Eighteen. On the drive back to El Paso from Tucson, I sat in the backseat

ON THE DRIVE BACK TO EL PASO FROM TUCSON, I SAT in the backseat. I could see that my mom and dad were holding hands. Sometimes they would glance at each other. I looked out at the desert. I thought of the night Dante and I had smoked pot and run around naked in the rain.

“What are you going to do the rest of the summer? ”

“I don’t know. Work at the Charcoaler. Hang out with Dante. Work out. Read. Stuff like that.”

“You don’t have to work, ” my father said. “You have the rest of your life to do that.”

“I don’t mind working. And anyway, what would I do? I don’t like to watch TV. I’m out of touch with my own generation. And I have you and mom to thank for that.”

“Well, you can watch all the television you like from here on in.”

“Too late.”

They both laughed.

“It’s not funny. I’m the uncoolest almost-seventeen-year-old in the universe. And it’s all your fault.”

“Everything is our fault.”

“Yes, everything is your fault.”

My mom turned around just to make sure I was smiling.

“Maybe you and Dante should take a trip together. Maybe go camping or something.”

“I don’t think so, ” I said.

“You should think about it, ” my mom said. “It’s summer.”

It’s summer, I thought. I kept thinking of what Mrs. Quintana had said: Remember the rain.

“There’s a storm up ahead, ” my father said. “And we’re about to run into it.”

I looked out the window at the black clouds ahead of us. I opened the back window and smelled the rain. You could smell the rain in the desert even before a drop fell. I closed my eyes. I held my hand out and felt the first drop. It was like a kiss. The sky was kissing me. It was a nice thought. It was something Dante would have thought. I felt another drop and then another. A kiss. A kiss. And then another kiss. I thought about the dreams I’d been having—all of them about kissing. But I never knew who I was kissing. I couldn’t see. And then, just like that, we were in the middle of a downpour. I rolled up the window and I was suddenly cold. My arm was wet, the shoulder of my T-shirt soaked.

My father pulled the car over. “Can’t drive in this, ” he said.

There was nothing but darkness and sheets of rain and the awe of our silence.

My mom held my father’s hand.

Storms always made me feel so small.

Even though summers were mostly made of sun and heat, summers for me were about the storms that came and went. And left me feeling alone.

Did all boys feel alone?

The summer sun was not meant for boys like me. Boys like me belonged to the rain.

All the Secrets of the Universe

Through all of youth I was looking for you

without knowing what I was looking for

—W. S. Merwin

One

IT RAINED OFF AND ON THE WHOLE TRIP BACK TO El Paso. I dozed off to sleep. I’d wake every time we hit a heavy downpour.

There was something very serene about that trip back home.

Outside of the car, there was an awful storm. Inside of the car, it was warm. I didn’t feel threatened by the angry, unpredictable weather. Somehow, I felt safe and protected.

One of the times I fell asleep, I started dreaming. I think I could dream on command. I dreamed my father and my brother and I were all having a cigarette. We were in the backyard. My mother and Dante were at the door. Watching.

I couldn’t decide if the dream was a good dream or a bad dream. Maybe a good dream because when I woke I wasn’t sad. Maybe that’s how you measured whether a dream was good or bad. By the way it made you feel.

“Are you thinking of the accident? ” I heard my mother’s soft voice.

“Why? ”

“Does the rain ever remind you of the accident? ”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you and Dante talk about it? ”

“No.”

“Why? ”

“We just don’t.”

“Oh, ” she said. “I thought you two talked about everything.”

“No, ” I said. “We’re just like everyone else in the world.” I knew it wasn’t true. We weren’t like everyone else in the world.

When we drove up to the house, it was pouring. Thunder and lightning and wind, the worst storm of the summer season. My dad and I got soaked taking the suitcases back into the house. My mom turned on the lights and put on some tea as my father and I changed into dry clothes.

“Legs hates thunder, ” I said. “It hurts her ears.”

“I’m sure she’s sleeping right next to Dante.”

“Yeah, guess so.” I said.

