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Remember the Rain






turning the pages patiently

in search of meanings

—W. S. Merwin

One

SUMMER WAS HERE AGAIN. SUMMER, SUMMER, SUMMER. I loved and hated summers. Summers had a logic all their own and they always brought something out in me. Summer was supposed to be about freedom and youth and no school and possibilities and adventure and exploration. Summer was a book of hope. That’s why I loved and hated summers. Because they made me want to believe.

I had that Alice Cooper song in my head.

I made up my mind that this was going to be my summer. If summer was a book then I was going to write something beautiful in it. In my own handwriting. But I had no idea what to write. And already the book was being written for me. Already it wasn’t all that promising. Already it was about more work and commitments.

I’d gone on full time at the Charcoaler. I’d never worked forty hours a week. I liked the hours though: eleven in the morning to seven thirty at night, Monday through Thursday. That meant I could always sleep in, and if I wanted, I could go out. Not that I knew where I wanted to go out. On Fridays I went in late and closed at ten. Not a bad schedule—and I had weekends off. So, it was okay. But this was summer! And Saturday afternoons, my mom signed me up for the food bank. I didn’t argue with her.

My life was still someone else’s idea.

I got up early on the first Saturday after school let out. I was in my jogging shorts in the kitchen, having a glass of orange juice. I looked over at my mom who was reading the newspaper. “I have to work tonight.”

“I thought you didn’t work on Saturdays? ”

“I’m just filling in for a couple of hours for Mike.”

“He your friend? ”

“Not really.”

“It’s decent of you to fill in for him.”

“I’m not doing it for free, I’m getting paid. And, anyway, you raised me to be decent.”

“You don’t sound too thrilled.”

“What’s so thrilling about being decent? I want to be bad boy, if you want to know the truth.”

“A bad boy? ”

“You know. Che Guevara. James Dean.”

“Who’s stopping you? ”

“I’m looking at her.”

“Yeah, blame it all on your mother.” She laughed.

Me, I was trying to decide if I was joking or not.

“You know, Ari, if you really wanted to be a bad boy, you’d just do it. The last thing bad boys need is their mother’s approval.”

“You think I need your approval? ”

“I don’t know how to answer that.”

We looked at each other. I always wound up getting into these conversations with my mother that I didn’t want to have. “What if I quit my job? ”

She just looked at me. “Fine.”

I knew that tone. “Fine” meant I was full of crap. I knew the code. We looked at each other for about five seconds—which seemed like forever.

“You’re too old for an allowance, ” she said.

“Maybe I’ll just mow lawns.”

“That’s imaginative.”

“Too Mexican for you, Mom? ”

“No. Just too unreliable.”

“Flipping burgers. That’s reliable. Not very imaginative, but reliable. Come to think of it, it’s the perfect job for me. I’m reliable and unimaginative.”

She shook her head. “Are you going to spend your life beating up on yourself? ”

“You’re right. Maybe I’ll take the summer off.”

“You’re in high school, Ari. You’re not looking for a profession. You’re just looking for a way to earn some money. You’re in transition.”

“In transition? What kind of a Mexican mother are you? ”

“I’m an educated woman. That doesn’t un-Mexicanize me, Ari.”

She sounded a little angry. I loved her anger and wished I had more of it. Her anger was different than mine or my father’s. Her anger didn’t paralyze her. “Okay, I get your point, Mom.”

“Do you? ”

“Somehow, Mom, I always feel like a case study around you.”

“Sorry, ” she said. Though she wasn’t. She looked at me. “Ari, do you know what an ecotone is? ”

“It’s the terrain where two different ecosystems meet. In an ecotone, the landscape will contain elements of the two different ecosystems. It’s like a natural borderlands.”

“Smart boy. In transition. I don’t have to say any more, do I? ”

“No mom, you don’t. I live in an ecotone. Employmentmust coexist with goofing off. Responsibility must coexist with irresponsibility.”

“Something like that.”

“Do I get an A in Sonhood 101? ”

“Don’t be mad at me, Ari.”

“I’m not.”

“Sure you are.”

“You’re such a school teacher.”

“Look, Ari, it’s not my fault you’re almost seventeen.”

“And when I’m twenty-five, you’ll still be a schoolteacher.”

“Well, that was mean.”

“Sorry.”

She studied me.

“I am, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“We always begin every summer with an argument, don’t we? ”

“It’s a tradition, ” I said. “I’m going running.”

As I turned away, she grabbed my arm. “Look, Ari, I’m sorry too.”

“It’s okay, Mom.”

“I know you, Ari, ” she said.

I wanted to tell her the same thing I wanted to tell Gina Navarro. Nobody knows me.

Then she did what I knew she was going to do—she combed my hair with her fingers. “You don’t have to work if you don’t want to. Your father and I will be happy to give you money.”

I knew she meant it.

But that wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t know what I wanted. “It’s not about the money, Mom.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Just make it a nice summer, Ari.”

The way she said that. The way she looked at me. Sometimes there was so much love in her voice that I just couldn’t stand it.

“Okay, Mom, ” I said. “Maybe I’ll fall in love.”

“Why not? ” she said.

Sometimes parents loved their sons so much that they made a romance out of their lives. They thought our youth could help us overcome everything. Maybe moms and dads forgot about this one small fact: being on the verge of seventeen could be harsh and painful and confusing. Being on the verge of seventeen could really suck.

 

 

Two

IT WASN’T EXACTLY AN ACCIDENT THAT LEGS AND I ran by Dante’s house. I knew he was coming back—though I didn’t know exactly when. He’d sent a postcard on the day he left Chicago: We’re driving back today via Washington, D.C. My dad wants to look something up at the Library of Congress. See you soon. Love, Dante.

When I got to the park, I let Legs off the leash, even though I wasn’t supposed to. I loved watching her run around. I was in love with the innocence of dogs, the purity of their affection. They didn’t know enough to hide their feelings. They existed. A dog was a dog. There was such a simple elegance about being a dog that I envied. I called her back and put her on the leash and started my run again.

“Ari! ”

I stopped, then turned around. And there he was, Dante Quintana standing on his porch, waving at me with that honest and sincere smile of his, that same smile he wore when he asked me if I wanted to learn how to swim.

