We Were Here (35 page)

You wouldn’t believe how many people wanna help out your basketball team. Me and Rondell have stood outside a grip of different spots over the past week and we’ve already made back more than fifty bucks. We’re eating real food every day now. And we’ve worked up enough strength so that we’re even back to walking north again, along the coast. Every time we get to a new town we cruise into whatever shopping center there is and ask random people to make a small donation to help our hoop squad.

It’s a trip, man. People actually pull out their wallets. Everywhere we go.

I told Rondell just last night: “Yo, I feel like we’ve played on every high school team in California.”

He laughed and said: “And plus my grades won’t even make me ineligible or nothin’.”

I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but we both laughed and laughed and laughed after he said that.

We have two clipboards now instead of one so we can
split up and talk to twice as many people. Each clipboard says our names and has a picture of a basketball and places where people can sign their names and put down how much they’re donating. Rondell goes to one end of the shopping center and I hit the other side.

But you’re not gonna believe this part, man. Since the first day we spread out, Rondell’s been pulling in twice as much scratch as me. I was so shocked the first couple days he came back with a pocket full of cash that this morning I decided to hide behind a row of shopping carts to hear how he does it.

I watched dude go right up to this older lady coming out of Payless Shoes with her little granddaughter in a stroller.

Rondell got this big goofy smile on his face and said: “Excuse me, ma’am. But could I maybe tell you somethin’ ’bout my basketball team real quick? How we collectin’ money to go in some tournament in San Jose?”

The woman stopped, said: “Why, it seems you just did, young man.” Then she gave him a big old-lady smile.

“Wha’chu mean by that, ma’am?” Rondell said.

She shook her head and told him: “I’m sorry, honey. Please, go on and tell me about your team.”

Rondell tapped his clipboard and said: “Nah, it’s just we tryin’ to get money so we could go in this tournament, ma’am. In San Jose. So we could maybe take a plane up there and stay at a hotel. We’re real good at basketball, ma’am.”

“I’m sure you are,” the woman said. “How tall are you, anyway?”

Rondell shrugged, said: “Taller than most people I walk past.”

The woman laughed and reached for her purse. “Well, I’d
certainly love to help out your team, son. I think I have a few dollars in here. Yes, here we go.” She handed the cash over to Rondell and signed his clipboard.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Rondell said, showing all his teeth.

“Just go beat those guys in San Jose,” the woman said, shaking her fist and wheeling her stroller down into the parking lot, toward her car.

I popped out from behind the row of carts and said: “You’re a damn natural, Rondo.”

He jumped back, said: “Where you come from, Mexico? You scared me.”

“The way you talked to her, man. That was perfect.”

“You think I done good?” he said.

“You’re ten times better than me,” I told him. “I put that on everything.”

He got this huge proud grin on his face and handed me the money. I slipped it in the leather petty-cash envelope and patted him on the back. “I’ll come back in like an hour so we could go eat,” I said.

He nodded.

Then I went back over to my side of the shopping center trying to practice smiling all big and goofy like Rondell.

August 31

We’ve been making our way back up the coast this whole time. Going on foot, stopping off at whatever beach town we’re at before the sun goes down, collecting money for our fake basketball team, eating real food, then going back to the beach to sleep. We’re easily pulling in enough money to survive now. The only problem is we’re not really making enough to pay back the petty-cash envelope that fast. Some
days we only pull in like ten bucks and we gotta use most of that just to eat.

But it’s all good, ’cause this afternoon I came up with a new and improved plan. I thought it up after this old Mexican man in a sombrero handed me a dollar bill, and I thanked him so damn respectfully I actually bowed. I promise, man, I
bowed
. Dude didn’t look like he had much, yet he found a dollar he could give me. But what it was is he reminded me of my gramps.

Here’s the New Plan:

Soon as we got back down to the beach with a big bag of Mexican food I told Rondell: “In a couple more days, man, me and you are takin’ a bus up to Fresno.”

He nodded and took another big-ass bite of his taco.

I thought the guy would at least ask me why, but he didn’t seem to care one way or the other. “No more beaches,” I told him. “We ’bout to hit the fields.”

