
Santiago wasn’t a fancy lawyer from a big town, why would our protagonist be? He grew up in the barrio of the village of Bayard because there is only one, under the shadow of the Kneeling Nun and Chino Mines. He championed people like his grandfather and father; the wetbacks, spics, Mehicanos and brown people working to the bone in the Chino pit digging to hell for copper. The foreman feared him and the union plastered his face on their shields. His name bolstered wages and anchored accountability to those who were at fault. He wore many hats, literally, from cowboy to hard without being duplicitous. Santiago never became a politician despite the call and backing. His impact was direct, like his diction, his words; always active, never passive, always feared. A man with the constant wry smirk of small silent victory and thick brows like the ridges of the Black Range. People would often wonder in his later age as his head began to bald on top and the hair began to grey how his face could hold the weight of such grand raven eyebrows that seemed to retain most of the mass of the universe. He stood taller than most Chicanos, and was by far the tallest person in his family, by at least four inches. His mamá would joke that he was plucked from the ground by his hair like a sweet potato. The Earth born man.
Santiago understood the laden perception of this case, as it had grown over time. The permeating gossip of a small town sprouts into conjecture. That ripe gourd filled with questions spoken behind doors and booze.
“Why would he take a case over a VCR?”
“It’s gotta be about more than money, don’t it? After all, it is her brother-in-law that is suing her.”
“If Santiago took it then there is more at stake, right?”
“Does it have anything to do with the baby?”
Whether he’d admit it now or not, this was his most infamous case where infamy would be found in the defeat of his adversary, or should I say adversaries.
In the wake of the leaves death, a deep second bitter Fall set in and Judge Rudolfo Anaya passed. Much to Jimmy Santiago Baca’s chagrin, the case was passed to Judge Scott. The only white Mormon judge in the state of New Mexico.
The court date loomed nearer and anticipatory anxiety set in even more so for my sister Faythe. Santiago assuaged her fears, as he was wont to do with his brothers and sisters. “It’s gone too far and I don’t know why he presses on,” she said.
“Mija, feuds are constant, to be sure, amongst blood most of all. Half, Step, false uncle, cousin, or otherwise. These relations are thrust unto us, and whether we like it or not, they will remain. Through this case your sister will still be there in the end. I don’t necessarily mean in terms of support either, but existing in the orbit of you through the gravity of your father and mother. And though we may estrange them for years they will eventually end up in front of you changed or buried, forgiveness or regret. I would like to imagine it’s the prior with your sister, and hope one day you can forgive her. But Steve, her husband, has leveraged his position of power and privilege against someone not deserving of it. I will not let that stand no matter the stake. He states it’s the principle of the matter, and that will be brought to him. It may go hard, but bullies with sharp teeth and suits will not prevail, least of all in my County. As for Judge Scott, taking over the case is but a diamond stone sharpening us both.”
The acute rap of the gavel in Scott’s swollen hand rang out like the cry of a revolver pointed against some innocent bystander. For the Judge saw the absurdity, but said he understood the principle of it. The resounding words of the prosecution played on Steve’s previously stated sentiment and brought a smile to his unseasonably tan face.
Faythe observed he was even more put together than the last time she’d seen him in court, and his white suit seemed even whiter paired with a short black tie that jutted up in angles, giving that sharp fox smile of his just that much more gleam.
Santiago looked to my sister, “We wouldn’t have expected any less, mija.”
“It’s all gone too far.”
“There’s the principle they keep speaking of, as if the pursuant of sixty dollars against his sister-in-law is using logic instead of power under the guise of law. It’s the morality of it that has left the jug half-filled. And I’ve never left a jug half-filled in my life,” he said gently to her.
“Mr. Baca, Mr. White, I would like to proceed rather quickly if you would allow it, in order to save the great state of New Mexico and Grant County some money. I will hear the case from both sides only once. Though I understand the principle of the matter, I respect our tax payer’s money at work. May we proceed?”
“Yes your Honor,” both Steve and Santiago stated in rare sacred unison.
“I do have to ask though, could the matter not have been settled out of court?”
“Your Honor, my client was not approached by Mr. White for a settlement outside of court.” Santiago said on the tail of Scott’s words.
“Your Honor, Baca’s client was approached many times before the matter came to this. And this could all be resolved if Miss Medina were to pay the sum of sixty dollars to me or her sister for her half of the VCR that she verbally and contractually agreed to pay.”
“Hardly,” Santiago stomped. “Would you take thirty dollars? Fifteen? What about corn?”
“It will only be the sixty dollars. And you’re lucky I don’t ask for more, given interest, inflation, and let us not forget, my time and the courts.” Steve pivoted with his arms open as if to receive my sister’s baby for Baptism. “Your Honor, I only ask for the sixty dollars that was promised by the defendant, and nothing more.”
“Understandable. Then let’s proceed.”