“Miss her? ”

“Yeah.” I pictured Legs lying at Dante’s feet, whimpering at the sound of the thunder. I pictured Dante kissing her, telling her everything was all right. Dante who loved kissing dogs, who loved kissing his parents, who loved kissing boys, who even loved kissing girls. Maybe kissing was part of the human condition. Maybe I wasn’t human. Maybe I wasn’t part of the natural order of things. But Dante enjoyed kissing. And I suspected he liked masturbating too. I thought masturbating was embarrassing. I didn’t even know why. It just was. It was like having sex with yourself. Having sex with yourself was really weird. Autoeroticism. I’d looked it up in a book in the library. God, I felt stupid just thinking about these things. Some guys talked about sex all the time. I heard them at school. Why were they so happy when they talked about sex? It made me feel miserable. Inadequate. There was that word again. And why was I thinking about these things in the middle of a rainstorm, sitting at the kitchen table with my mother and father? I tried to bring my thoughts back into the kitchen. Where I was. Where I lived. I hated the thing of living in my head.

My mother and father were talking and I sat there, trying to listen to their conversation but not really listening at all, just thinking about things. My mind just wandering around. And then my thoughts fell on my brother. They always fell there. It was like my favorite parking spot in the desert. I just sort of drove there all the time. I wondered what it would have been like if my brother had been around. Maybe he could have taught me stuff about being a guy and what guys should feel and what they should do and how they should act. Maybe I would be happy. But maybe my life would be the same. Maybe my life would be even worse. Not that I had a bad life. I knew that. I had a mom and dad and they cared, and I had a dog and a best friend named Dante. But there was something swimming around inside me that always made me feel bad.

I wondered if all boys had that darkness inside them. Yes. Maybe even Dante.

I felt my mother’s eyes on me. She was studying me. Again.

I smiled at her.

“I’d ask you to tell me what you’re thinking, but I don’t think you’d tell me.”

I shrugged. I pointed at my father. “Too much like him, I guess.”

That made my father laugh. He looked tired but at that moment, as we sat at the kitchen table, there was something young about him. And I thought that maybe he was changing into someone else.

Everyone was always becoming someone else.

Sometimes, when you were older, you became someone younger. And me, I felt old. How can a guy who’s about to turn seventeen feel old?

It was still raining when I went to sleep. The thunder was far away and the soft sound of it was more like a distant whisper.

I slept. I dreamed. It was that dream again, that dream that I was kissing someone.

When I woke, I wanted to touch myself. “Shaking hands with your best friend.” That was Dante’s euphemism. He always smiled when he said that.

I took a cold shower instead.

Two

FOR SOME REASON I HAD A FUNNY FEELING IN THE PIT of my stomach. Not just the dream thing, the kissing thing, the body thing, and the cold shower. Not just that. There was something else that didn’t feel right.

I walked over to Dante’s house to get Legs. I was in the cool morning. I loved the dampness of the desert after all the rains.

I knocked at the front door.

It was early, but not too early. I knew Dante was probably still asleep, but his parents would be awake. And I wanted Legs.

Mr. Quintana answered the door. Legs rushed out and jumped up at me. I let her lick my face, which is not something I let her do very often. “Legs, Legs, Legs! I missed you.” I kept petting her and petting her, but when I looked up, I noticed that Mr. Quintana looked—he looked, I don’t know—there was something in his face.

I knew something was wrong. I looked at him. I didn’t even ask the question.

“Dante, ” he said.

“What? ”

“He’s in the hospital.”

“What? What happened? Is he okay?

“He’s pretty beat up. His mother stayed with him overnight.”

“What happened? ”

“Would you like a cup of coffee, Ari? ”

Legs and I followed him into the kitchen. I watched as Mr. Quintana poured me a cup of coffee. He handed me the cup and we sat across from each other. Legs placed her head on Mr. Quintana’s lap. He kept running his hand over her head. We sat there in the quiet, me watching him. I waited for him to talk. Finally, he said, “How close are you and Dante? ”

“I don’t understand the question, ” I said.

He bit his lip. “How well do you know my son? ”

“He’s my best friend.”

“I know that, Ari. But how well do you know him? ”

He sounded impatient. I was playing dumb. I knew exactly what he was asking. I felt my heart beating against my chest. “Did he tell you? ”

Mr. Quintana shook his head.

“So you know, ” I said.

He didn’t say anything.

I knew I had to say something. He looked lost and afraid and sad and tired and I hated that, because he was such a kind and good man. I knew I had to say something to him. But I didn’t know what. “Okay, ” I said.