Didn’t even look up at me.

“Yo,” I told him. “Aren’t you even curious about what we’re gonna do?”

He stopped chewing and turned to me. We locked eyes for a few long seconds. Then he swallowed and said: “What we gonna do?”

I shook my head, told him: “You know what? I ain’t even tellin’ you.”

“How come?”

“’cause you don’t even care, man.”

“I
do
care, Mexico.”

“You don’t care
enough
. Now you’ll just have to see when we get there.”

“Okay,” he said, and he unwrapped another taco, took a huge bite.

I stared at him, shaking my head. “I just hope you’re good at leaning over all day,” I said.

“Wha’chu mean?” he said.

“Nothin’, man. Forget it.”

He shrugged and took another supersized bite of taco.

That’s what seriously kills me about Rondell. You could tell him the greatest master plan anybody’s ever invented and he’d just nod at you and keep eating his taco. The guy totally lives for what’s happening right that second. That’s it. Bring up something a year from now, a month from now, a week from now, even a damn day from now, and it won’t even register in his big-ass head.

I used to think that had to do with his learning disabilities or whatever, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s
better
if you live in the moment. Rondell’s easily one of the happiest people I’ve ever met, even with all the bad shit he’s had to deal with in his childhood. Me, on the other hand, I get stuck on the past. Especially on my life in Stockton. I don’t know if I could ever move past what happened. Mong even said so himself when we were in that cave by Santa Cruz. He said it’s like I wanna punish myself. If that’s true, man, no wonder I’m not as happy as Rondell. We’re both dealing with the same shit on the day-to-day, but it’s like only one of us is actually here experiencing it. Him. Sometimes I feel like I’m only
halfway
alive.

But at the same time, man. You gotta look far enough ahead so you could make a plan, right? Or else you’ll never even move off your damn spot on the beach.

I thought about that for a while and then said to Rondell: “Hey, man, you know what I bet?”

He finished dribbling salsa onto his fourth taco and looked up at me.

“I bet if some scientist took half of my outlook and half of your outlook they’d come up with a perfect balance of how people should see the world.”

He tossed his salsa container into the paper bag and stared at me, trying to figure out what I meant.

“Go ’head, Rondo. Say it.”

“Say what?” he said.

“‘Wha’chu mean by that, Mexico?’”

“Wha’chu mean—Hey, why you call me Mexico, Mexico?”

“I was just sayin’ what
you
were gonna say.”

Rondell got a concerned look on his face. “That don’t make no sense. And why you bringin’ up science for?”

I shrugged my shoulders and ate the last bite of my taco. “Doesn’t even matter, Rondo,” I said. “I was just talkin’ ’bout the different ways people think.”

After a full minute of silence he nodded and patted me on the shoulder, said: “Nah, you ain’t gotta worry ’bout nothin’ like that, Mexico. You just gotta believe in God.”

“Yeah?” I said. “It’s that easy?”

“That’s how my auntie always said it.”

I shook my head, shot back: “You’re always talkin’ ’bout what other people think. God or your auntie or your parents. I wanna know what
you
think.”

He just sat there, staring at the sand. After half a minute or so he turned his head to me like he was gonna say something, but nothing came out of his mouth.

I laughed at the confused look on his face, said: “Don’t worry, Ro—”

“You know how I didn’t go to Mexico?” he interrupted.

“Yeah.”

I could tell by his eyes that he’d flipped his brain into a
high-ass gear. His shit was working its ass off trying to come up with something to say. You could damn near see steam coming out his ears.

He nodded and said: “Do you even know why I didn’t go be a fisherman? Why I found you instead?”

“Why?”

“I had to make sure you was okay, Mexico.”

We looked at each other, and then I looked down at my wrapper and crumpled it up, threw it in the bag with the rest of our trash.

“Wasn’t God who told me I had to do it neither,” he said. “It was me. Rondell.”

I didn’t answer him. I just laughed for some reason, got his big ass in a tight headlock and squeezed as hard as I could. “Say mercy!” I shouted in his ear. “Say mercy and I’ll let your sorry ass go, dawg!”

“Nah!” he said back between his laughing.

“Say mercy, dawg.”

