I ran up the stairs two at a time and flung the door open. Mom immediately popped up of the couch. Her makeup was smeared; she looked like a raccoon. And I could now hear my brothers laughing and talking over each other in their room. What was up?
“Liliana…” My mother started.
Then I heard my name a second time, a second voice. “Liliana.”
Dad?
Dad!
It was Dad!
I spun around, and there he was—Dad!—stepping in front of the sheet that separated the living room from the boys’ room. I swear, I almost fainted. I know people say that all the time, like “I almost fainted,” but I really almost did. Like my blood had been replaced by air.
My brothers burst out behind him. And he, Dad, MY DAD, was next to me and pulling me into his arms. “Liliana, mija,” he said, in that voice that had lived inside me for four months. And I didn’t let go until I knew it was real, he was real, that it wasn’t a dream. But—how? How was he here?
Finally I stepped back to look at him. He’d lost weight. He was darker, too, and his eyes looked older than the rest of him somehow. His hair was cut short, but in no particular style, and that along with his sunken cheeks made him look sad, sadder. But—Dad. DAD!
“You…,” he said, catching the cry in his throat. “You… you look so grown-up. Una señorita.”
“Ew,” Benjamin wailed. And we all cracked up.
I swung round to my mother. “Why didn’t you text me? Dad! How long have you been home?”
“Mija, I did call you! The moment he got home. That was”—she looked at her watch—“forty-five minutes ago.”
“What?” I checked my phone. Still dead. Of course. “But—oh my God—Dad! How are you here? I mean, how’d you get here? Did Tía Laura and Tío R. give you the money? Well, of course they did. That’s how you got here. Hey, are you hungry? Benjamin and Christopher are mad good at cooking now. Me too! Well, sorta. But how do you feel? Are you tired? What happened?” I couldn’t shut up. I couldn’t even let my dad answer a single question. It was like I had to get them all out in case he disappeared again in the next three seconds.
“Whoa, Liliana, chillax,” Benjamin said.
“Okay, yeah, I’m kind of hyped! But yeah, Dad—so, tell us everything.”
So Dad sat down on the couch, and we all glommed onto him. Mom had her hand on his shoulder, Christopher clasped one arm, me the other. I couldn’t stop petting Dad’s hand like it was a kitten. And Benjamin sat on the rug, staring up at Dad like he was famous.
“Go. Tell us. Everything. Don’t leave out one single part,” I begged.
Dad grinned, his teeth so white against his brown skin. “First things first, mija. Tell me everything. How’s this fancy new school of yours?”
“I’ll tell you, but you first! Go.”
Benjamin poked me. “Dang, Liliana. You’re all bossy. He just got home. Give him a second.”
I resisted the urge to tell him to shut up.
“You sound so grown-up, mijo,” Dad said. Benjamin gave himself a pat on the shoulder. What a dweeb.
“Dad… please!” I cried out. “At least give us the short version. Oh! Do you want some coffee? I can make you some coffee! Oh, and the twins—wait till you see what they can make. So, would you like a coffee? Then later you can tell us the whole story.”
Dad was laughing. “Mija, you sound like you’ve had too much coffee. I’m good.”
“Daaaaad! Can you give us the short version at least?”
“Vaya, vaya.” He looked at Mom. She gave the slightest of nods, but it was enough.
He started by telling us how much he’d missed us, how much he’d thought of us every single minute. “Believe me, you are the reason I am here. You and God.”
He gazed from one of us to the other, his eyes glistening. “The crossing now, mijos, it’s very dangerous. More than ever. You have to believe me. I tried four times.
“The desert,” Dad went on, even though no one had said anything about a desert, “is dry, mijos. It makes you remember that we are just bodies, bones and flesh, thirsty for water. Any kind of water.” His eyes drifted, as if watching a scene we couldn’t see, wouldn’t want to see. He cleared his throat. “You really want to hear all this?”
“Yes!”
Mom made the sign of a cross on her chest.
