Mexican WhiteBoy (16 page)

Danny and Liberty look at each other.

“Sounds about right to me,” Chico says.

Raul stands up, says: “It’s game
on
for you two.” He walks over to the front door, pulls it open, turns around to wait for them.

Liberty stands up, giggles a little in the direction of Guita. She straightens her dress.

“Go on, Lib,” Guita says.

Chico walks over to Danny, pulls him up by the arm.

“Time to go outside, superstar.”

Danny looks at Liberty. She gives him a shy smile.

They both step out of the circle and head toward the door Raul’s holding open. Everybody in the apartment cheers as they slip out into the warm summer night. The cheering goes faint as Raul pulls the door shut behind them.

4

Danny and Liberty stand there for a second, quiet, looking everywhere except at each other. Danny slips his hands into the pockets of his khakis, then pulls them back out and leans back against the closed door. From the corner of his eye he watches Liberty look out over the apartment complex and then down at her unpainted fingernails. Suddenly, she turns to Danny and says:
“Lo siento que nos hicieran venir aquí.”

Danny’s stomach drops. The shame of his ignorance hits him hard, runs all through his body, makes the hairs on his arms and legs go dead. He looks up at her, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you said.”

Liberty gives him a strange look back, as if she doesn’t understand what
he’s
said, either. She shakes her head. They continue to stare at each other, both slowly realizing the situation. Their respective shortcomings. Then Liberty smiles. Danny smiles back, says: “Maybe we should sit.” He points to the run-down steps a few apartment doors down. “Sit down?”

“Yes,” Liberty says with an exaggerated nod. She smiles big and says it again. “Yes.”

“Si,”
Danny says, waving for her to follow him.

They walk over to the staircase and sit together on the second step. Liberty’s dress falls on one of Danny’s Vans for a second before she moves it off. But the image of her dress on his shoe sticks in his head. Like a photograph. He can see it whether his eyes are open or closed. And for some reason this small thing makes him feel happy.

Carmen’s apartment complex is located right across the street from the giant recycling plant, the one Uno pointed out from the train tracks. But looking at it from this angle, so close, up four floors, it seems totally different. It looks like an old mechanical giant. A sleeping robot. Something out of a cartoon. The signs are all rusted out and hang crooked, and the roads into the place are potholed and worn down. The huge faded red walls of the plant are covered in graffiti. Years and years’ worth of taggers leaving their mark, Danny thinks. Like the entire history of the city has been written into the metal walls. A permanent record. Original. While everything inside is recycled.

Danny lowers his head and clears his throat. “My dad’s from here. National City.”

“Tu padre?”
Liberty says. She nods.

“He’s in Mexico now. Where you’re from. I’m gonna go visit him in a couple weeks, at the end of summer.”

She smiles, nods some more.

Danny nods, too. And then the two of them fall into silence again. Liberty pulls some of her long black hair in front of her chest, starts making tiny braids. Danny watches her out of the corner of his eye as he picks at the sole of one of his Vans. Here he is, in National City, sitting next to Liberty, so close he can smell her perfume, but they can’t talk to each other. He wishes he could speak her language, and she probably wishes she could speak his language. A word he learned in school comes to mind:
irony
. This is what his teacher meant when she’d talk about that word. Liberty’s come to National City to be more American. And he’s come to be more Mexican.

Liberty finishes another skinny braid, her third, and lets it flop back down on her chest. She turns to Danny suddenly, says: “I say something
en Español
?”

“Sure,” Danny says.

She looks across the street for a few seconds, at the recycling plant, and then faces Danny again.
“Me recuerdas de un chico mayor de donde soy yo. He tendio ganas de decirtelo desde el principio del verano. Pero a veces me da tanta vergüenza hablar en ingles que prefiero no decir nada.”

Danny smiles at her and shakes his head. “I wish I understood what you just said.”

Liberty shrugs and giggles. “Is okay, no?”

“Can I say something in English now?” Danny says.

She smiles at him and shrugs.

Then it all pours out of his mouth. “I’m so happy right now. Being here with you. In National City. I came here because sometimes I feel like a fake Mexican. And I don’t want to be a fake. I wanna be real. I love my dad’s family. And I love the culture and the language and everything my gramma cooks and the way they live. I’ve always wished I was more like them. But it’s twice as bad since my dad left…. I wish I could tell you how pretty I think you are in Spanish. But I can’t. Because I never learned.”

