Writers on the Storm

by Christy Cauley

On the way from the Hakim’s house to school, Cornelia said to Admeta, “So that wasn’t your first time visiting, huh?”

  “No,” Admeta replied. “Mrs. H. used to tutor me in English.”

  “Oh,” Cornelia said.

  “It’s not because I couldn’t speak it,” Admeta said sarcastically.

  “I didn’t think that it was,” Cornelia said defensively. “Why are you always so quick to think the worst in me?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s not just you; it’s everybody. People hear my accent and they immediately think English isn’t my first language,” Admeta said, apologetically.

  “That must suck,” Cornelia said, empathetically.

  “Not as bad as having cancer,” Admeta said, sadly.

  “Yeah,” Cornelia said as her feet crunched through some leaves on the sidewalk.

  “Do you think she’ll be coming back soon?” Admeta questioned.

  “No,” Cornelia said, honestly.

  “Cornelia!” Admeta yelled.

  “Why did you ask if you didn’t want to hear my honest answer?” she asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I was looking to you to give me some hope!” Admeta said, putting one hand on her hip.

  “I guess I don’t have any to give. I’m sorry, Admeta. I’ve seen what breast cancer does.”

  “Don’t say that!” Admeta screamed, stopping in her tracks and waving her index finger back and forth. Cornelia turned around to face her. “Don’t you dare say that!”

  “Admeta, I’m just being honest,” Cornelia said.

  “No. No you’re not. You’re being pessimistic! I know you had a bad experience, but -” and then she was cut off.

  Cornelia was angry, “No, you don’t know. You don’t know anything about my experience. You have no idea what it’s like to watch someone you love die. I saw my grandma get sicker and sicker until she had tubes and wires and probes all over her body. She stopped talking. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep. She was in terrible pain and there was nothing that anyone could do about it. We all had to just watch while she slipped away. That’s what breast cancer does, Admeta. It did it to my grandmother and now it’s going to do the same thing to Mrs. Hakim!” Both girls were red-faced and exasperated with each other.

  “No it’s not! I’m sorry for what you went through, Cornelia, I really am, but you don’t know that the same thing will happen to Mrs. H.! It’s NOT going to happen. It can’t,” Admeta’s voice became calmer. “We can’t lose her; I can’t lose her.”

  The two girls looked at each other for a while, allowing their anger to subside. Cornelia finally broke the silence, “I can’t help the way I feel, Admeta, but for what it’s worth I hope you’re right,” she said and then turned to start walking again.

  Admeta was still standing in place and she crossed her arms. “I am,” she said defiantly. “I know I am.” And then Admeta started walking too. The girls were silent the rest of the way back to school, except for the rustling of leaves under their feet. When they arrived they discovered that the doors were locked.

  “Do you have a cell phone?” Cornelia asked.

  “No, why?” Admeta asked, wondering why Cornelia didn’t have one of her own.

  “I’m grounded from mine and I need to call my mom to come get me.”

  “Well, you can walk to my house and use the phone if you want,” Admeta offered. Cornelia was reluctant once again to walk through Price Valley, but she would never have let Admeta know it.

  “O.k.,” she said and the two were off on foot again.

  This time they went the opposite direction and headed down Miami Avenue into the west valley. Cornelia pulled her coat in at the pockets as the cold wind blew. They walked for what seemed like twenty minutes. Just after they passed the library, Admeta crossed the street and turned left to walk up a long set of wooden steps that led to a small white ranch house with one black shutter on the front window. The other one must have fallen off at some point. The little house was in desperate need of a paint job and some yard work. The house had a rickety wooden porch that both girls climbed onto before going inside.

  When they walked in, Cornelia was shocked at how small Admeta’s house was. The front door opened right into the living room. There was an old brown checked couch, a coffee table and a television set, but not much else. The coffee table had burn marks that looked as if they were made by cigarettes and it was all scratched up. The couch was torn and the TV was really old and small. It was on an unstable TV stand that leaned a little to the right. The carpet was ugly brown shag and the left side of the living room opened up into the tiny kitchen. The kitchen didn’t have a table or chairs, just countertops, cabinets, a stove and what looked like two refrigerators. All of the walls were completely bare and white.