Dad continued, “In the end, I was lucky. One time, a few weeks earlier, I was nearly seen, right by the border! But there were lots of tumbleweeds in the area and I hid behind one as big as a car, grabbing on as hard as I could. If I let go, I’d have been caught!”
“A tumbleweed? A tumbleweed saved you?” That was INSANE.
Dad nodded. “Big as a car!” Of course, I needed more.
“So then what happened? Wait—how’d you get to Boston? And where did you stay while you were waiting to cross? How did you—”
“Liliana!” my brothers yelled in unison.
But my dad only laughed. “Some things haven’t changed.” Then he grew serious.
“Well…” He let out a long breath. “I’m home now. That’s what’s important. Sylvia, would you please get me a glass of water?” It was as if just thinking about his journey was making him thirsty.
“Claro.” Mom hopped up with more energy than I’d seen in months.
“At the border, did you have to literally climb over a wall?” Now it was Christopher firing off all the questions.
Dad rubbed his hands together. “Vaya. So I was part of a large group of people crossing. Our coyote arranged it all. First, our group met in Tijuana, where we rented a small room and stayed one night. The day after that, close to sundown, we started walking. And we walked for hours. Then—” His voice caught.
Mom returned with the water. We all watched him drink like a new parent watches their baby take its first steps, all pressed against him on the couch, the room growing darker with each wintry minute.
“Then—there was a little boy,” Dad began again. “He was five years old, I’d find out later. We ran into him in the desert, all alone. He’d stepped on a cactus, and his group had left him behind. Who knows how long he had sat there picking out the thorns. He couldn’t walk, and he could barely talk. He was near hysterical. So I had no choice; I picked him up and carried him with us.”
“You did?” Christopher crept onto Dad’s lap.
“I did, mijo. The coyote told me to leave him, that I was a fool, that he wasn’t going to return my money if we got caught. But I had to. And I would do it again.”
“Ay, Fernando.” Mom began to dab at her eyes with a tissue.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Suddenly my calf cramped. I stood up to stretch, but then sat right back down and reached for Dad’s hand again. “Then?”
“Then we got picked up by a man in a car. We drove to a checkpoint, you know, where we met more people who were going to cross, about fifteen. From there another man drove us to an empty parking lot.”
Christopher’s eyes were huge. “Don’t worry, mijo,” Dad said. “I’m okay. I’m here. I’m home now.” Benjamin smushed his face into Mom’s leg, and Dad stroked his head.
“In the parking lot a huge semi-truck carrying bananas pulled up. The coyote told us to get in there. He said ‘It’s going to be cold. It’s a refrigerator truck, but there is an area where we’re going to put you inside. You get three gallons of water. Your trip will be about three or four hours long. You cannot talk and you cannot make any noise. You cannot do anything that could get us in trouble.’ And then he took off.”
“Oh my God.” I covered my mouth.
“There was a young woman in the group.” Dad looked at me. “She was pregnant. And another young father with a young kid. We all looked at each other.… Anyway, we got into this very tight place. It was freezing. I wished I had a coat for the woman… for the little boy. Three hours became four hours became five, then seven.”
“Dios guarde.” Mom pulled Benjamin up onto the couch next to her.
“What about the little boy?” Benjamin asked.
“He sat beside me. He told me it was his birthday the next day. He just kept whispering that over and over. ‘Mañana cumplo seis. Mañana cumplo seis.’ But there was no way to know what time of day it was. So, in the middle of the night—what I thought was around midnight—I held him close and told him, ‘Happy birthday, happy birthday. You’re six.’ I wanted to make sure that at least he heard it from someone.”
Christopher pressed even closer to Dad, which hardly seemed possible. “What happened to him? Where is he now? The little boy?”
“When we finally got out of the truck, we were across. In America. Thank God. Another coyote was waiting, and we were separated into different cars going different routes at different times, so it wouldn’t be obvious we were together, you know? We were all exhausted. The pregnant woman—she took that little boy and said she would watch over him. Tell everyone he was her son.”
Christopher looked stricken. “So you just let him go with her?”