I waved back and walked toward his house. We stood there, looking at each other for a minute. It was strange, that we didn’t have any words. And then he just leapt off his porch and hugged me. “Ari! Look at you! Long hair! You look like Che Guevara without the mustache.”

“Nice, ” I said.

Legs barked at him. “You have to pet her, ” I said. “She hates to be ignored.”

Dante got down on his knees and petted her. Then kissed her. Legs licked his face. It was hard to say which of the two of them was more affectionate. “Legs, Legs, so nice to meet you.” He looked so happy and I wondered about that, his capacity for happiness. Where did that come from? Did I have that kind of happiness inside me? Was I just afraid of it?

“Where’d you get all those muscles, Ari? ”

I looked at him, standing in front of me, him and all his uncensored questions.

“My dad’s old weights in the basement.” I said. And then I realized that he was now taller than me. “How’d you grow so much? ” I said.

“Must have been the cold, ” he said. “Five eleven. I’m exactly as tall as my dad.” He studied me. “You’re shorter—but your hair makes you look taller.”

That made me laugh though I didn’t know why. He hugged me again and whispered, “I missed you so much, Ari Mendoza.”

Typically, I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t say anything.

“Are we going to be friends? ”

“Don’t be crazy, Dante. We are friends.”

“Will we always be friends? ”

“Always.”

“I’ll never lie to you about anything, ” he said.

“I might lie to you, ” I said. And then we laughed. And I thought, Maybe this will be the summer when there is nothing but laughter. Maybe this will be the summer.

“Come and say hi to Mom and Dad, ” he said. “They’ll want to see you.”

“Can they come out? I have Legs.”

“Legs can come in.”

“I don’t think your mom would like that.”

“If it’s your dog, the dog can come in. Trust me on one.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “My mom isn’t about to forget that incident in the rain.”

“That’s ancient history.”

“My mom is an elephant when it comes to remembering.”

But we didn’t have to test Dante’s mom about dogs in the house because just then, Mr. Quintana was at the front door and he was shouting at his wife, “Soledad, guess who’s here? ”

They were all over me, hugging me and saying nice things, and I wanted to cry. Because their affection was so realand somehow, I felt I didn’t deserve it or felt maybe that they were hugging the guy who had saved their son’s life. I wanted them to hug me just because I was Ari and I would never be just Ari to them. But I had learned how to hide what I felt. No, that’s not true. There was no learning involved. I had been born knowing how to hide what I felt.

They were so happy to see me. And the truth was that I was happy to see them, too.

I remember telling Mr. Quintana that I was working at the Charcoaler. He smirked at Dante. “Work, Dante, there’s a thought.”

“I’m going to get a job, Dad. I really am.”

Mrs. Quintana looked different. I don’t know, it was like she was holding the sun inside her. I had never seen a woman look more beautiful. She looked younger than the last time I’d seen her. Younger, not older. Not that she was old. She’d had Dante when she was twenty, I knew that. So she was thirty-eight or so. But she looked younger than that in the morning light. Maybe that’s what it was, the morning light.

I heard Dante’s voice as I listened to his parents talk about their year in Chicago. “When do I get a ride in the truck? ”

“How about after work? ” I said. “I get off at seven thirty.”

“You have to teach me how to drive, Ari.”

I saw the look on his mother’s face.

“Aren’t dads supposed to do that? ” I said.

“My dad is the worst driver in the universe, ” he said.

“That’s not true, ” Mr. Quintana said. “Just the worst driver in El Paso.” He was the only man I’d ever met who actually admitted he was a bad driver. Before I left, his mother managed to pull me aside. “I know you’re going to let Dante drive your truck sooner or later.”

“I won’t, ” I said.

“Dante’s very persuasive. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.” I smiled at her. Something about her made me feel perfectly confident and at ease. I just didn’t feel that way around most people. “I can see that I’m going to have to deal with two mothers this summer.”

“You’re a part of this family, ” she said. “There’s no use fighting it.”

“I’m sure I’ll disappoint you someday, Mrs. Quintana.”

“No, ” she said. And even though her voice could be so firm, right then her voice was almost as kind as my own mother’s. “You’re so hard on yourself, Ari.”

I shrugged. “Maybe that’s just the way it is with me.”

She smiled at me. “Dante’s not the only one who missed you.”

It was the most beautiful thing an adult who wasn’t my mom or dad had ever said to me. And I knew that there was something about me that Mrs. Quintana saw and loved. And even though I felt it was a beautiful thing, I also felt it was a weight. Not that she meant it to be a weight. But love was always something heavy for me. Something I had to carry.

 

 

Three

LEGS AND I PICKED DANTE UP AT AROUND EIGHT o’clock. The sun was still out, but it was sinking fast and it was hot. I honked the horn and Dante was standing at the door. “That’s your truck! It’s amazing! It’s beautiful, Ari! ”

Yeah, I knew I must have had a stupid grin on my face. A guy who loves his truck needs other people to admire his driving machine. Yeah, needs. That’s the truth. I don’t know why, but that’s the way truck guys are.

He shouted back toward his house. “Mom! Dad! Come look at Ari’s truck! ” He bounded down the stairs like a kid. Always so uncensored. Legs and I hopped out of the truck and watched Dante walk around the truck admiring it. “Not a scratch, ” he said.

“That’s because I don’t drive it to school.”

Dante smiled. “Real chrome rims, ” he said. “You’re a real Mexican, Ari.”

That made me laugh. “So are you, you jerk.”

“Nah, I’ll never be a real Mexican.”

Why did it matter so much to him? But it mattered to me too. He was about to say something, but he noticed his parents walking down the front steps of his house.

“Great truck, Ari! Now, that’s a classic.” Mr. Quintanareacted just like Dante with that uncensored enthusiasm.

Mrs. Quintana just smiled. The two of them walked around the truck, inspecting it, smiling at it as if they had run into an old friend. “It’s a beautiful truck, Ari.” I hadn’t expected that from Mrs. Quintana. Dante had already redirectedhis attention to Legs who was licking his face. I don’t know what came over me, but I tossed Mr. Quintana my keys. “You can take your girlfriend out for a spin if you want, ” I said.