“Okay? What, Ari? ”

“When you left for Chicago, Dante told me that someday he wanted to marry another boy.” I looked around the room. “Or at least kiss another boy. Well, actually, I think he said that in a letter. Or maybe he said some of that after he got back.”

He nodded. He stared into his cup of coffee.

“I think I knew, ” he said.

“How? ”

“The way he looks at you sometimes.”

“Oh.” I looked down at the floor.

“But why didn’t he tell me, Ari? ”

“He didn’t want to disappoint you. He said—” I stopped and then looked away from him. But then I made myself stare back into his black, hopeful eyes. And even though I felt I was betraying Dante, I knew I had to talk him. I had to tell him. “Mr. Quintana—”

“Call me Sam.”

I looked at him. “Sam, ” I said.

He nodded.

“He’s crazy about you. I guess you know that.”

“If he’s so crazy about me, then why didn’t he tell me? ”

“Talking to dads isn’t that easy. Even you, Sam.”

He sipped on his coffee nervously.

“He was so happy that you were going to have another baby. And not just because he was going to be a big brother. And he said, ‘He has to be a boy and he has to like girls.’ That’s what he said. So that you could have grandchildren. So that you could be happy.”

“I don’t care about grandchildren. I care about Dante.”

I hated watching the tears falling down Sam’s face.

“I love Dante, ” he whispered. “I love that kid.”

“He’s lucky, ” I said.

He smiled at me. “They beat him, ” he whispered. “They beat my Dante all to hell. They cracked some ribs, they punched his face. He has bruises everywhere. They did that to my son.”

It was a strange thing to want to hold an adult man in your arms. But that’s what I wanted to do.

We finished our coffee.

I didn’t ask any more questions.

Three

I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO TELL MY MOM AND DAD. NOT that I knew anything. I knew that someone, maybe several someones, had beat Dante so badly that he’d wound up in a hospital. I knew that it had something to do with another boy. I knew that Dante was at Providence Memorial Hospital. That’s all I knew.

I came home with Legs, who went berserk when I brought her home. Dogs didn’t censor themselves. Maybe animals were smarter than people. The dog was so happy. My mom and dad too. It felt good to know that they loved the dog, that they let themselves do that. And somehow it seemed that the dog helped us be a better family.

Maybe dogs were one of the secrets of the universe.

“Dante’s in the hospital, ” I said.

My mother was studying me. So was my father. They both wore a question mark on their faces.

“Someone jumped him. He’s hurt. He’s in the hospital.”

“No, ” she said. “Our Dante? ” I wondered why she’d said, “Our Dante.”

“Was it a gang thing? ” my father whispered.

“No.”

“It happened in some alley, ” I said.

“In the neighborhood? ”

“Yes. I think so.”

They were waiting for me to tell them more. But I couldn’t. “I think I’ll go, ” I said.

I didn’t remember leaving the house.

I didn’t remember driving to the hospital.

Next thing I knew I was standing in front of Dante, looking at his puffed up, punished face. He was unrecognizable. I couldn’t even see the color of his eyes. I remember taking his hand and whispering his name. He could hardly talk. He could hardly see, his eyes nearly swollen shut.

“Dante.”

“Ari? ”

“I’m here, ” I said.

“Ari? ” he whispered.

“I should have been here, ” I said. “I hate them. I hate them.” I did hate them. I hated them for what they’d done to his face, for what they’d done to his parents. I should have been here. I should have been here.

I felt his mother’s hand on my shoulder.

I sat with his mother and father. Just sat. “He’ll be okay, won’t he? ”

Mrs. Quintana nodded. “Yes. But—” She looked at me. “Will you always be his friend? ”

“Always.”

“No matter what? ”

“No matter what.”

“He needs a friend. Everybody needs a friend.”

“I need a friend too, ” I said. I had never said that before.

There was nothing to do at the hospital. Just sit and look at each other. None of us seemed like we were in the mood to talk.

As I was leaving, his parents walked out with me. We stood outside the hospital. Mrs. Quintana looked at me. “You should know what happened.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“I think I do, ” she said. “There was an old woman. She saw what happened. She told the police.” I knew she wasn’t going to cry. “Dante and another boy were kissing in an alley. Some boys were walking by and saw them. And—” She tried to smile. “Well, you saw what they did to him.”