“It was all I could do, mijo…” Dad’s voice trailed off, and his chin twitched. But I understood. What was he supposed to have done? Bring the boy back with him? He’d look more suspicious than she would.
“Then?” I prompted.
“Once I crossed, I took a bus to Houston. There I got in touch with an old buddy from when I drove big rigs. He let me ride with him all the way to Boston. He was going to New York”—now Dad blinked hard—“but he drove eight hours out of his way to make sure I got here.”
“Why?” I clearly couldn’t get the story out of him fast enough.
“Because he’s a nice guy,” Dad said.
Benjamin’s face suddenly grew stern, almost angry. “Could you get deported again?” My body tensed. I wanted to know the same thing.
Mom gasped, but Dad didn’t flinch. “Yes, I could,” he said, tracing his thumb along Benjamin’s face. “I’m not going to lie. I’m still undocumented. That means I don’t have legal papers to be in this country right now.”
The boys nodded.
Dad raised his chin defiantly. “I’m going to do everything humanly possible to get my papers in order so we don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
“What about ICE?” Benjamin asked.
I gaped at him. I didn’t even know he knew that word.
“That’s enough for today,” Mom said abruptly. She let go of Dad’s hand and turned on another lamp. But Dad stayed put, then suddenly dropped his head into his hands. His shoulders started to shake.
Benjamin clutched Dad’s arm. “Dad, Dad! Are you okay?”
It was a few moments before Dad lifted his head again, brushed away the wet. “Yes,” he murmured. “I’m just… I’m just so happy to be back.”
“We’re ordering pizza tonight,” Mom announced, smoothing her blouse. “Liliana, get the coupon on the fridge.”
“Okay. One more minute.” I pleaded with my eyes.
“No, Liliana. That’s enough. Your father is tired.”
Dad stood up. “Pizza sounds great. And your mother is right. I want to hear about you!”
“Fine. Dad! You know what I wanna do? I want us all to go to Castle Island. Let’s go tomorrow!” I said.
“Hold on, there,” Mom interrupted. “It’s the middle of winter!”
I turned on the last lamp in the living room. That’s when I saw my brothers’ beaming faces.
“And… I want us all to see a WWE show, like WWE SmackDown, or Chaotic Wrestling!”
I don’t think I’d ever seen Christopher and Benjamin so still. For real, they looked like mannequins.
“De verdad, Liliana?” Dad asked. “Those tickets are really expensive.”
“Not the live show! We can get it on pay-per-view. That’s way more practical.”
“Well, I guess some things really have changed since I’ve been gone.” And he pulled me into his arms again.
* * *
Dad was home. And Mom—raccoon eyes and all—finally looked at peace. Like, truth, I could switch up all the spices and she wouldn’t say boo. And that made me think of something else. I ran to my room and returned with a cardboard building.
“Oh, Liliana…,” Dad said. “That’s beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I said, grinning. “But, it’s not for you.”
“Oh—”
Now we all laughed.
“It’s for you, Mom.” I placed it in her hands. Sylvia’s Salon. Mom took in the hot-pink cursive letters, the images of hair rollers and blow-dryers in the tiny windows, the aluminum foil that Christopher had suggested I use for the satellite dish on the rooftop. Her face crumpled. She stood up and hugged me tight, her chin trembling against my neck. Then she squeezed even tighter.
* * *
All the next morning I was still buzzing about Dad. Every few seconds I had to remind myself that it was true. He was home. I’d gone to bed mad late, buzzing. Got to school, buzzing. He was home!!! I dug my math book out of my locker, then slammed it shut to see Dustin standing there. I literally jumped.
“Oh my God, you scared me!”
“Sorry.” He looked down at his Converse. Dustin. What a wimp. I willed myself to stay chill.
“For scaring me?” I could smell his smell—shampoo and ChapStick and boy. Damn it. I was not prepared for this sensory slide into my memory.
Then he surprised me. “For everything, Lili.”
We stood there for a long time, and he finally looked up at me, looked like he had more to say. I waited.
“I turned him in,” Dustin finally said.
