“I wouldn’t know.”
“Have you ever done drugs?”
“Why do you always ask me questions you already know the answers to?”
“Why don’t you just let loose, Sally? Let yourself go. Live. The now.”
“Yeah, the now. Look, you let loose enough for both of us.”
She gave me another one of her looks. We both knew she was no stranger to experimenting with mood-altering substances. She especially liked 420. Not me. I tried it once at a party and wound up kissing a girl I didn’t even like. I took kissing very seriously. When I kissed a girl (not that it happened very often), I wanted it to mean something. I just wasn’t that casual about things.
“Get me the eggs from the fridge.”
She opened the refrigerator. “Crap! Look at all that food.”
I shook my head. “Most people’s refrigerators have food in them. I hope you know that.”
“God, you are snarky today, white boy.”
She knew I hated being called white boy. Even though I was technically a white boy, I was raised in a Mexican family. So I didn’t qualify as your average white boy. Not in my world. I knew Spanish better than Sam—and she was supposed to be Mexican.
She handed me the carton of eggs. She knew I was ignoring her comment.
“Chill,” she said. She opened the refrigerator door again. “Nope, this does not look like my refrigerator at all. I don’t even know why we have one. Maybe I should sell it on eBay.”
“And what would Sylvia say about that?”
“She probably wouldn’t even notice it was missing.” She watched as I cracked two eggs and fried them in bacon grease. “Who taught you how to do that?”
“My Mima.” I wanted to add, You know, my Mexican grandmother, just to underline my point that I was not your ordinary milquetoast white boy.
“Wish I had a Mima,” she said. “My mother says she doesn’t want anything to do with her family. You know what I think? I think it’s the other way around.” She scarfed down a piece of bacon. “I love bacon. Did you go out last night?”
“I went to a movie.”
“Who with?”
“Fito.”
“Why do you hang out with him? He’s a dork. He always has his face stuck in a book, and he cusses way too much.”
“Are you telling me that you, Samantha Diaz, find cussing offensive? Really?”
“You’re mocking me.”
“Yup. And you know I’m a dork too.”
“Yeah, but you’re an interesting dork. Fito is definitely not interesting.”
“Wrong. He’s interesting as hell. I like the guy. He actually knows how to think. And he knows how to hold his own in an intelligent conversation—which is more than I can say for most of the guys you hang with.”
“Not that you’d know.”
I rolled my eyes. I may have been a dork, but I wasn’t an idiot.
“Like how many of my boyfriends have you ever gotten to know?”
“You never give me a chance. They’re here one day and gone the next. And I do know the guy you’re going out with now. Let’s just say he’s not college material.”
“Eddie’s nice.”
“Nice. That guy wouldn’t go near that word with a ten-foot pole. He spends all his money on body art.”
“I like his tats.”
“What’s with you and all these bad boys?”
“They’re handsome.”
“In a raised-by-wolves kind of way. I mean, you go for a certain kind of aesthetic.” Aesthetic was a Sal word. And then I grinned at her. “Besides, I’m handsome—and you don’t go out with me.”
She grinned back at me. “Yeah, you are handsome. Not very modest—but handsome. But you don’t have tattoos, and, well, you’re not boyfriend material. What you are is best-friend material.”
That made me happy. I liked our friendship just the way it was. It worked for me. It worked for both of us. But the guys she went out with? Bad news—every single one of them. No bueno. “Look, Sammy,” I said, “these guys always wind up hurting you. And you wind up crying and sad and depressed and sullen and all those things, and I wind up having to talk you down from the tree.”
“Well, since you don’t have a life, you have to get your drama from somewhere.”
I rolled my eyes again. “I don’t do drama.”
“Yes, you do, Sally. If you didn’t do drama, you wouldn’t be my best friend.”
“True that.”
I loved Sammy.
I really loved her. And I wanted to tell her about the guy I’d punched because he’d called me a pinche gringo. I wanted to tell her that there was an anger in me that I just didn’t understand. I’d always been this sort of patient guy—and now I’d started thinking I was surrounded by idiots. The guy next to me in English class passed me a note asking for Sam’s number. I passed a note back: “I’m not her pimp, and I ought to kick your ass.” So much for being laid-back and calm.
But Sam, she had this image of me that I was a good boy, and she was in love with that image. She was in love with simple, uncomplicated, levelheaded Sally. And I didn’t know how to tell her that I wasn’t all those beautiful things she thought I was. That things were changing, and I could feel it but couldn’t put it into words.
I felt like a fraud.
But what if I found the words? What then? What would I do if she didn’t love me anymore?
WFTD = Maybe
DAD AND I sat at the kitchen table. He was making spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. I watched him form the meatballs. His hands were big and rough. I guess it’s because he was always making frames, stretching them, painting. Painting and painting and painting. I liked his hands.
We were listening to the Rolling Stones. I liked his music, but it was his music, not mine. “Dad,” I said, “why don’t we listen to something else?”
“Something wrong with my music?”
“Move forward,” I said.
“Hmm. Not sure I want to.”
I smiled.