There was no hesitation in his smile. I could tell Mrs. Quintana was trying to suppress the girl that was still living inside her. But even without her husband’s smile, what she was holding inside of her seemed far more profound to me. It was as if I was coming to understand Dante’s mother. I knew that it mattered. I wondered why.

I liked watching them, all three of them around my truck. I wanted time to stop because everything seemed so simple, Dante and Legs falling in love with each other, Dante’s mom and dad remembering something about their youth as they examined my truck, and me, the proud owner. I had something of value—even if it was just a truck that brought out a sweet nostalgia in people. It was as if my eyes were a camera and I was photographing the moment, knowing that I would keep that photograph forever.

Dante and I sat on his steps and watched his dad start up my truck, his mother leaning into him like a girl on a first date.

“Buy her a milk shake! ” Dante yelled. “Girls like it when you buy them something! ”

We could see them laughing as they drove off.

“Your parents, ” I said. “Sometimes they’re like kids.”

“They’re happy, ” he said. “Your parents? Are they happy? ”

“Mom and Dad, they’re not at all like your mom and dad. But, my mom adores my dad. I know that. And I think my dad adores my mom too. He’s just not demonstrative.”

“Demonstrative. That’s not an Ari word.”

“You’re making fun. I’ve expanded my vocabulary.” I nudged him. “I’m preparing for college.”

“How many new words a day? ”

“You know, a few. I like the old words better. They’re like old friends.”

Dante nudged me back. “Demonstrative. Is that word ever going to be an old friend? ”

“Maybe not.”

“You’re like your father, aren’t you? ”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“My mom struggles with that too, you know? She doesn’t naturally display her feelings. That’s why she married my dad. That’s what I think. He drags it out of her, all those feelings she has.”

“Then it’s a good match.”

“Yeah, it is. The funny thing is, I sometimes think my mother loves my father more than he loves her. Does that make sense? ”

“Yeah, I guess so. Maybe. Is love a contest? ”

“What does that mean? ”

“Maybe everyone loves differently. Maybe that’s all that matters.”

“You do realize you’re talking, don’t you? I mean you’re really talking.”

“I talk, Dante. Don’t be a shit.”

“Sometimes you talk. Other times you just, I don’t know, you just avoid.”

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“I know. Are there going to be rules for us, Ari? ”

“Rules? ”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“So what are the rules? ”

“I don’t kiss boys.”

“Okay, so the first rule is: No trying to kiss Ari.”

“Yeah, that’s the first rule.”

“And I have a rule for you.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“No running away from Dante.”

“What does that mean? ”

“I think you know what it means. Someday, someone will walk up to you and say: ‘Why are you hanging out with that queer? ’ If you can’t stick by me as a friend, Ari, if you can’t do that, then maybe it’s better that you just, you know—it would kill me. You know it would kill me if you—”

“Then it’s a question of loyalty.”

“Yes.”

I laughed. “I have a harder rule to follow.”

He laughed too.

He touched my shoulder—then smiled. “Bullshit, Ari. You have the harder rule to follow? Buffalo shit. Coyote shit. All you have to do is be loyal to the most brilliant guy you’ve ever met—which is like walking barefoot through the park. I, on the other hand, have to refrain from kissing the greatest guy in the universe—which is like walking barefoot on hot coals.”

“I see you still have the barefoot thing going on.”

“I’ll always hate shoes.”

“We’ll play that game, ” I said. “That game you made up to beat the hell out of your tennis shoes.”

“It was fun, wasn’t it? ”

The way he said that. Like he knew we would never play that game again. We were too old now. We’d lost something and we both knew it.

We didn’t say anything for a long time.

We just sat there on his front steps. Waiting. I looked over and saw Legs resting her head on Dante’s lap.

 

 

Four

DANTE AND I AND LEGS DROVE OUT TO THE DESERT that night. To my favorite spot. It was just past twilight and the stars were coming out from wherever it was they hid during the day.

“Next time we’ll bring my telescope.”

“Good idea, ” I said.

We lay down on the bed of my truck and stared out at the new night. Legs was exploring the desert and I had to call her back. She hopped on the truck and made a space for herself between me and Dante.

“I love Legs, ” Dante said.

“She loves you back.”

He pointed up at the sky. “See Ursa Major? ”

“No.”

“Over there.”

I studied the sky. “Yes. Yes. I see it.”

“It’s so amazing.”

“Yes, it is amazing.”

We were quiet. We just lay there.

“Ari? ”

“Yeah? ”

“Guess what? ”

“What? ”

“My mother’s pregnant.”

“What? ”

“My mom’s going to have a baby. Can you believe that? ”

“No shit.”

“Chicago was cold and my parents figured out a way to keep warm.” That really made me laugh.

“You think parents ever outgrow sex? ”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s something you outgrow, is it? What do I know, I’m just waiting to grow into it.”

“Me too.”

We were quiet again.

“Wow, Dante, ” I whispered. “You’re going to be a big brother.”

“Yeah, a really big brother.” He looked over at me. “Does that make you think of—what was your brother’s name? ”

“Bernardo.”

“Does that make you think of him? ”

“Everything makes me think of him. Sometimes, when I’m driving along in my pickup, I think of him and I wonder if he liked trucks and I wonder what he’s like and I wish I knew him and—I don’t know—I just can’t let it go. I mean, it’s not as if I ever really knew him. So why does it matter so much? ”

“If it matters, then it matters.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Are you rolling your eyes? ”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I think you should confront your parents. You should just sit them down and make them tell you. Make them be adults.”

“You can’t make anyone be an adult. Especially an adult.” That really made Dante laugh and we got to laughing so hard that Legs started barking at us.

“You know, ” Dante said, “I need to take my own advice.” He paused. “I hope to God that my mother has a boy. And he better like girls. Because if he doesn’t, I’ll kill him.”

That got us to laughing again. And that got Legs to barking again.

When we finally got quiet again, I heard Dante’s voice and it seemed so small in the desert night. “I have to tell them, Ari.”

“Why? ”

“Because I have to.”

“But what if you fall in love with a girl? ”

“That’s not going to happen, Ari.”