“I hate them, ” I said.

“Sam told me you know about Dante.”

“There are worse things in the world than a boy who likes to kiss other boys.”

“Yes, there are, ” she said. “Much worse. Do you mind if I say something? ’

I smiled at her and shrugged.

“I think Dante’s in love with you.”

Dante was right about her. She did know everything. “Yes, ” I said. “Well, maybe not. I think he likes that other guy.”

Sam looked at right me. “Maybe the other guy’s just a stand in.”

“For me, you mean? ”

He smiled awkwardly. “I mean, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay, ” I said.

“This is hard, ” he said. “I’m—hell, I’m just feeling a little lost right now.”

I smiled at him. “You know what the worst thing about adults is? ”

“No.”

“They’re not always adults. But that’s what I like about them.”

He took me in his arms and held me. Then let me go.

Mrs. Quintana watched us. “Do you know who he is? ”

“Who? ”

“The other boy? ”

“I have an idea.”

“And you don’t care? ”

“What am I supposed to do? ” I knew my voice was cracking. But I refused to cry. What was there to cry about? “I don’t know what to do.” I looked at Mrs. Quintana and I looked at Sam. “Dante’s my friend.” I wanted to tell them that I’d never had a friend, not ever, not a real one. Until Dante. I wanted to tell them that I never knew that people like Dante existed in the world, people who looked at the stars, and knew the mysteries of water, and knew enough to know that birds belonged to the heavens and weren’t meant to be shot down from their graceful flights by mean and stupid boys. I wanted to tell them that he had changed my life and that I would never be the same, not ever. And that somehow it felt like it was Dante who had saved my life and not the other way around. I wanted to tell them that he was the first human being aside from my mother who had ever made me want to talk about the things that scared me. I wanted to tell them so many things and yet I didn’t have the words. So I just stupidly repeated myself. “Dante’s my friend.”

She looked at me, almost smiling. But she was too sad to smile. “Sam and I were right about you. You are the sweetest boy in the world.”

“Next to Dante, ” I said.

“Next to Dante, ” she said.

They walked me to my truck. And then a thought entered into my head. “What happened to the other guy? ”

“He ran, ” Sam said.

“And Dante didn’t.”

“No.”

That’s when Mrs. Quintana broke down and cried. “Why didn’t he run, Ari? Why didn’t he just run? ”

“Because he’s Dante, ” I said.

Four

I DIDN’T KNOW THAT I WAS GOING TO DO THE THINGS I did. It wasn’t like I had a plan. It wasn’t like I was really thinking. Sometimes, you do things and you do them not because you’re thinking but because you’re feeling. Because you’re feeling too much. And you can’t always control the things you do when you’re feeling too much. Maybe the difference between being a boy and being a man is that boys couldn’t control the awful things they sometimes felt. And men could. That afternoon, I was just a boy. Not even close to being a man.

I was a boy. A boy who went crazy. Crazy, crazy.

I got in my truck and drove straight to the drugstore where Dante worked. I ran through the conversation we’d had. I remembered the guy’s name. Daniel. I walked into the drugstore and he was there. Daniel. I saw his name tag. Daniel G. The guy Dante said he wanted to kiss. He was at the counter. “I’m Ari, ” I said.

He looked at me, a look of panic on his face.

“I’m Dante’s friend, ” I said.

“I know, ” he said.

“I think you should take a break.”

“I don’t—”

I didn’t wait for his lame excuses. “I’m going to go outside and wait for you. I’m going to wait for exactly five minutes. And if you’re not out there in five minutes, then I’m going to walk back inside this drugstore and kick your fucking ass in front of the whole world. And if you don’t think I’ll do it, you better look into my eyes and study them.”

I walked out the front door. And waited. It didn’t take five minutes before he was standing there.

“Let’s walk, ” I said.

“I can’t be gone long, ” he said.

He followed me.

We walked.

“Dante’s in the hospital.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? ”

“You haven’t gone to visit.” He didn’t say anything. I wanted to beat the holy shit out him right then and there. “Don’t you have anything to say, you asshole? ”

“What do you want me to say? ”

“You bastard. Don’t you feel anything? ”

I could see he was trembling. Not that I cared. “Who were they? ”

“What are you talking about? ”

“Don’t screw with me, asshole.”