He smiled. “Every generation thinks they’re the coolest canoe that’s ever come down the river.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. Every generation thinks they’re the ones who are going to reinvent the world. News flash: the world has been around for millions of years.”
“But it keeps changing. Besides, what’s wrong with thinking you can improve the world? Just a little.”
“Nothing wrong with that. When I was in college, high-tech meant having an electric typewriter.”
I laughed.
“I never imagined how fast things would change.”
“Like—for instance?”
“Cell phones, computers, social networking, attitudes—”
“Attitudes?”
“The gay thing, for instance.”
Dad hardly ever talked about the gay thing. Only when he had to.
“You know, when I was growing up, it was so hard. Really hard. And now it’s better. A lot of young people don’t think being gay is a big deal.”
“True that,” I said. “I mean we have gay marriage and everything.” And then I looked right at him and said, “Dad? Are you ever gonna get married?”
He just shrugged.
“Of course you’d have to have a boyfriend.”
He threw a meatball at me, and it bounced with a thud on the table. “Do I feel a lecture coming on?”
I saw this quiet and sad look wash over his face. “But you know we’re always going to have to rely on the goodwill of those of you who are straight for our survival. And that’s the damned truth.”
I saw how he hated that. I saw it isn’t fair written in his eyes. It isn’t fair. I wanted to tell him that all the awful things that happened in the old world were dead. And the new world, the world we lived in now, the world we were creating, that world would be better. But I didn’t say it, because I wasn’t sure it was true.
I didn’t really
like change, but I’d just lectured my dad about change. Maybe change could be good. Like the gay marriage thing and equality and all that. But I wasn’t sure I liked all the changes. I mean the changes in me. Maybe I was afraid of who I was becoming. Mima said we become who we want to be. But that meant we were in control. I liked control. But maybe control was just an illusion. And maybe I’d always had the wrong idea as to who I really was.
I decided to text Sam and tell her that the word for the day was maybe.
Unwritten Rules
“DID YOU TELL Sam about the letter from your mother?”
“Nope.”
“I thought you told her everything.”
“Nobody tells anybody everything.”
My father nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You don’t tell me everything.”
“Of course I don’t. I tell you what I think is important. And your letter—I’d say that was pretty important.”
“Yeah, I guess so. But Sam would just push me to read it. I don’t want her to make my decision for me. She’d probably say something like Well then, let me read it, and then we’d get into it. And she wouldn’t stop until I’d read it. Sam’s pushy—and she has a way of getting me to do things I don’t want to do.”
“Like what?”
“Never mind, Dad.”
“No, no. Now you’ve stepped into it. You have to give me an example.” That was one of the unwritten rules—you couldn’t bring up a subject without finishing it. Not that we always followed our own rules.
“Okay,” I said. “Sam taught me how to kiss.”
“What?”
“You can’t get upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“That ‘What?’ sounded like you were upset.”
“That ‘What?’ sounded like I was surprised. I thought you and Sam were just friends.”
“We are. Best friends. Look, Dad, we were in seventh grade and—”
“Seventh grade?”
“Do you want to hear this story or not?”
“I’m not sure I do.”
“Too late.”
He shook his head—but he was grinning. “I’m listening.”
“I really liked this girl. Her name was Erika. And sometimes we held hands. And I wanted to kiss her. And I told Sam, and she said she’d teach me. And I told her I didn’t think that was a good idea. But she talked me into it. More like badgered. And, well, in the end it wasn’t any big deal.”
“So she taught you how to kiss.”
I laughed. “She was a good teacher.”
Dad laughed too. He looked at me again and shook his head, not upset. “You and Sam. You and Sam.” And then he smiled. “Did you ever get to kiss her, this Erika girl?”
I smiled. “I don’t kiss and tell, Dad.”
My father just laughed. I mean, he really laughed.
“You would do anything for Sam, wouldn’t you?”
“Just about.”
He nodded. “I admire your loyalty. But I worry sometimes.”
“You don’t have to worry, Dad. I’m cursed with being a straight-edger.”
“Straight-edger?”
“I think you know what I mean.” I wanted to tell him how confused I was. I was in the middle of something, and I couldn’t quite get at what that something was. I started to get mad at myself. Maybe I didn’t do drugs or stuff like that, but I sure as hell was learning how to keep secrets.
“Yeah, Salvie, I think I do know.” He took out his cigarettes from the freezer. “Want to have a cig?”
“That’s your third cigarette today, Dad.”
He nodded as he opened the back door. He sat on the back steps and lit his cigarette.
I sat next to him. “What’s up, Dad?”
“Your Mima,” he said.
“What about her?”
“Her cancer’s back.”
“I thought it was all gone.”
“Cancer’s tricky business.”
“But she’s been cancer-free since I was—”
“Twelve.” He took a deep drag on his cigarette. “It’s metastasized.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that there were still some cancer cells in her body, and they shifted to another site.”
“Where?”
“Her bones.”
“Is that bad?”