“They’ll always love you, Dante.”

He didn’t say anything. And then I heard him crying. So I just let him cry. There was nothing I could do. Except listen to his pain. I could do that. I could hardly stand it. But I could do that. Just listen to his pain.

“Dante, ” I whispered. “Can’t you see how much they love you? ”

“I’m going to disappoint them. Just like I’ve disappointed you.”

“You haven’t disappointed me, Dante.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m crying.”

“No, Dante.” I got up from where I was lying and sat on the edge of the open tailgate of the truck. He sat up and we stared at each other. “Don’t cry, Dante. I’m not disappointed.”

On the way back to town we stopped off at a drive-in burger joint and had a root beer. “So what are you going to do this summer? ” I said.

“Well, I’m going to practice with the Cathedral swim team and I’m going to work on some paintings and I’m going to get a job.”

“Really. You’re going to get a job? ”

“God, you sound like my dad.”

“Well, why do you want to work? ”

“To learn about life.”

“Life, ” I said. “Work. Shit. Ecotone.”

“Ecotone? ”

 

 

Five

ONE NIGHT, DANTE AND I WERE HANGING OUT IN HIS room. He’d graduated to working on canvas. He was working on a large painting on an easel. It was covered over.

“Can I see? ”

“No.”

“When you finish? ”

“Yes. When I finish.”

“Okay, ” I said.

He was lying on his bed and I was sitting on his chair.

“Read any good books of poems lately? ” I said.

“No, not really.” He seemed a little distracted.

“Where are you, Dante? ”

“Here, ” he said. He sat up on his bed. “I was thinking about the kissing thing, ” he said.

“Oh, ” I said.

“I mean, how do you know that you don’t like kissing boys if you’ve never kissed one? ”

“I think you just know, Dante.”

“Well, have you ever? ”

“You know I haven’t. Have you? ”

“No.”

“Well, maybe you don’t really like kissing guys. Maybe you just think you do.”

“I think we should try an experiment.”

“I know what you’re going to say and the answer is no.”

“You’re my best friend, right? ”

“Yes. But right now I’m really regretting it.”

“Let’s just try it.”

“No.”

“I won’t tell anyone. C’mon.”

“No.”

“Look, it’s just a kiss. You know. And then we’ll both know.”

“We already do know.”

“We won’t really know until we actually do it.”

“No.”

“Ari, please.”

“Dante.”

“Stand up.”

I don’t know why I did it, but I did it. I stood up.

And then he stood right in front of me.

“Close your eyes, ” he said.

So I closed my eyes.

And he kissed me. And I kissed him back.

And then he started really kissing me. And I pulled away.

“Well? ” he said.

“Didn’t work for me, ” I said.

“Nothing? ”

“Nope.”

“Okay. It sure worked for me.”

“Yeah. I think I get that, Dante.”

“So, well, that’s over with then, huh? ”

“Yeah.”

“Are you mad at me? ”

“A little.”

He sat back down on his bed. He looked sad. I didn’t like seeing him that way. “I’m more mad at myself, ” I said. “I always let you talk me into things. It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, ” he whispered.

“Don’t cry, okay? ”

“Okay, ” he said.

“You’re crying.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

 

 

Six

I DIDN’T CALL DANTE FOR A FEW DAYS.

He didn’t call me either.

But somehow I knew he was sulking. He felt bad. And I felt bad too. So after a couple of days passed, I called him. “You want to go running in the morning? ” I said.

“What time? ” he said.

“Six thirty.”

“Okay, ” he said.

For someone who wasn’t a runner, he ran really well. I ran a lot slower with Dante along, but that was okay. We talked a little. And laughed. And afterward, we played Frisbee with Legs in the park and we were all right. And I needed us to be all right. And he needed us to be all right too. And so we were.

“Thanks for calling, ” he said. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t call anymore.”

Life seemed strangely normal for a while. Not that I wanted my summer to be normal. But, normal was okay. I could settle for normal. I went for a run in the mornings and worked out. I went to work.

Sometimes Dante called me and we talked. Not about anything in particular. He was working on a painting and he’d gotten a job at the drugstore in Kern Place. He said he liked working there because when he got off he could go to the university and spend some time in the library. Being a professor’s son had its privileges. Also he said, “You won’t believe who buys condoms.”

I don’t know if he said that to make me laugh. But it worked.

“And Mom’s teaching me how to drive, ” he said. “Mostly we fight.”

“I’ll let you drive my pickup, ” I said.

“My mother’s worst nightmare, ” he said.

We were laughing again. And that was good. It wouldn’t be summer without Dante’s laughter. We talked a lot on the phone, but we didn’t see each other very much those first few weeks of summer.

He was busy. I was busy.

Mostly I think we were busy avoiding each other. Even though we hadn’t wanted that kiss to be a big thing, it had been a big thing. It took a while for the ghost of that kiss to disappear.

One morning, when I came back from my run, my mom was gone. She left a note telling me she was going to spend the day reorganizing the food bank. “When are you going to start your Saturday afternoon shift? You promised.”

I don’t know why, but I decided to call Dante. “I’ve been volunteered to work at the food bank on Saturday afternoons. Want to volunteer with me? ”

“Sure. What are we supposed to do? ”

“I’m sure my mom will train us, ” I said.

I was glad I asked. I missed him. I missed him more now that he was back than when he had been gone.

I didn’t know why.

I took a shower and looked at the clock. I had some time to kill. I found myself opening the drawer in the spare bedroom. I found myself holding the envelope labeled BERNARDO. I wanted to rip it open. Maybe if I ripped it open, I would also be ripping open my life.

But I just couldn’t. I threw it back in the drawer.

All day, I thought of my brother. But I didn’t even remember what he looked like. I kept screwing up the orders at work. The manager told me to pay attention. “I’m not paying you to be pretty.”

There was a cuss word in my head. But I didn’t let it pass my lips.

I drove by Dante’s house after work. “Want to get drunk? ” I said.

He studied my face. “Sure.” He had the decency not to ask me what was wrong.

I went back home and showered, washing the smell of french fries and onion rings off my skin. My dad was reading. The house seemed quiet to me. “Where’s Mom? ”

“She and your sisters are in Tucson visiting your Aunt Ophelia.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

“It’s just you and me.”