I blinked and blinked, trying to process. “Steve?” I said at last.
“Steve. For making the memes.”
“Seriously?”
“Look, you have to believe me when I tell you that I did NOT tell Steve about your… father’s situation. I didn’t. I never told anyone. Not a single—”
I cut him off. “I believe you.” And I actually truly did.
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
Dustin let out a breath. “I don’t think he made all the racist memes in history, but he did make”—he looked down at his sneakers again and mumbled—“certain ones.” He looked back up. “His family’s all messed up. His dad didn’t get some huge promotion at work and keeps telling Steve it’s because he’s white—and all this other stuff.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I know. I know. No excuse. But so, yeah, I turned him in. And I guess he got suspended.”
“Whoa—”
“Yeah, his parents are super pissed. Apparently his father went ballistic; he said this wouldn’t look good at all on his Harvard application. I mean, that’s an understatement. Anyway, Steve basically hates me now.”
“I bet.”
We both went quiet. “So I guess I’ll see you around, then,” Dustin said.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Yeah?” He sounded hopeful. I swear he leaned forward a smidge.
“Yeah.”
* * *
I couldn’t resist checking out the wall again before my next class. But when I rounded the corner—I stopped in my tracks. A couple of administrators… they were taking the wall down! And… Mr. Rivera was helping them! Hot tears instantly pricked at my eyes. Why were they taking it down?
“Excuse me? Um… what are you doing?” I tried to sound firm and still student-y.
“Oh, hi, Lili. I’m actually glad to see you—” Mr. Rivera began.
But I interrupted him. “Are you going to throw that away? Mr. Rivera, are they? This isn’t right. You know, a lot of students—” And that’s when I noticed he was standing beside a girl I’d never seen before. Latina?
Mr. Rivera cut me off. “That’s why I’m glad to see you. I have great news! A reporter from the local paper wants to write a story on this… wall. And she plans to bring in a photographer. So we’re just bringing it to the main office for a couple of hours, where there’s better light.”
; I blinked. “Really?”
“Yes. And then we’ll probably put part of it behind Plexiglas. It’s now a part of our school history.” He smirked. “Kudos to you.”
I didn’t know what to say.
I couldn’t wait to tell Dad.
And now I could.
At home.
Today.
“Liliana? You all right?”
Then, I didn’t care if it was appropriate or whatever, but I rushed over and gave Mr. Rivera a big bear hug. Just as I turned to leave, Mr. Rivera said, “Oh, and Liliana, meet Yasmina. She’s a new METCO student.”
She had short brown curly hair. Her eyes were… green? She blinked like crazy behind dark-rimmed glasses. And she wore a faux leather jacket—it was cute! But the peep-toe heels were a little much. Why was she dressing like she was on a movie set of a high school rom-com? Whoa. Back up, Liliana, I checked myself. Don’t be so judgmental. Ha. I thought of Dorito Girl that first day on the bleachers. I thought of Holly and the gum on her shoe. So I reached out my hand. “I’m Liliana,” I said, with a big smile.
35
On the first Saturday after Christmas, I heard three knocks and a loud “Yo, Liliana!” from Jade’s window.
“Hold on!” I hollered back. It had snowed last night, and it was mad windy. I needed a coat. And my water bottle—and yeah, I had the Guatemalan cover on it, the one Tía Laura and Tío R. had given me. But I needed my notebook. Needed. The purple one. The one with the story that I wanted to workshop. I couldn’t find it. It was already ten to nine, and the workshop started at nine. It would take fifteen minutes to walk over there, less if we ran. But still. Miss Amber had said that if we were late, she wouldn’t let us in.
“Hold up, J!” I bellowed again, slamming through drawers.
A minute later Jade was at my bedroom door, wearing new purple kicks.
“Girl, help me,” I said. “I can’t find my notebook.”
“You know what time it is, right? I’m not going over there just to have Miss Amber close the door in my face. I mean, what’d I wake up so early for, then?” I had convinced Jade to take this writing class with me in exchange for me attending a few art workshops at the Urbano Project with her.
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