This Side of Providence (34 page)

“Have you seen her, since she got out?”

“No.” Lucho answers, too quickly. “But I heard she was doing good. And that she was still clean.” She cracks her knuckles, which sounds like her fingers breaking.

I nod. “I just want to keep it that way.”

“What's that got to do with me?”

I tap my fingers on the roof of her car. “Can you promise that you'll stay away from her?”

She drops her head. “Give me a fucking break, Snowman.”

“Exactly.” I say, nodding my head as I back away from the car. “That's exactly why I can't help you.”

“You don't make any sense, man. I thought you were a businessman.”

“Some things are more important than business. Some people.”

I walk back through the park so I don't have to worry about her following me. I wish I could get lost in this city. I want to find a neighborhood so foreign it feels like I'm walking through the woods at night with only the stars to guide me. But I know
every alley and back road in Providence and even when I try to disorient myself, I always know exactly where I am.

Arcelia finds me at the flea market. I see her first, picking through piles of tube socks, and a part of me wants to hide, but I know I have to face her sooner or later. No point putting it off any longer.

When she sees me she waves, like we're old friends, and something about the gesture makes me feel sorry for her. She walks over to me with a crooked smile, trying to hide the fact that she's missing a tooth, and suddenly she looks exactly like her son. That makes me smile. She's a pretty lady, no doubt, but she looks older than she is, and her body seems burdened by all she's been through.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey. I heard you were looking for me.”

She nods. “Yeah. I need a favor.”

“I thought I just did you a favor.” I've never had a girlfriend, but I can imagine conversations like this one being part of the territory.

“You did. And I'm grateful.” She rubs my arm just above the elbow. “But now I need something else.”

I stare down at her, trying to ignore the feeling of her hand on my arm. It's hard to focus when she's this close to me, hard to keep the distance we both need. Her eyes dart around and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She's jonesing.

“I need to buy some stuff from you.”

I knew this moment would come, but it still surprises me. Saddens me, really.

“It wasn't that long ago you asked me not to sell to you,” I remind her.

“It's not for me, it's for a friend. Really.” She lets go of my arm.

I take a step back, so I can see her more clearly. “A friend?”

She nods. “His dealer got arrested. He's got a small stash, but he's gonna get sick real soon if he runs out. You know the deal.”

“He? So your friend is a man?”

She bites her fingernail. “Is that a problem?”

I shake my head. “Go on.” I want to see how many lies she'll tell.

“That's it. That's the story.” She spits a piece of her fingernail onto the ground between us.

“Sorry, Arcelia.” I shrug. “I made a promise.”

“But it was with me,” she says, her voice pleading. “And I don't care if you break it. Honestly.” She grabs my sleeve again. “I want you to. Need you to.”

I look down at her hand. Her skin is dry and the polish on her nails is chipped. “That's not the promise I'm talking about.”

She drops her head and softens the tone of her voice. “Do I have to beg?”

“Please don't do that.” I look around to see if anyone is watching. The streets are empty except for the occasional car rolling down Manton.

When she speaks again she sounds almost angry. “So what are you saying, you want me to go to somebody else?”

I shrug. “I can't control what you do.”

“Come on, you know how fucked up most of the shit out there is. Half of it's cut with baby formula, brick dust, or gasoline. You want my friend to end up in the ER?”

“Of course not. Don't be stupid.” I glance toward the
ENCORE
van, which is parked by the front door to Atlantic Mills. “At least go to the needle exchange. Find someone who knows what they're getting.”

“They only give you the works,” she says, “they're not handing out dime bags.”

“I know that. I meant someone who goes there, someone you used to score with maybe.” I can't believe I'm suggesting this, but what else can I do?

“I spent the last nine months trying to forget all those motherfuckers. Now I'm supposed to walk back in there and beg for a connection? You must be crazy.”

“You're supposed to walk away,” I tell her, leaning in close so I don't have to raise my voice. “If you really want to take care
of yourself. If you want to help your family. You have to leave it all behind.”

“Pretty easy for you to say.”

“Actually, no, it isn't easy. Giving in would be a lot easier.”

She spits onto the muddy ground. “I thought you were one of the good guys.”