I nodded. “Sounds like fun.” I hadn’t meant to sound so sarcastic.

I could tell he was studying me. “Is there something wrong, Ari? ”

“No. I’m going out. Dante and I, we’re going to go riding around.”

He nodded. He kept looking at me. “You seem different, Ari.”

“Different how? ”

“Angry.”

If I had been braver this is what I would have said: Angry? What have I got to be angry about? You know something, Dad? I don’t really care that you can’t tell me about Vietnam. Even though I know that war owns you, I don’t care if you don’t want to talk about it. But I do care that you won’t talk about my brother. Damn it to hell, Dad, I can’t stand to live with all your silence.

I imagined his answer: All that silence has saved me, Ari. Don’t you know that? And what is this obsession you have with your brother?

I imagined my argument: Obsession, Dad? You know what I’ve learned from you and Mom? I’ve learned not to talk. I’ve learned how to keep everything I feel buried deep inside of me. And I hate you for it.

“Ari? ”

I knew I was about to cry. I knew he could see that. I hated letting my dad see all that sadness inside of me.

He reached for me. “Ari—”

“Don’t touch me, Dad. Just don’t touch me.”

I don’t remember driving to Dante’s. I just remember sitting there in my truck, parked outside his house.

His parents were sitting on the front steps. They waved at me. I waved back. And then they were standing right there. At the door of my truck. And I heard Mr. Quintana’s voice. “Ari, you’re crying.”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes, ” I said.

“You should come inside, ” Mrs. Quintana said.

“No.”

And then Dante was there. He smiled at me. And then he smiled at his mom and dad. “Let’s go, ” he said.

His parents didn’t ask any questions.

I just drove. I could have driven forever. I don’t know how I managed to find my spot in the desert, but I found it. It was as if I had a compass hidden somewhere inside me. One of the secrets of the universe was that our instincts were sometimes stronger than our minds. When I stopped the truck, I got out, slamming the door. “Shit! I forgot about the beer.”

“We don’t need the beer, ” Dante whispered.

“We need the beer! We need the fucking beer, Dante! ” I don’t know why I was yelling. The yelling turned into sobs. I fell into Dante’s arms and cried.

He held me and didn’t say a word.

Another secret of the universe: Sometimes pain was like a storm that came out of nowhere. The clearest summer morning could end in a downpour. Could end in lightning and thunder.

 

 

Seven

IT WAS STRANGE NOT HAVING MY MOM AROUND.

I wasn’t used to making the coffee.

My dad left a note. Are you okay?

Yeah, Dad.

I was glad that Legs broke the silence of the house when she began barking. Her way of telling me it was time to go for a run.

Legs and I ran faster that morning. I tried not to think of anything as I ran, but it didn’t work. I thought of my dad and my brother and Dante. I was always thinking of Dante, always trying to figure him out, always wondering why it was that we were friends and why it seemed to matter so much. To both of us. I hated thinking about things and people—especially when they were mysteries I couldn’t solve. I changed the topic in my head to Aunt Ophelia in Tucson. I wondered why I never went to visit her. It’s not as if I didn’t love her. She lived alone and I could have made an effort. But I never did. I did call her sometimes. It was strange, but I could talk to her. She always made me feel so loved. I wondered how she did that.

When I was drying myself off after my shower, I stared at my naked body in the mirror. I studied it. How strange to have a body. Sometimes it felt that way. Strange. I remembered what my aunt had told me once. “The body is a beautiful thing.” No adult had ever said that to me. And I wondered if I would ever feel like my own body was beautiful. My Aunt Ophelia had solved a few of the many mysteries of the universe. I felt as though I hadn’t solvedany at all.

I hadn’t even solved the mystery of my own body.

 

 

Eight

RIGHT BEFORE I WENT IN TO WORK, I STOPPED OFF AT the drugstore where Dante was working. I think I just wanted to see that he really had a job. When I walked into the drugstore, he was behind the counter, placing cigarettes on the shelf.

“Are you wearing shoes? ” I said.

He smiled. I stared at his name tag. Dante Q.

“I was just thinking of you, ” he said.

“Yeah? ”

“Some girls came in a little while ago.”

“Girls? ”

“They knew you. We got to talking.”

I knew which girls they were before he told me. “Gina and Susie, ” I said.

“Yeah. They’re nice. Pretty, too. They go to school with you.”

“Yeah, they’re nice and pretty. And pushy, too.”

“They looked at my name tag. And then they looked at each other. And then one of them asked me if I knew you. I thought that it was a funny question to ask.”

“What did you tell them? ”

“I told them yeah. I said you were my best friend.”

“You told them that? ”

“You are my best friend.”

“Did they ask you anything else? ”

“Yeah, they asked if I knew anything about an accident and you breaking your legs.”

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it! ”

“What? ”

“Did you tell them? ”

“Of course I told them.”

“You told them? ”

“Why are you getting mad? ”

“You told them about what happened? ”

“Of course I did.”

“There’s a rule, Dante.”

“You’re mad? You’re mad at me? ”

“The rule was we weren’t supposed to talk about the accident.”

“Wrong. The rule was we weren’t supposed to talk about the accident with each other. The rule doesn’t apply to anyone else.”

There was a line forming behind me.

“I have to get back to work, ” Dante said.

Later that afternoon, Dante called me at work. “Why are you mad? ”

“I just don’t like other people to know.”

“I don’t get you, Ari.” He hung up the phone.

What I knew was going to happen, happened. Gina and Susie showed up at the Charcoaler just as I was getting off work.

“You were telling us the truth, ” Gina said.

“So what? ” I said.

“So what? You saved Dante’s life.”

“Gina, let’s not talk about it.”

“You sound upset, Ari.”

“I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Why not, Ari? You’re a hero.” Susie Byrd had this thing in her voice.

“And how come, ” Gina said, “we don’t know anything about your best friend? ”

“Yeah, how come? ”

I looked at both of them.

“He’s so cute. I’d have thrown myself in front of a moving car for him too.”

“Shut up, Gina, ” I said.