Proceed it did, and the bone of contention went hard and without break. There was a glint of Hope, but she was not there, for she could not witness the break between her children, and it all was doused by the black ledger Mr. White presented to the Judge. For its contents contained an amount, the amount in contention, and the initials F.M. With this presented, Santiago couldn’t escape its tenure of ink and content. It stored neatly the fate of my sister, despite Santiago’s tight oration of sympathy for his client. It was preceded with a fisted anger pounded into the desk.
Then Santiago brought into question the legitimacy of the ledger and its entry. Faythe confessed to not remembering the instant in which she committed her signature to the ledger for half of the VCR. And once again, Santiago offered compromise — once again, Mr. White pointed out that the sum should be far more than what he was currently asking.
It took Santiago in the end, and the heat rose within him, the New Mexican sun emanated across time from his grandpa that experienced those long summers in the mine. The landscape radiating heat, burning his overalls and making his hard hat slip forward from the sweat on his dense black caterpillar brow. Being in contempt of Scott’s court was no longer of issue to him. Though it never was, he’d saved that respect for Judge Anaya. Now it was an afterthought as was his defense of my sister. It was now the principle of the matter to him. But not the principle, or matter, according to Mr. White or Judge Scott.
It was a truncated eon, a quilt of moments sewn together by Mother Time, before Baca finally rose to his feet. Even though he knew the courts were the enemy of our people, of my sister, it was the first time he’d felt it. He studied the eyes of Judge Scott, then Mr. White, the black hole of their pupils eating away at their irises like when a fox smells the iron of blood in the air. They’d not only come for my sister, but for his reputation. To see Baca get struck down for a mere sixty dollars would be satisfaction served.
Then the point struck Santiago.
“The item in question that my client allegedly did not pay half for is a VCR, correct?”
“That is correct,” Steve answered willfully and diligently.
“This is a piece of technology. Frequently and currently used in households across America. And just like any other piece of technology, it has a shelf life. A short shelf life. Look at the progression, evolution, and eventual drop off of just cassettes alone. Which is what a VCR plays, giant cassettes.”
“Objection your Honor… They are called VHS’s.” His confidence waned like the aforementioned technology holding on to a dying market. Judge Scott’s pupils sank to black sand sized specs.
“Mr. White, now is that necessary? This is a small claims court in a small town with the smallest claim I’ve ever been witness to. Now I will adhere and uphold on my end but we must acquiesce some things. I said I wanted it to move fast and it has not. Objections are unnecessary here.”
“I apologize, your Honor,” Santiago said in a soothing, splayed tone. “They are in fact called VHS cassettes. You’ve seen one right, your Honor?”
“Yes of course.”
“My assumption is correct, is it not? They’re giant cassettes.”
“Correct.”
“The 8-track, beta max, hi-8, and mini-cassette are all but gone. Forgotten and done technology. The current audio cassettes have all but been replaced by compact discs.There are now large disc video formats taking hold in classrooms. And now, with the most recent advent in video technology with the DVD, the VHS is all but doomed. That is suffice-to-say this VCR in question about a year later is probably currently selling on store shelves for sixty dollars if not less at this point.”
He spoke their language. The language of semantics. The unfortunate nature of the case is of no concern to the court. Fairness has no rule in these courts, Jimmy Santiago Baca would go on to say mockingly in the 200 word article printed about the case in the Silver City Daily Press.
There was but a small moment of awe that day in Grant County Small Claims court. The apparent pervasive cassette knowledge of technology not traditionally attributed to an old Chicano lawyer surprised everyone; the judge most of all.
The case was dismissed, and the folklore of Jimmy Santiago Baca as the great southern orator was cemented that day.
Santiago retired soon after that case. It had apparently extinguished what fire he had in himself, and what trust he had in the American court system for his people.
My sister was estranged from the family out of her own shame. Steve White divorced her about a year later, and when she once again was a Kinter, she came orbiting around in small spouts of obligation or sense of family I assume. She’d call my mom, not our dad — her dad. She’d come to Silver City from Albuquerque and go out drinking with my sister Faythe, who had forgiven her and attributed the incident to Steve moreso. Lastly, she’d try to be a big sister to me. But she always felt like a guest to me, and I to her. It was a consistent system of estrangement on my dad’s side of my family that would continue on and on. And when my estranged criminal brother, who was in and out of prison more than half his life, was murdered; we became less estranged for a bit of time, just a bit. I like to imagine if Jimmy Santiago Baca had represented my brother in one of his cases, that wouldn’t have happened. And Steve always refused to take any of my brother’s cases, for fear of meddling in family affairs.
I never fully understood the literal metaphorical nature of this case for our family, for me. The white looking Mexican, telling stories to his kids about that time the great Jimmy Santiago Baca defended my sister against my sister for sixty dollars.
El Portal Literary Journal 