“Guess you were wrong.”

I walk away before I change my mind. Saying no to her shouldn't be this hard. I try to ignore it, but the sound of her voice fills my head, her desperation like a drum beating against my skull. I don't want to think about how much power I have over someone else's life. Someone I don't even love. Or can't.

The sun is warm on my neck and I smell barbecue in the air, floating across the parking lot from Wes's Rib Shack. I think of Cristo, of taking him out for pulled pork after our last swim lesson, and picturing his face makes me turn around and go back for her. Maybe I do love her, through her son. Or maybe I love him through her.

When I get back to the flea market, she's gone. The spot where I left her just a few minutes before is empty. But I still call out her name, like a lost child calling for his mother. I walk up and down Manton Avenue looking for her, but she's not in any of the usual places. She just vanished. Like a passing car picked her up off the street.

Nobody can run that fast.

Cristo

W
hen Mrs. Reed passes our essays back, it turns out I got my first A. Crazy, huh? Especially since I wrote the whole thing in English and didn't even make any mistakes. I gotta give some credit to Graciela because I got her to read it before I turned it in and she made a lot of changes. But still. It was all my own ideas and had my name across the top.

To celebrate, I ask Mami when I get home if we can go out for Chinese food. She says she's got a meeting later and besides we don't have the money.

“I can pay for it.” I pull a wad of cash from my pocket, but she waves my money away.

“Thanks,
mijo
, but I got to stay home anyway. In case my case manager comes by.”

I stand in front of her, holding my essay like a shield against my chest. “You wanna read it?”

“Of course I do. But maybe later, okay?” She lies down on the couch. “I can't focus on words right now.”

“You sick, Mami?”

“No,
cariño
. I'm okay. Just got a little headache.”

“You need me to make you something?”

She curls under a blanket, even though it's warm in the apartment and outside it's almost seventy degrees.

She shakes her head. “
No tengo hambre
.”

“But you didn't eat anything. For breakfast or lunch.”

“Nothing sounds good right now. Nothing we got anyway.”

She covers her face with the blanket, trying to block out the
sunlight. I leave her alone for a while, but then I go back and tell her what I really want is for her to teach me how to make
pasteles
.

“Come on, Mami. I'll go to the market and get everything, you won't even have to move.”

When I pull back the blanket she opens her eyes halfway.

“I'll even wash all the vegetables myself.”

“Are you serious?” She blinks and I can see the veins in her eyelids. “That's a lot of work. Just order a pizza, okay?”

“We eat pizza all the time. That's not special.” I wave the essay in her face. “Mami. It's my first A. Ever.”

She finally gives in. “Go to the market on Broad Street, even though it's far, 'cause the prices are better and his banana leaves are nice and oily.” She points to the kitchen. “Go get my purse.”

“That's okay, I got it.” I kiss her on the cheek. “Thanks, Mami. I'll be right back. So quick you won't have time to miss me.”

She closes her eyes again. “I always miss you,” she says, which is something we started saying to each other after she left me in Puerto Rico.

“I always miss you, too.” Then I run out of the apartment before she changes her mind.

On the way to the market I see a guy getting into a green Honda parked in front of the liquor store. Something about him seems familiar so I look back again. He pulls up his hood and drives away before I can see his face. Nobody I know drives a nice car, except some of the teachers at my school, so I figure I must be wrong about knowing him. He rolls through a stop sign at the next block and drives around a school bus with blinking red lights, almost hitting two kids as they cross the street.

When I get to the market it takes me a while to collect all the vegetables because I know Mami's picky about getting the best ones. I ask the lady at the register to help, and without saying anything she comes around from behind the counter and grabs the calabaza from my basket, testing the weight of each squash in her hand. Then she knocks on the shells before handing me
the ones to keep. She exchanges my ripe plantains for green ones, gives me two more pounds of malanga, and throws an extra head of garlic into the bag. Her husband uses a butcher's knife to cut twenty-five plantain leaf squares, which he ties together with a long piece of twine, like a binding for some primitive book. He asks if I have more twine at home, to tie around each
pastel
after we wrap them, and when I say no he gives me the rest of the roll for free.