“Nah, Mexico.”

“Say mercy.”

We both laughed and laughed and finally he said: “All right, all right. Mercy.”

I let him go.

We were both still laughing when I got up and gathered all our trash together, walked it over to the trash can and dropped it in.

When I got back Rondell was already laying with his head on his bag, eyes closed. I just stood there for a while, shaking my head. And then I saw him crack a smile and we both laughed some more.

September 2

We finally made it back up to Santa Monica Beach. The first thing I did was find a pay phone and call the Lighthouse collect. Jaden picked up, told the operator he’d accept the charges.

“Hey,” I said.

“Miguel, hey, bro. Been a while. I was starting to think we lost you.”

“Somebody stole the money,” I said.

There was a short pause between us.

“Oh, no, that’s awful, Miguel. You guys okay, I hope?”

“It was some girl. She stole it when I wasn’t payin’ attention. I’m just callin’ to tell you we’re still gonna pay it all back.”

“Look, bro, Lester and I talked a couple weeks back—”

“Don’t worry, it’s gonna be legal,” I said, cutting him off. “I don’t even steal no more. Not from grocery stores or nothin’.”

“Bro, that’s great to hear. You’re taking responsibility. I’m really proud of you.”

I switched the phone to my other ear.

“What I was gonna say,” Jaden said, “is that I talked to Les and he told me you guys could pay restitution by doing odd jobs here. He’d put you to work, basically. Long as you turn yourselves in, bro. Why don’t you just come on back and—”

“I’ll probably be able to send the money in two or three weeks, I think,” I said. And I thought how it was his job to tell us to do something as stupid as going back to the Lighthouse. They’d probably arrest us and take us to real jail.

“Okay, bro. Look, I’m just saying. There are other ways.”

After a short pause, I said: “Are people still dancin’ up there?”

“What do you mean, bro? Oh, our dance-off? Ha ha! No, that was a one-time deal. But we did start a garden in the back. Les had some guys come in and dig up some of the cement, and we went to Home Depot and bought really good soil and different packets of seeds and gardening tools. Me and the guys are gonna try and grow our own tomatoes. I know it doesn’t sound like the manliest of hobbies, but you should see the guys, Miguel. They love it. Who knew I had a house full of green thumbs. Ha ha!”

“That’s cool,” I said. I don’t even know why, but I was sort of curious about what people were doing there. Even if it was something as boring as gardening.

“Bro, can you imagine these so-called tough guys clipping dead leaves, packing in fertilizer? I wish you were here to see it. I’d even let you be in charge of the watering can. Believe it or not, that’s what everybody fights over.”

“Yeah, but you can’t water plants too much or it’ll kill ’em,” I said.

“No, bro. You’re exactly right about that.”

“My moms had plants on the balcony. One time she watered ’em too much and they got all brown and died.”

“See, you already
know
. I’d definitely put you in charge of the entire operation. But don’t worry, bro, until you get back here I’ll keep an eye on these guys and the amount of watering they do. Ha ha!”

I turned around, saw Rondell standing outside the store across the street, holding his clipboard, waiting for people to walk past so he could give them his magical pitch.

“Oh, and we went on a pretty sweet outing two nights ago,” Jaden said. “One I know you would’ve liked, Miguel. We went to an NBA summer league game. Actually, three of them. We got there in the afternoon and stayed through all three games. The guys had an amazing time, bro. Even got a
few autographs after the last game. I wish I could remember the players’ names—I’m not a huge basketball fan like you are.”

I pictured Rondell playing in one of those games. Schooling fools. Jaden didn’t even know how good Rondell was. Barely anybody did.

“Anyways,” I said. “I just wanted to tell you we’re still sending the money. It’s just gonna be a little later than I said.”

“Hey, okay, bro. All right. But I want you to keep in mind what Lester proposed. If you want, you can come back here and we’ll put you guys to work—”

“I’ll just send it to the address on the envelope,” I said.

“Okay, bro. If you say so.”

There was a short pause between us.

“They didn’t take the envelope,” I said. “Just the money.”

“What are they trying to say about my petty-cash pouch? Huh, bro? I had that thing engraved myself.”