Liberty shrugs. She has no idea what he’s just said. She smiles and turns back to the recycling plant, starts working on another skinny braid. But then she drops her braid and reaches into her bag. She pulls out two lollipops, a green one and a red one, and holds them up.

Danny smiles, takes the green one hoping the red ones are her favorite. They both pull off their wrappers, pop the lollipops into their mouths.

After they’ve been sitting there for a few more minutes, in silence, staring out at the giant recycling plant, Liberty lets her head fall against Danny’s shoulder. She leaves it there a couple seconds and then straightens back up. That’s it. She doesn’t look at him or anything. But Danny wonders if maybe those few seconds, where her head touched his shoulder, mean
more
than words.

Soon somebody will open Carmen’s apartment door and call them back in. Danny knows this. And he and Liberty will get up quietly, walk back into the apartment, retake their seats in the group. If Uno’s out of the bedroom, he will make Danny have another beer and they’ll tap cans. And the music will be playing and everybody will be joking around, cracking on each other, sometimes in Spanish but mostly in English. And the girls will be leaning against pillows on the couch and eating chips and gossiping. The TV will be on without sound.

But at least for now, he and Liberty are still outside. Alone. Sitting side by side on a second step. Across the street from a giant recycling plant. In National City. Eating lollipops in silence.

A Final Phone Call from San Francisco

1

“Danny!” Sofia yells through the bathroom door. “Phone’s for you!”

Danny opens the door, a towel wrapped around his middle. His hair is wet from his shower and steam is whipping out of the bathroom at a recoiling Sofia.

“Tu mama,”
she says, cupping the cordless and waving away the steam with her free hand. She snickers at the sight of her half-naked cousin. “What were you doing in there so long, beating off?”

“No,” Danny says, taking the phone, cupping the receiver in his own hand now.

Sofia tilts her head to the side, says: “You sure, cuz? It’s perfectly normal, you know. I heard ninety-five percent of guys beat off and the other five percent are lyin’.”

Danny looks at the ceiling and impatiently taps the door. It’s been several days since Carmen’s house party and tonight Danny’s heading to the movies with Uno, Chico, Lolo and Raul. Chico’s driving and they’re sneaking in cold forties and rolled tacos from Juanita’s. He’s excited to cruise out with Uno and his crew again. Sofia and her girls weren’t invited, though. And Danny figures that’s the reason she’s coming at him.

Sofia laughs, shaking her head. “Look at you, cuz. You can’t even admit it. Gettin’ all flustered.” She spins around and walks off.

Danny closes the door and says hi to his mom. He pins the phone between his ear and shoulder and slips into his jeans. Pulls a blue short-sleeved button-down over a fresh white T-shirt. Starts tying his Vans.

His mom tells him how amazing the weather is in San Francisco now that it’s near the end of summer. It’s been beautiful at the beach and all along the wharf. She tells him how well Julia’s doing in her dance classes, about the trip Randy took them on to the Napa Valley. She brags about the black-and-white photograph she took of Haight Street that Randy had blown up, framed, and mounted on the wall next to the dining room table. Danny rolls his eyes at pretty much everything his mom has to say.

But then there’s a long awkward silence and Danny thinks he hears his mom sniffling. He sits down on the side of the tub, says: “Mom?”

She doesn’t respond.

“Mom?” he says again. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says in a strange, high-pitched voice. “I’m okay—” Her voice cuts out.

Danny transfers the phone from one ear to the other ear. “Mom?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just—there’s nothing wrong. Not really. Maybe that’s the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

His mom doesn’t answer right away. Danny can hear her blowing her nose. Then she says in a more composed voice:

“This apartment’s just so big, Danny. The living room alone is the size of our entire place in Leucadia. We have three bathrooms, a study, a spiral staircase. We have satellite TV with hundreds of channels. A woman comes in every afternoon to clean the place and do all the laundry. Another woman cooks for us three nights a week. But aside from them, I’m the only one who’s ever here. Randy’s always at work. Julia’s at her dance studio. I feel so useless and alone.”

Danny stares at the throw rug in front of the tub. He has no idea how to respond.

“It’s a woman’s dream, Danny. I know. It was
my
dream. But I honestly can’t take it anymore. Me and Julia are moving back to Leucadia. And you, too. We’re all moving back. I miss our life. I miss my son.”

“What about Randy?”