My bags are too heavy to carry all the way home so I decide to take the bus. I run into Graciela at the bus stop, coming back from her piano lesson. At first she's just looking at the ground, but when she recognizes me, she finally smiles.

“I thought you only like junk food?” she says, noticing the food spilling from my bags and onto the sidewalk.

“No, I like real food, too.” I bend down to pick up the onions that slipped out, each one hard like a baseball. “I just don't like to cook it.”

“So who's going to cook all that?” She reaches for the twine before it rolls into the gutter.

“Mami. Who else?”

“She's back?” Graciela's kneeling next to me now, helping me repack the bags. I feel my face starting to get hot, but I try to keep my voice calm.

“What do you mean ‘back'?”

“Nothing. I just heard she was away for a while.”

I look over at her. I can tell by the look on her face she's not trying to be mean.

“My uncle went away once,” she says. “For a long time. And when he came back my cousins didn't even recognize him.”

“Well, Mami wasn't gone that long.”

“That's good.” She stands up and brushes off her knees. Then she holds out her hand to help me up. I don't want her help, but I take her hand anyway, just to touch her.

“You wanna come over and meet her? You can eat dinner with us.”

I want to keep holding her hand, but she pulls it away to pick up her backpack, putting both shoulder straps on like she's about to go hiking.

“You sure it's okay?”

“Course it is. It's my home, too.”

I don't really want her to meet Mami yet, but I do want to show her that I live in a real apartment with heat and electricity and a TV that works. When some other kids from school found out I was living in the shelter they teased me about being homeless until Mrs. Reed threatened to send them outside to pick up garbage. Graciela wasn't part of the group that messed with me, but I still saw pity in her eyes when she looked at me that day during recess and I want her to know she can save that for someone who really needs it.

She offers to help me carry something, so I give her the smallest bag, with green bananas, a half gallon of milk, and the pork shoulder, and we decide to ditch the bus and walk to my house together. It's dark by now and there aren't a lot of people on the street. An old lady passes us and smiles, probably thinking we're brother and sister, or maybe the youngest married couple in America. The thought of marrying Graciela, of being old enough to marry anyone, gives me butterflies. I smile at her but she's looking for a break in the traffic and doesn't see it. When we step into the street, she puts her arm in front of me, to make sure I don't step out too far, like a mother would. Normally, someone trying to take care of me like that would piss me off, but I like when she does it. It's only her jacket that's touching me but it still feels good.

“You never told me if you liked the valentine,” I say, when we're a few blocks from the house.

She stops to look at me. “Wait, that was from you?”

I nod, watching her face change as she pretends to get mad. She swats me on the arm. “Why didn't you tell me? Or at least sign your name?” She hits me again, softer this time, and we both start to laugh.

“I thought you could figure it out.”

“Well, yeah, I kind of thought it was from you. But I didn't want to embarrass myself by saying anything. I thought it might be a joke, from one of the other boys.”

“It wasn't a joke,” I say, shifting the weight of the bags in my hands.

“Good,” she says. “It was beautiful. I still have it, in my locker at school. But I already memorized it.”

Damn. I copied it over a bunch of times, and even I don't know it by heart.

She starts walking again. “I didn't know you liked poetry.”

“I don't, not really. But it just made sense to me. Even in English.”

“Your English is good now, you're just too close to hear for yourself. I bet you could take the test for Regular Ed and pass just fine.”

I shake my head. “I'm not taking that test. Ever.”

“That's too bad,” she says, slowing down to let me catch up. “They're switching me next fall. They said I could go now but I wanted to stay with Mrs. Reed, just to finish out the year in one place.”

“I guess everybody moves up eventually.”

“Isn't that the point? We
are
in America now.”

“You say that like this place isn't filled with immigrants.”

“Of course it is,” she says, laughing. “It was founded by immigrants.”

“Right. And sometimes I think if enough of us keep speaking Spanish then maybe we won't have to get rid of it completely. We can somehow keep both.”

“I don't think they want us to keep both. My father says the government thinks we're disloyal if we don't speak their language. He could get fired if they ever hear him speaking Spanish at work.”

“If they did that in this neighborhood nobody would have a job.”