“You’re not going to tell anyone.”

I grabbed him by the collar and then let him go. “Dante’s lying in a hospital and the only thing you’re worriedabout is who I’m going to tell. Who am I going to tell, asshole? Just tell me who they were.”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit. You tell me now and I won’t kick your ass from here to the South Pole.”

“I didn’t know all of them.”

“How many? ”

“Four guys.”

“All I need is one name. Just one.”

“Julian. He was one of them.”

“Julian Enriquez? ”

“Him.”

“Who else? ”

“Joe Moncada.”

“Who else? ”

“I didn’t know the other two.”

“And you just left Dante there? ”

“He wouldn’t run.”

“And you didn’t stay with him? ”

“No. I mean, what good would it have done? ”

“So you didn’t care? ”

“I do care.”

“But you didn’t go back, did you? You didn’t go back to see if he was all right, did you? ”

“No.” He looked scared.

I shoved him against the wall of a building. And walked away.

Five

I KNEW WHERE JULIAN ENRIQUEZ LIVED. I’D PLAYED baseball with him and his brothers when I was in grade school. We’d never really liked each other. Not that we were enemies or anything like that. I drove around for a little while, then found myself parking my truck in front of his house. I walked up to his front door and knocked. His little sister answered the door. “Hi, Ari, ” she said.

I smiled at her. She was pretty. “Hi, Lulu, ” I said. My voice was calm and almost friendly. “Where’s Julian? ”

“He’s at work.”

“Where does he work? ”

“Benny’s Body Shop.”

“What time does he get off? ” I said.

“He usually gets home after five sometime.”

“Thanks, ” I said.

She smiled at me. “Should I tell him you came by? ”

“Sure, ” I said.

Benny’s Body Shop. Mr. Rodriguez, one of my dad’s friends, owned it. They’d gone to school together. I knew exactly where it was. I went driving around all afternoon, just waiting for five o’clock to come around. When it was almost time, I parked around the corner from the body shop. I didn’t want Mr. Rodriguez to see me. He’d ask questions. He’d tell my dad. I didn’t want questions.

I got out of my truck and walked across the street from the body shop. I wanted to make sure I’d see Julian when he walked out of the garage. When I spotted him, I waved him over.

He walked across the street.

“What’s up, Ari? ”

“Not much, ” I said. I pointed to my truck. “Just driving around.”

“That your truck? ”

“Yup.”

“Nice wheels, vato.”

“Want to get a good look? ”

We walked up to my truck and he ran his hand over the chrome fenders. He knelt down and studied the chrome rims. I pictured him kicking Dante as he lay on the ground. I pictured me beating the crap out of him right then and there.

“Want to take a ride? ”

“Got some stuff going on. Maybe you can come by later and we can take a spin.”

I grabbed him by the neck and pulled him up. “Get in, ” I said

“What the hell crawled up your ass, Ari? ”

“Get in, ” I said. I threw him against the truck.

“Chingao, ese. What the shit’s wrong with you, man? ”

He took a swing at me. That was all I needed. I just went to it. His nose was bleeding. That didn’t stop me. It didn’t take long before he was on the ground. I was saying things to him, cussing at him. Everything was a blur and I just kept going at him.

Then I heard a voice and a pair of arms grabbing me and holding me back. The voice was yelling at me and the arms were strong and I couldn’t swing anymore.

I stopped struggling.

And everything stopped. Everything stood still.

Mr. Rodriguez was staring at me. “What the hell’s the matter with you, Ari? Que te pasa? ”

I didn’t have anything to say. I looked down at the ground.

“What’s going on here, Ari? A ver. Di me.”

I couldn’t talk.

I watched as Mr. Rodriguez knelt down and helped Julian get up off the ground. His nose was still bleeding.

“I’m gonna kill you, Ari, ” he whispered.

“You and whose army, ” I said.

Mr. Rodriguez glared at me. He turned toward Julian. “Are you okay? ”

Julian nodded.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I didn’t move. Then I started to get in the truck.

Mr. Rodriguez shot me another look. “You’re lucky I don’t call the cops.”