“How come he’s such a secret? ”

“He’s not a secret. He just goes to Cathedral.”

Susie had this gaga look on her face. “Cathedral boys are so cute.”

“Cathedral boys suck, ” I said.

“So when are we going to get to know him? ”

“Never.”

“Oh, so you want him all to yourself.”

“Knock it off, Gina, you’re really pissing me off.”

“You’re really touchy about things, you know that, Ari? ”

“Go to hell, Gina.”

“You really don’t want us to know him, do you? ”

“I don’t really care. You know where he works. Go badger him. Maybe that way, you’ll leave me alone.”

 

 

Nine

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU’RE SO UPSET.”

“Why did you tell Gina and Susie about the whole thing? ”

“What’s with you, Ari? ”

“We agreed not to talk about it.”

“I don’t get you.”

“I don’t get me either.”

I got up from the steps of his front porch where we were sitting. “I gotta go.” I looked out across the street. I remembered Dante running after two boys who were shooting at a bird.

I opened the door to my truck and climbed in. I slammed the door. Dante was standing in front of me. “Do you wish you hadn’t saved my life? Is that it? Do you wish I was dead? ”

“Of course not, ” I whispered.

He just stood there, looking at me.

I didn’t look back. I started my truck.

“You are the most inscrutable guy in the universe.”

“Yeah, ” I said. “I guess I am.”

Dad and I ate dinner together. We were both quiet. We took turns feeding Legs scraps of food. “Mom wouldn’t approve.”

“No, she wouldn’t.”

We smiled awkwardly at each other.

“I’m going bowling. You want to go? ”

Bowling? ”

“Yeah. Sam and I, we’re going bowling.”

“You’re going bowling with Dante’s dad? ”

“Yeah. He invited me. I thought it would be good to get out. You and Dante want to come along? ”

“I don’t know, ” I said.

“You guys have an argument? ”

“No.”

I called Dante on the phone. “Our dads are going bowling tonight.”

“I know.”

“My dad wanted to know if we wanted to go.”

“Tell him no, ” Dante said.

“Okay.”

“I have a better idea.”

Mr. Quintana picked my dad up to go bowling. I thought that was really strange. I didn’t even know my dad bowled. “Boys’ night out, ” Mr. Quintana said.

“Don’t drink and drive, ” I said.

“Dante’s wearing off on you, ” he said. “What’s happened to that respectful young man? ”

“He’s still here, ” I said. “I’m not calling you Sam, am I? ”

My dad shot me a look.

“Bye, ” I said.

I watched them drive off. I looked at Legs, “Let’s go.” She hopped in the truck and we drove to Dante’s house. He was sitting on the front porch, talking to his mother. I waved. Legs and I leapt out of the truck. I walked up the stairs and leaned down and gave Mrs. Quintana a kiss. The last time I’d seen her, I’d said hi and shaken her hand. I’d felt stupid. “A kiss on the cheek will do, Ari, ” she’d said. So that was our new greeting.

The sun was setting. Even though it had been a really hot day, the breeze was picking up, the clouds were gathering, and it looked like it might storm. Looking at Mrs. Quintana’s hair in the breeze made me think of my mother. “Dante’s making a list of names for his baby brother.”

I looked at Dante. “What if it’s a girl? ”

“He’ll be a boy.” There was no doubt in his voice. “I like Diego. I like Joaquin. I like Javier. Rafael. I like Maximiliano.”

“Those names sound pretty Mexican, ” I said.

“Yeah, well, I’m shying away from ancient classical names. And besides, if he has a Mexican name, then maybe he’ll feel more Mexican.”

The look on his mother’s face told me they’d had this discussion more than a few times.

“What about Sam? ” I said.

“Sam’s okay, ” he said.

Mrs. Quintana laughed. “Does the mother get a say? ”

“No, ” Dante said. “The mother just gets to do all the work.”

She leaned over and kissed him. She looked up at me. “So you two are going stargazing? ”

“Yeah, stargazing with the naked eye. No telescopes, ” I said. “And it’s us three. You forgot Legs.”

“Nope, ” she said, “Legs is staying with me. I feel like some company.”

“Okay, ” I said. “If you want.”

“She’s a wonderful dog.”

“Yeah, she is. So you like dogs now? ”

“I like Legs. She’s sweet.”

“Yeah, ” I said. “Sweet.”

It’s almost as if Legs knew what the score was. When Dante and I hopped into the truck, she stayed right beside Mrs. Quintana. How strange, I thought, that dogs sometimes understood the needs and behaviors of human beings.

Mrs. Quintana called out to me before I started the truck. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.”

“Remember the rain, ” she said.

 

 

Ten

AS I WAS DRIVING TOWARD MY SPOT IN THE DESERT, Dante took out the goods. He waved the two joints in the air.

We both smiled, then laughed.

“You’re a bad boy, ” I said.

“You’re a bad boy too.”

“Just what we’ve always wanted to be.”

“If our parents knew, ” I said.

“If our parents knew, ” he said.

We laughed.

“I’ve never done this.”

“It’s not hard to learn.”

“Where’d you score this? ”

“Daniel. This guy I work with. I think he likes me.”

“Does he want to kiss you? ”

“I think so.”

“Do you want to kiss him back? ”

“Not sure.”

“But you talked him into giving you some pot, didn’t you? ”

Even though I kept my eye on the road, I knew he was smiling.

“You like talking people into things, don’t you? ”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

There was lightning in the sky and thunder and the smell of rain.

Dante and I got out of the truck. We didn’t say a word. He lit the joint, inhaled, then held the smoke in his lungs. Then finally, he let it out. Then he did it again, and handed the joint to me. I did exactly as he did. I have to say I liked the smell, but the pot was harsh in my lungs. I fought not to cough. If Dante didn’t cough, then I wasn’t going to cough. We sat there passing the joint until it was gone.

I felt light and breezy and happy. It was strange and wonderful and everything seemed far away and yet kind of close. Dante and I kept looking at each other as we sat on the tailgate of my truck. We started laughing and couldn’t stop.

Then the breeze became a wind. And the thunder and lightning was close and closer and it started to rain. We ran inside the truck. We couldn’t stop laughing, didn’t want to stop laughing. “It’s crazy, ” I said. “It feels so crazy.”