When we come around the corner I see the green Honda from the liquor store parked in front of our house. No sign of the guy who was driving. I walk up the steps quickly, forgetting to let Graciela go in front of me. I unlock the door and walk into the living room. The apartment looks empty. My heart is beating so fast I think I'm going to faint. All the lights are off except for the ones in the kitchen. A six-pack of beer sits on the table, missing two bottles. Corona Light, just like Lucho used to buy. Lucho. Of course. Anger floods my body and I feel like
I'm gonna faint. She must be doing good if she got a new car.

I check Mami's bedroom from the hallway, see the door closed. I don't call her name, my plan is to just open the door, but at the last second I get scared and decide to knock.

“Oh, fuck,” somebody says, and I hear the sound of glass clinking and bodies shuffling around.

“Mami?”

“Just a sec, Cristo.”

I try to open the door but it's locked.

“Mami, open the door. Who's in there with you?” I pound on the door. “Is Lucho in there?” I kick the door a few times, leaving gray smudges on the paint. My toes start to hurt but I don't stop kicking.

When the door opens I see Lucho first. She's standing next to the bed, trying to look relaxed. She has an empty beer bottle in her hand. The other one, half full, is on the nightstand.

“Hey kid, how's it going?”

I ignore Lucho, figuring that's better than what I want to say to her. Mami's leaning against the wall behind the door. She's wearing pajama bottoms and a shirt that's only buttoned halfway. Her eyes are small and her face looks flat, like she was just slapped.

“What time is it?” She pushes her hair out of her face several times. “You must be starved.” There's something small tucked into her shirt pocket, and she touches it a few times to make sure it's still there.

She walks by me, picking up a glass of water from the dresser before leaving the room. The air is filled with a sour heat, and I can smell cheap incense burning. There's something horribly familiar about this moment.

“What the hell is Lucho doing here?” I ask, following Mami down the hall. “When did she get back?”

She stops short in the dining room. “Who's this?” She points at Graciela, standing in the middle of the dark room, still holding the bag of groceries. I forgot she was here.

I take the shopping bag out of her hand and put it on the floor. “Thanks.” I grab her sleeve and walk her to the front door. “You should go now, okay?”

“Is everything all right?”

“Sure, of course. I just forgot we had plans. I'm sorry I wasted your time.”

“It's not a problem—”

“Okay, good. See you later.” I close the door on her face.

When I get back to the kitchen Mami is unpacking the food. She keeps putting the same items in and out of the bag.

“I don't see any meat,” she says. “I thought I told you to get meat.”

“It must be in the other bag.”

“Can you bring it to me?” Her voice is sharp. “It might be nice to get a little help around here.”

I'm so shocked I can't even say anything. I get the other bag from the floor and carry it into the kitchen. When I come back in, Lucho has her foot on a chair and she's bending over to tie her shoe. Just seeing her do something that casual, as if she lives here, makes me furious. My voice comes back suddenly, spraying out of me like vomit.

“You want this bag? Here, take it. Take it all.” I dump it onto the kitchen floor, watching the pork roll over the bananas, splitting their green skins, as milk spills from the dented carton.

“Cristo, what the hell are you doing?” Mami stands there, an onion in each hand, and for a second I think she's going to throw them at me.

“What am I doing? I'm doing your errands, that's what I'm doing.” I pick up the six-pack, waving it in front of her face. “What the hell are
you
doing, Mami?”

Lucho drops her foot onto the ground. “Hey, watch your mouth.”

I step toward her. “Are you kidding me? You can't tell me what to do. You don't live here.”

Mami looks at Lucho and shakes her head. “Leave him alone,” she says.

She walks over to the spilled food, her flip-flops making tracks in the milk. When she bends down, two bottle caps fall out of her pocket and roll under the oven. She hurries to pick them up, tucking them back into her pocket without even wiping off the dust.

“Get out of our house,” I yell, walking toward Lucho. “You don't belong here.” I shove the six-pack into her hands.

She takes a few steps back. “Come on, Cristo, you just need to calm down. Can't we talk about this?”

“You wanna talk? Okay. Let's start with why you left us. Let's talk about that.”

Lucho looks at Mami, who is still kneeling on the ground, now counting the green bananas.