“Go ahead and call them. I don’t give a damn. But before you call them, you better ask Julian what he’s been up to.”

I got in my truck and drove away.

Six

I DIDN’T NOTICE THE BLOOD ON MY KNUCKLES AND ON my shirt until I drove up to my house.

I just sat there.

I didn’t have a plan. So I just sat. I would sit there forever—that was my plan.

I don’t know how long I sat there. I started shaking. I knew I’d gone crazy but I couldn’t explain it to myself. Maybe that’s what happens when you go crazy. You just can’t explain it. Not to yourself. Not to anyone. And the worst part about going crazy is that when you’re not crazy anymore, you just don’t know what to think of yourself.

My dad came out of the house and stood on the front porch. He looked at me. I didn’t like the look on his face. “I need to talk to you, ” he said. He’d never said that to me before. Not ever. Not like that. His voice made me afraid.

I got out of the truck and sat on the front steps of the porch.

My dad sat next to me. “I just got a call from Mr. Rodriguez.”

I didn’t say anything.

“What’s wrong with you, Ari? ”

“I don’t know, ” I said. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? ” I could hear the anger in my father’s voice.

I stared at my bloody shirt. “I’m going to take a shower.”

My dad followed me into the house. “Ari! ”

My mom was in the hallway. I couldn’t stand the way she was looking at me. I stopped and looked down at the floor. I couldn’t stop the shaking. My whole body was trembling.

I stared at my hands. Nothing could stop the shaking.

My father grabbed my arm, not hard or mean but not softeither. He was strong, my father. He moved me toward the living room and sat me down on the couch. My mother sat next to me. He sat on his chair. I felt numb and wordless.

“Talk, ” my father said.

“I wanted to hurt him, ” I said.

“Ari? ” My mother just looked at me. I hated that look of disbelief. Why couldn’t she believe that I’d want to hurt someone?

I looked back at her. “I did want to hurt him.”

“Your brother hurt someone once, ” she whispered. And then she started sobbing. And I couldn’t stand it. I hated myself more than I had ever hated myself. I just watched her cry and finally I said, “Don’t cry, Mom, please don’t cry.”

“Why, Ari? Why? ”

“You broke that boy’s nose, Ari. And the only reason you’re not at a police station is because Elfigo Rodriguez is an old friend of your father’s. We have to pay for that little hospital visit. You have to pay, Ari.”

I didn’t say anything. I knew what they were thinking. First your brother and now you.

“I’m sorry, ” I said. It sounded lame even to me. But part of me wasn’t sorry. Part of me was glad I’d broken Julian’s nose. I was only sorry that I’d hurt my mom.

“Sorry, Ari? ” He had this look on his face. Like steel.

I could be like steel too. “I’m not my brother, ” I said. “I hate that you think that. I hate that I live in his f—” I stopped myself from using that word in front of my mother. “I hate that I live in his shadow. I hate it. I hate having to be a good boy just to please you.”

Neither of them said anything.

“I don’t know that I am sorry, ” I said.

My father stared back at me. “I’m selling your truck.”

I nodded. “Fine. Sell it.”

My mother had stopped crying. She had a strange look on her face. Not soft, not hard. Just strange. “I need you to tell me why, Ari.”

I took a breath. “Okay, ” I said. “And you’ll listen? ”

“Why wouldn’t we listen? ” My dad’s voice was firm.

I looked at my dad.

Then I looked at my mom.

Then I looked down at the floor. “They hurt Dante, ” I whispered. “You can’t even tell what he looks like. You should see his face. They cracked some of his ribs. They left him lying in an alley. Like he was nothing. Like he was a piece of trash. Like he was shit. Like he was nothing. And if he would have died, they wouldn’t have cared.” I started to cry. “You want me to talk? I’ll talk. You want me to tell you? I’ll tell you. He was kissing another boy.”

I don’t know why, but I couldn’t stop crying. And then I stopped and I knew I was really angry. More angry than I’d ever been in my life. “There were four of them. The other boy ran. But Dante didn’t run. Because Dante’s like that. He doesn’t run.”

I looked at my dad.

He didn’t say a word.

My mother had moved closer to me. She couldn’t stop combing my hair with her fingers.

“I’m so ashamed, ” I whispered. “I wanted to hurt them back.”