“Very bad.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
He took my hand and squeezed it. “I don’t think so, Salvie.” He looked like he was going to cry, but he didn’t. If he wasn’t going to cry, I wasn’t going to cry either. He put his cigarette out. “Your Aunt Evie and I are going to spend the rest of the day with your Mima.”
“Can I go?”
“You and I will go to Mass with her tomorrow. Then we’ll cook for her. Does that work?”
I knew what he was saying. They had things they wanted to talk about, and they didn’t want to have me hanging around. I really, really hated to be left out. “That works,” I said.
I knew my dad heard the disappointment in my voice. He put his hand on my shoulder. “I don’t have a road map for this trip, Salvie. But I won’t be leaving you behind, I promise.”
My father, he knew how to keep a promise.
Fito
DAD HAD GONE to see Mima. Cancer. I pictured my dad and Mima and my Aunt Evie talking. About cancer. Them talk. Me not included. Not happy.
I didn’t want to think about Mima, about losing her, and I kept seeing the look on Dad’s face when he said Very bad.
I sat on the front porch with Maggie and was about to text Sam. But I didn’t know what to text. So I just sat there staring at my cell phone.
I looked up from my phone and saw Fito coming down the street. He walked like a coyote looking for food. For reals. I mean, he was one skinny guy. I always wanted to give him something to eat. He waved at me. “How’s it goin’, Sal?”
“Oh, just hanging out.”
He walked up my sidewalk, sat next to me on the steps, and slid his backpack off. “I just got out of work.”
“Where you working?”
“At the Circle K up the street.”
“Yeah? You like it?”
“Bunch of crazy people walk in there twenty-four seven. Every druggie in the neighborhood is waiting till it’s seven in the morning so’s they can buy some booze so’s they can come down.”
The thing about hanging out with a guy like Fito was that he provided me with an education. Between him and Sam, I was all set. “Well, it least it’s not boring.”
“Yeah, well, I could go for boring. Some guy was trying to get me to hook him up with free cigarettes. Like that was gonna happen. I gotta quit one of my jobs.”
“How many jobs do you have?”
“Two. Beats the hell out of staying home. But I gotta keep my grades up.”
“I don’t know how you manage that.”
“See, it’s like this, Sal. I don’t have a dad like yours. Your dad, he figures your job is to go to school and get good grades and shit. Me, I haven’t seen my dad since he said goodbye to me a few years back. I know he’s trying to keep it all together. I mean, my mom did him some damage. I get that. Bottom line is that he’s not around to support me. My mom’s on public assistance, and I guess I’m just lucky she hasn’t been arrested. They arrest her, I’m screwed. The last thing I need is a foster home. The good news is that I’ll be eighteen in another couple months. Then I’m free and clear.”
“Are you gonna move out?”
“No. I’ve been saving money for college, and I don’t want to use that money for rent. I’m only home long enough to sleep, anyway. It’s just a bed. I have to stick it out a little longer. Won’t kill me.”
God, he looked tired. “I was about to fix me a sandwich,” I lied. “You want one?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Starving.”
Starving was the right word. That boy wolfed that sandwich down in a nanose
cond. Fito was an interesting guy. He was all street-smart, and the thing was that he had this really clean-cut look. Short hair, dorky glasses, white shirt, khakis, and he liked to wear these thin black ties. Like my dad. You know, he had a look. Me, I didn’t have a look.
“So,” he said, “how come you and Sam don’t hook up?”
“She’s my best friend.”
“Why can’t she be more than a friend? She’s hot.”
I gave him a look.
“What?”
“She’s like my sister. Guys don’t want to hear other guys say things about their sister—things like She’s hot.”
“Sorry.”
“No worries.”
“And she’s really smart, that Sam. Guess you’re not her type anyway.”
I just shook my head. “Let’s not go there.” I didn’t like talking about Sam behind her back. It was easy enough to change the subject. “You got a girl, Fito?”
“No girls. I had this thing with Angel for a while.”
Until then I hadn’t known he was gay. I mean, he didn’t act gay—whatever that meant. “He’s a nice guy.”
“Ahh, he’s high maintenance. Don’t have time for that. Guys suck.”
That made me laugh.
“You ever been with a guy, Sal?”
“Nope. Not my thing.”
“I just thought that because your dad was gay—”
I laughed again. “Like it works that way.”
Fito started laughing at himself. “I’m, like, an asshole.”
“No, you’re not,” I said. “I like you, Fito.”
“I like you too, Sal. You’re different. I mean, you say things like ‘I like you, Fito.’ Most guys don’t say shit like that. Well, gay guys do, but they’re not really sayin’ they like you. They’re sayin’ they’re interested in maybe gettin’ you in the sack. Know what I’m sayin’?”
I made him another sandwich. He wolfed down the second one same as the first. He kept petting Maggie and saying, “Man, wish I had a dog and lived all normal and shit.” And he just got to talking and talking. He talked about work and about his screwed-up family and about school and about how he really liked Angel, but he was too young for any serious stuff anyway, and he didn’t want to be spending his money on a guy who was maybe just using him. “The only thing I’m serious about is getting into college.”