“Crazy, ” he said. “Crazy, crazy, crazy.”

“God, crazy.”

I wanted us to laugh forever. We listened to the downpour. God, it was really raining. Like that night.

“Let’s go out there, ” Dante said. “Let’s go out in the rain.” I watched him as he took off all his clothes: his shirt, his shorts, his boxers. Everything except his tennis shoes. Which was really funny. “Well, ” he said. He had his hand on the handle of the door. “Ready? ”

“Wait, ” I said. I stripped off my T-shirt and all my clothes. Except my tennis shoes.

We looked at each other and laughed. “Ready? ” I said.

“Ready, ” he said.

We ran out into the rain. God, the drops of rain were so cold. “Shit! ” I yelled.

“Shit! ” Dante yelled.

“We’re fucking crazy.”

“Yeah, yeah! ” Dante laughed. We ran around the truck, naked and laughing, the rain beating against our bodies. Around and around the truck, we ran. Until we were both tired and breathless.

We sat inside the truck, laughing, trying to catch our breaths. And then the rain stopped. That was the way it was in the desert. The rain poured down, then stopped. Just like that. I opened the door to the truck and stepped out into the damp and windy night air.

I stretched my arms out toward the sky. And closed my eyes.

Dante was standing next to me. I could feel his breath.

I don’t know what I would have done if he had touched me.

But he didn’t.

“I’m starving, ” he said.

“Me too.”

We got dressed and drove back into town.

“What should we eat? ” I said.

“Menudo, ” he said.

“You like menudo.”

“Yeah.”

“I think that makes you a real Mexican.”

“Do real Mexicans like to kiss boys? ”

“I don’t think liking boys is an American invention.”

“You could be right.”

“Yeah, I could be.” I shot him a look. He hated when I was right. “How about Chico’s Tacos? ”

“They don’t have menudo.”

“Okay, how about the Good Luck Café on Alameda? ”

“My dad loves that place.”

“Mine too.”

“They’re bowling, ” I said.

“They’re bowling.” We were laughing so hard I had to pull over.

When we finally got to the Good Luck Café, we were so hungry that we both had a plate of enchiladas and two bowls of menudo.

“Are my eyes red? ”

“No, ” I said.

“Good. I guess we can go home.”

“Yeah, ” I said.

“I can’t believe we did that.”

“Me neither.”

“But it was fun, ” he said.

“God, ” I said. “It was fantastic.”

 

 

Eleven

DAD WOKE ME EARLY. “WE’RE GOING TO TUCSON, ” he said.

I sat up in bed. I stared at him.

“There’s coffee.”

Legs followed him out the door.

I wondered if he was mad at me, wondered why we had to go to Tucson. I felt a little groggy, like I’d been woken in a middle of a dream. I slipped on a pair of jeans and headed for the kitchen. Dad handed me a cup of coffee. “You’re the only kid I know who drinks coffee.”

I tried to go with the small talk, tried to pretend I hadn’t had that imaginary conversation with him. Not that he knew what I’d said. But I knew. And I knew I’d meant to say those things, even if I hadn’t. “Someday, Dad, kids all over the world will be drinking coffee.”

“I need a cigarette, ” he said.

Legs and I followed him into the backyard.

I watched him light his cigarette. “How was bowling? ”

He smiled crookedly. “It was kind of fun. I’m a crappy bowler. Luckily, so is Sam.”

“You should get out more, ” I said.

“You too, ” he said. He took a drag off his cigarette. “Your mom called late last night. Your aunt had a very serious stroke. She’s not going to make it.”

I remembered living with her one summer. I was a small boy and she was a kind woman. She’d never married. Not that it mattered. She knew about boys and knew how to laugh and knew how to make a boy feel as though he was the center of the universe. She’d lived a life separate from the rest of family for reasons no one had ever bothered to explain to me. I never cared about that.

“Ari? Are you listening? ”

I nodded.

“You go away sometimes.”

“No, not really. I was just thinking. I spent a summer with her when I was little.”

“Yes, you did. You didn’t want to come back home.”

“I didn’t? I don’t remember.”

“You fell in love with her.” He smiled.

“Maybe I did. I can’t remember not loving her. And that’s weird.”

“Why is that weird? ”

“I don’t feel that way about my other uncles and aunts.”

He nodded. “The world would be lucky to have more like her. She and your mother wrote to each other every week. A letter a week for years and years and years. Did you know that? ”

“No. That’s a lot of letters.”

“She saved them all.”

I took a sip of my coffee.

“Can you make arrangements at work, Ari? ”

I could imagine him in the military. Taking charge. His voice calm and undisturbed.

“Yeah. It’s only a job flipping burgers. What can they do, fire me? ” Legs barked at me. She was used to her morning run. I looked at my dad. “What are we going to do about Legs? ”

“Dante, ” he said.

His mother answered the phone. “Hi, ” I said. “It’s Ari.”

“I know, ” she said. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah.” I said. “Is Dante up? ”

“Are you kidding, Ari? He gets up a half hour before he has to be in to work. He won’t get up a minute earlier.”

We both laughed.

“Well, ” I said, “I sort of need a favor.”

“Okay, ” she said.

“Well, my aunt had a stroke. My mom was visiting her. My dad and I are leaving as soon as we can. But, then, there’s Legs, and I thought maybe—” She didn’t let me finish my sentence.

“Of course we’ll take her. She’s great company. She fell asleep on my lap last night.”

“But you work and Dante works.”

“It will be fine, Ari. Sam’s home all day. He’s finishing his book.”

“Thanks, ” I said.

“Don’t thank me, Ari.” She sounded so much happier and lighter than the woman I’d first met. Maybe it was because she was going to have a baby. Maybe that was it. Not that she still didn’t get after Dante.

I hung the phone up, packed a few things. The phone rang. It was Dante. “Sorry about your aunt. But, hey, I get Legs! ” He could be such a boy. Maybe he would always be a boy. Like his dad. “Yeah, you get Legs. She likes to run in the morning. Early.”

“How early? ”

“We get up at five forty-five.”