“I talked to him a couple nights ago, told him everything I was feeling. It was eleven-thirty at night, Danny, and I had to call the man at
work
to talk to him. But he’s great. He really is. This has absolutely nothing to do with Randy. You know, he’s even sending down Padres tickets for you. Two so you can take a friend. Supposed to be a surprise. And he’s considering finding his own place in San Diego, bless his heart.”

A few seconds of dead air and she starts sobbing into the phone again, making little hiccupping sounds whenever she pulls in a breath.

Danny stands up and walks over to the sink. He looks at himself in the mirror, looks at the soap scum on the shower curtain. Then he sits down on the side of the tub again. Even after everything, he still hates to hear his mom cry. “You okay?”

“I’m just being ridiculous…. Listen, hang on, okay?”

Danny nods, listens to the sounds on the other end of the line: his mom setting the phone down, pulling a tissue and blowing her nose again, her shoes clicking as she walks somewhere on hardwood floors, the faucet running, then her shoes again. She picks up the phone, says, “Okay,” and gives a nervous laugh. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional right now.”

“What
happened
?”

“I don’t know, Danny. The last three years—I mean, I’m just tired. Tired of chasing after all these
men
. Every time I meet somebody new I think the same thing: ‘He’s the one, Wendy. You’ve finally found him. This is the guy who’s gonna make it all better.’ But no man can make it better, Danny. That’s what I’ve figured out in this giant apartment. And it’s not even their
fault
. I could meet Prince Charming and it wouldn’t be any different. ‘All better’ isn’t something you can find in a man.”

Danny shoots back at her: “You were happy with Dad.”

“Oh, honey, I
was
. Your dad’s the only person I’ve ever been in love with. It’s just, well, things happened that made it impossible for us to stay together.”

“Like what?” Danny digs his nails into his arm. He watches himself break his own skin. He digs in even deeper, until the pain shoots up into his head.

There’s a long pause and then his mom says: “We were kids, Danny. And deep down your dad is a good man.”

“What happened?” he demands, determined not to let it go this time.

Another long pause. “He’s a good man,” she says again. “That’s all you need to know, I think.”

Danny doesn’t say anything. He focuses on the rug in front of the tub again. The ratty tentacles of yellow material. He digs into his arm. A fresh spot.

His mom clears her throat. “It never stops, you know,” she says. “Even when you get old like your mom and your dad. You’re still trying to figure out who the heck you are. And what everything means. Sometimes it all gets so confusing you don’t know which way to turn. Even your mom and dad, Danny. I don’t think kids know that about their parents. But we’re human, too.”

Danny picks at the rug. He pulls out a chunk and studies the little strands, tosses them in the trash. He knows there’s something he’s not being told, but he doesn’t want to think about it. He’s not ready. He sits up, switches the phone from one ear to the other and says: “I miss my dad.”

“Oh, Danny, I know you do. You’ve missed him every day for going on four years. And I’m sorry I ran off to San Francisco. But in a way I’m not. Maybe I needed to do it. You know? Because now I understand that even a man like Randy isn’t what I’ve been looking for since me and your dad split. Maybe what I’ve been looking for was right in front of me this whole time. You and Julia, Danny. My kids. That’s why I’m coming home. So I can try and make everything right.”

Danny digs into his arm some more as she goes on about coming back to San Diego. How it’s gonna be different. When she’s gonna pick him up. And eventually she winds it down and they both say goodbye and hang up.

Danny stands up, walks out of the bathroom and through the living room to the front door. He opens it, pauses there. He turns around slowly, glances at Sofia, who’s watching a movie on TV. After a minute or so he says: “Hey, Sofe, can I ask you a question?”

She turns around. “If it’s about beating off, you better go ask your boyfriend.”

“What happened with my mom and dad?”

Sofia stares at Danny, doesn’t say anything.

Danny looks at the movie on the TV, then back to Sofia. “Did he do something to her?”

Sofia puts the remote down on the coffee table and picks up her can of Dr Pepper. But she doesn’t drink from it. She just holds it. “I think he hit her, cuz. I’m sorry to tell you, but I think you got a right to know. He hit her and she came to stay with us after. And then when that thing happened at the beach he got in trouble.”

“He hit her?”

Sofia nods. “You got a right to know.”

Danny stands there a few more seconds, staring at her. Then he hears a voice calling his name from the street. He looks out toward the road, sees Uno hanging out of Chico’s passenger-side window, waving for him to come down. He turns back to Sofia, stares at her in silence for a few more seconds. “Thanks for telling me,” he says, and steps through the door, pulling it shut behind him.