“Ari? ” My father’s voice was soft. “Ari, Ari, Ari. You’re fighting this war in the worst possible way.”

“I don’t know how to fight it, Dad.”

“You should ask for help, ” he said.

“I don’t know how to do that, either.”

Seven

WHEN I GOT OUT OF THE SHOWER, MY FATHER WAS gone.

My mother was in the kitchen. The manila envelope with my brother’s name was on the table. My mother was drinking a glass of wine.

I sat across from her. “I drink beer sometimes, ” I said.

She nodded.

“I’m not an angel, Mom. And I’m not a saint. I’m just Ari. I’m just screwed-up Ari.”

“Don’t you ever say that.”

“It’s true.”

“No, it isn’t.” Her voice was fierce and strong and sure. “You’re not screwed up at all. You’re sweet and good and decent.” She took a sip of her wine.

“I hurt Julian, ” I said.

“That wasn’t a very smart thing to do.”

“And not very nice.”

She almost laughed. “No, not nice at all.” She was running her hands over the envelope. “I’m sorry, ” she said. She opened up the envelope and took out a picture. “This is you. You and Bernardo.” She handed me the picture. I was a little boy and my brother was holding me in his arms. And he was smiling. He was handsome and smiling and I was laughing.

“You loved him so much, ” she said. “And I’m sorry. It’s like I said, Ari, we don’t always do the right things, you know? We don’t always say the right things. Sometimes, it seems like it just hurts too much to look at something. So you don’t. You just don’t look. But it doesn’t go away, Ari.” She handed me the envelope. “It’s all in there.” She wasn’t crying. “He killed someone, Ari. He killed someone with his bare fists.” She almost smiled. But it was the saddest smile I’d ever seen. “I’ve never said that before, ” she whispered.

“Does it still hurt a lot? ”

“A lot, Ari. Even after all these years.”

“Will it always hurt? ”

“Always.”

“How do you stand it? ”

“I don’t know. We all have to bear things, Ari. All of us. Your father has to bear the war and what it did to him. You have to bear your own painful journey to becoming a man. And it is painful for you, isn’t it, Ari? ”

“Yes, ” I said.

“And I have to bear your brother, what he did, the shame of it, his absence.”

“It’s not your fault, Mom.”

“I don’t know. I think mothers always blame themselves. Fathers too, I think.”

“Mom? ”

I wanted to reach over and touch her. But I didn’t. I just looked at her and tried to smile. “I didn’t know I could love you this much.”

And then her smile wasn’t sad anymore.

“Hijo de mi corazon, I’ll tell you a secret. You help me bear it. You help me bear all my losses. You, Ari.”

“Don’t say that, Mom. I’ll only disappoint you.”

“No, amor. Not ever.”

“What I did today. I hurt you.”

“No, ” she said. “I think I understand.”

But the way she said it. It was like she understood something about me that she’d never quite understood before. I always felt that when she looked at me, she was trying to find me, trying to find out who I was. But it seemed at that moment that she saw me, that she knew me. But that confused me.

“Understand what, Mom? ”

She pushed the envelope toward me. “Aren’t you going to look through that? ”

I nodded. “Yes. Not right now.”

“Are you afraid? ’

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I ran my finger over my brother’s name. We sat there, my mother and I, for what seemed a long time.

She sipped on her glass of wine and I looked at pictures of my brother.

My brother when he was a baby, my brother in my father’s arms, my brother with my sisters.

My brother sitting on the front steps of the house.

My brother, a little boy, saluting my father in uniform.

My brother, my brother.

My mother watched me. It was true. I had never loved her more.

Eight

“WHERE DID DAD GO? ”

“He went to see Sam.”

“Why? ’

“He just wanted to talk to him.”

“About what? ”

“About what happened. They’re friends, you know, your father and Sam.”

“That’s interesting, ” I said. “Dad’s older.”

She smiled. “So what? ”

“Yeah, so what.”

Nine

“CAN I FRAME THIS ONE AND PUT IT IN MY ROOM? ” IT was a picture of my brother saluting my father.

“Yes, ” she said, “I love that one.”

“Did he cry? When Dad left for Vietnam? ”

“For days. He was inconsolable.”