“Five forty-five! Are you crazy? What about sleep? ”

That guy could always make me laugh. “Thanks for doing this, ” I said.

“Are you okay? ” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Did your dad give you hell for coming in so late? ”

“No. He was asleep.”

“My mom wanted to know what we were up to.”

“What did you tell her? ”

“I told her we didn’t get to watch any stars because of the storm. I said it was raining like hell and we just got stuck in the storm. And we just sat in the truck and talked. And when the rain stopped, we got hungry so we went out for menudo.

“She looked at me funny. She said: ‘Why don’t I believe you? ’ And I said: ‘Because you have a very suspicious nature.’ And then she dropped the whole thing.”

“Your mom has hyper instincts, ” I said.

“Yeah, well, she can’t prove a thing.”

“I bet she knows.”

“How would she know? ”

“I don’t know. But I bet she knows.”

“You’re making me paranoid.”

“Good.”

We both cracked up laughing.

We dropped off Legs at Dante’s house later that morning. My dad gave Mr. Quintana a key to our house. Dante got stuck with watering my mom’s plants. “And don’t steal my truck, ” I said.

“I’m Mexican, ” he said. “I know all about hotwiring.” That really made me laugh. “Look, ” I said. “Eating menudo and hotwiring a truck are two totally different forms of art.”

We smirked at each other.

Mrs. Quintana shot us a look.

We drank a cup of coffee with Dante’s mom and dad. Dante gave Legs a tour around the house. “I’m betting Dante’s going to encourage Legs to chew up all his shoes.” We all laughed except my dad. He didn’t know about Dante’s war against shoes. We laughed even harder when Legs and Dante walked back into the kitchen. Legs was carrying one of Dante’s shoes in her mouth. “Look what she found, Mom.”

 

 

Twelve

MY FATHER AND I DIDN’T TALK ALL THAT MUCH ON THE drive to Tucson. “Your mother’s sad, ” he said. I knew he was thinking back.

“You want me to drive? ”

“No, ” he said. But then he changed his mind. “Yes.” He got off at the next exit and we got some gas and coffee. He handed me the keys. His car handled a lot easier than my truck. I smiled. “I’ve never driven anything besides my truck.”

“If you can handle that truck, you can handle anything.”

“I’m sorry about last night, ” I said. “It’s just that sometimes I have things running around inside me, these feelings. I don’t always know what to do with them. That probably doesn’t make any sense.”

“It sounds normal, Ari.”

“I don’t think I’m so normal.”

“Feeling things is normal.”

“Except I’m angry. And I don’t really know where all that anger comes from.”

“Maybe if we talked more.”

“Well, which one of us is good with words, Dad? ”

“You’re good with words, Ari. You’re just not good with words when you’re around me.”

I didn’t say anything. But then I said, “Dad, I’m not good with words.”

“You talk to your mother all the time.”

“Yeah, but that’s because it’s a requirement.”

He laughed. “I’m glad she makes us talk.”

“We’d die in our own silence if she wasn’t around.”

“Well, we’re talking now, aren’t we? ”

I glanced over and saw him smiling. “Yeah, we’re talking.”

He rolled down the window. “Your mother doesn’t let me smoke in the car. Do you mind? ”

“No, I don’t mind.”

That smell—cigarette—it always made me think of him. He smoked his cigarette. I drove. I didn’t mind the silence and the desert and the cloudless sky.

What did words matter to a desert?

My mind drifted. I thought of Legs and Dante. I wondered what Dante saw when he looked at me. I wondered why I didn’t look at the sketches he gave me. Not ever. I thought of Gina and Susie and wondered why I never called them. They bugged me, but that was their way of being nice to me. I knew they liked me. And I liked them back. Why couldn’t a guy be friends with girls? What was so wrong with that? I thought about my brother and wondered if he’d been close to my aunt. I wondered why such a nice ladyhad divorced her family. I wondered why I’d spent a summer with her when I was only four.

“What are you thinking? ” I heard my father’s voice. He hardly ever asked that question.

“I was thinking about Aunt Ophelia.”

“What were you thinking? ”

“Why did you send me to spend the summer with her? ”

He didn’t answer. He rolled down the window and the heat of the desert came pouring into the air-conditioned car. I knew he was going to smoke another cigarette.

“Tell me, ” I said.

“It was just around the time of your brother’s trial, ” he said.

That was the first time he’d ever said anything to me about my brother. I didn’t say anything. I wanted him to keep talking.

“Your mother and I were having a very difficult time. We all were. Your sisters too. We didn’t want you to—” He stopped. “I think you know what I’m trying to say.” He had a very serious look on his face. More serious than usual. “Your brother loved you, Ari. He did. And he didn’t want you to be around. He didn’t want you to think of him that way.”

“So you sent me away.”

“Yeah. We did.”

“It didn’t solve a damn thing, Dad. I think of him all the time.”

“I’m sorry, Ari. I just—I’m really sorry.”

“Why can’t we just—”

“Ari, it’s more complicated than you think.”

“In what way? ”

“Your mother had a breakdown.” I could hear him smoking his cigarette.

“What? ”

“You were at your Aunt Ophelia’s for more than a summer. You were there for nine months.”

“Mom? I can’t—it’s just—Mom? Mom really had—” I wanted to ask my dad for a cigarette.

“She’s so strong, your mother. But, I don’t know, life isn’t logical, Ari. It was like your brother had died. And your mother became a different person. I hardly recognized her. When they sentenced him, she just fell apart. She was inconsolable. You have no idea how much she loved your brother. And I didn’t know what to do. And sometimes, even now, I look at her and I want to ask, ‘Is it over? Is it? ’ When she came back to me, Ari, she seemed so fragile. And as the weeks and months went by, she became her old self again. She got strong again and—”

I listened to my dad cry. I pulled the car over to the side of the road. “I’m sorry, ” I whispered. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know, Dad.”

He nodded. He got out of the car. He stood out in the heat. I knew he was trying to organize himself. Like a messy room that needed to be cleaned up. I left him alone for a while. But then, I decided I wanted to be with him. I decided that maybe we left each other alone too much. Leaving each other alone was killing us.

“Dad, sometimes I hated you and mom for pretending he was dead.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Ari. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

 

 


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