“Were you afraid Dad wouldn’t come back? ”

“I didn’t think about it. I made myself not think about it.” She laughed. “I’m good at that.”

“Me too, ” I said. “And all this time I thought I got that trait from Dad.”

We laughed. “Can we put that picture in the living room? Would you mind, Ari? ”

That was the day that my brother was in our house again. In a strange and inexplicable way, my brother had come home.

It wasn’t my mother who answered my hungry questions. It was my father. My mother would listen sometimes as my father and I talked about Bernardo. But she would never say a word.

I loved her for her silence.

Or maybe I just understood it.

And loved my father too, for the careful way he spoke. I came to understand that my father was a careful man. To be careful with people and with words was a rare and beautiful thing.

Ten

I VISITED DANTE EVERY DAY. HE WAS IN THE HOSPITAL for about four days. They had to make sure he was okay because he’d had a concussion.

His ribs hurt.

The doctor said the cracked ribs would take a while to heal. But they weren’t broken. That would have been worse. The bruises would heal on their own. At least the ones on the outside.

No swimming. He couldn’t do much, really. He could lie around. But Dante liked lying around. That was the good thing.

He was different. Sadder.

The day he came home from the hospital, he cried. I held him. I thought he would never stop.

I knew that a part of him would never be the same.

They cracked more than his ribs.

Eleven

“ARE YOU OKAY, ARI? ” MRS. QUINTANA WAS STUDYING me just like my mother studied me. I sat across from Dante’s parents at their kitchen table. Dante was asleep. Sometimes when his ribs were bothering him, he took a pill. They made him drowsy.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? ”

“You think I need a therapist? ”

“There’s nothing wrong with going to see a therapist, Ari.”

“Spoken like a therapist, ” I said.

Mrs. Quintana shook her head. “You didn’t used to be smart aleck until you started hanging around with my son.”

I laughed. “I’m fine, ” I said. “Why wouldn’t I be fine? ”

The Quintanas glanced at each other.

“Is that a parent thing? ”

“What? ”

“Those looks moms and dads like to give each other.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

I knew that my father and he had talked. I knew that he knew what I’d done. I knew they both knew.

“You know who the boys are, don’t you, Ari? ” Mrs. Quintana was back to her strict self. Not that I minded.

“I know who two of them are.”

“And the other two? ”

I thought I’d make a joke. “I bet I could make them talk.”

Mrs. Quintana laughed. That surprised me.

“Ari, ” she said. “You’re a crazy boy.”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“It’s all about loyalty, ” she said.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“But, Ari, you could have gotten yourself in a lot of trouble.”

“It was wrong. I know it was wrong. I just did it. I can’t explain it. They’re never going to do anything to those boys, are they? ”

“Maybe not.”

“Yeah, ” I said, “like the cops are really working this case.”

“I don’t care about those other boys, Ari.” Sam was looking straight into my eyes. “I care about Dante. And I care about you.”

“I’m fine, ” I said.

“You’re sure? ”

“I’m sure.”

“And you’re not going to go after those other boys? ”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

Mrs. Quintana didn’t laugh that time.

“I promise.”

“You’re better than that, ” she said.

I wanted so much to believe her.

“But I’m not going to pay for Julian’s broken nose.”

“Have you told your father? ”

“Not yet. But I’m just going to tell him that if those bast—” I stopped. I didn’t finish the word I’d started. There were other words I wanted to use. “If those guys don’t have to pay for Dante’s hospital stay, then I don’t have to pay for Julian’s little ER visit. If Dad wants to take the truck away, then it’s okay with me.”

Mrs. Quintana was wearing a smirk. She didn’t smirk much. “Let me know what your father says.”

“And another thing. Julian can call the cops if he wants.” I was wearing a smirk of my own. “You think that’s going to happen? ”

“You’re pretty streetwise, aren’t you, Ari? ” I liked the look Sam had on his face.

“I know my way around.”

Twelve

MY DAD DIDN’T ARGUE WITH ME ABOUT NOT PAYING for Julian’s hospital bill. He looked at me and said, “I guess you’ve just decided to settle out of court.” He just kept nodding pensively. “Sam talked to the old lady. She could never recognize those boys. Not in a million years.”

Julian’s dad came over and had a talk with my dad. He didn’t look very happy when he left.

My dad didn’t take away my truck.