  “Why do you have two refrigerators?” Cornelia asked.

  “That one’s a freezer,” Admeta said, pointing to the one closest to the living room. “My dad brings home lots of things to freeze for later,” she continued. “The phone’s right there.” Admeta pointed to the half-wall that stood between the living room and kitchen. Sitting on top of it was a phone.

  “Oh, thanks,” Cornelia said as she put her book bag on the floor and picked up the phone to dial her mother. But when she tried to dial out, nothing happened. She hung up and tried again.

  “Admeta, am I doing something wrong? I can’t get it to work right.”

  “Let me see,” Admeta said. She fiddled with the phone for a moment, but as soon as she had picked it up she knew what was wrong. Her father couldn’t afford to pay the bill and it had been shut off again. There was no other explanation. Too embarrassed to admit the truth, Admeta pretended to try to fix it.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with it,” she lied. “If you wait around until my dad gets here, he can drive you home,” she offered. “He should be home soon.” Cornelia looked skeptical, but she accepted Admeta’s offer.

  “What do we do until then?” Cornelia asked.

  “I don’t know. We could watch TV,” Admeta offered.

  “I don’t watch a lot of television,” Cornelia said.

  Admeta knew if the phone had been shut off then so had internet access. Her father always skipped those bills first because he didn’t see them as necessities. She was relieved the lights were still on.

  “Well, there’s not much else. What do you want to do?” Admeta asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess we can just wait.”

  “O.k., do you want something to eat or something?”

  “No, my mom probably cooked something. Thanks anyway. She’s going to be so pissed at me.” Admeta was suddenly and irrationally irritated with Cornelia’s remark.

  “Well I’m sorry, Princess Cornelia, but the world doesn’t always revolve around you,” Admeta snapped.

  “What?” Cornelia began, but was interrupted.

  “You have to learn that you can’t always get what you want in this life. Look at Mrs. H.; do you think she wanted cancer? No. But there it is anyway. No one gets everything they want. It just doesn’t happen that way. So I’m sorry my dad couldn’t afford to pay the phone bill this month and you didn’t get to call your precious mother to come get you,” Admeta was on a roll, but Cornelia interrupted her.

  “What is with you? Are you bipolar or something? I didn’t say anything and you unload all of this stuff on me. Jeez, Admeta, I didn’t know your dad couldn’t pay the phone bill. I’m sorry about that, but you can’t keep yelling at me for every little thing I say. Not everything I say is an insult or slight against you. I don’t know why you’re so defensive all the time.”

  Both girls were then silent. Cornelia’s brow was furrowed but Admeta’s face was expressionless. She knew she had once again jumped to the wrong conclusion about Cornelia. She couldn’t help herself sometimes. She always felt like the kids who lived on the hill took their privileged lives for granted. She was always quick to assume anything they said to her was going to be an
insult.

  “Sorry,” Admeta said. “I’m not used to having a friend like you, CC. Sometimes I get the wrong idea about people, you know?”

  “Did you just call me CC?” Cornelia asked.

  “Oh, sorry,” Admeta said.

  “No, it’s o.k. You’ve just never called me that before.”

  “Was I not supposed to?” Admeta asked with a little attitude in her voice.

  “There you go again,” Cornelia said, but this time she laughed it off. Admeta laughed too.

  “Maybe I am bipolar, I don’t know,” Admeta said, smiling.

  “You totally are,” Cornelia said, pushing Admeta on the shoulder.

  “You are,” Admeta said and pushed her back. “You can put your coat and purse on the couch,” she added and then took her own coat off and laid it on the coffee table. Just then the front door opened. A young handsome Hispanic man walked in. He was wearing baggy pants, a black t-shirt and a black bandana on his head. His coat was black too, with quilt-like squares. He had very short black hair and a thin moustache.

  “Jorge!” Admeta said.

  “’Sup pequeña hermana?” Jorge said.

  “What are you doing home?”

  “I live here,” he said. When he smiled Cornelia saw a gold tooth with a diamond in the middle. He turned to catch Cornelia’s eye, “Oh, but what’s your excuse, pretty little white girl?” Cornelia did not answer. She wasn’t sure what to say. If she insulted him like she wanted to, Admeta would just get mad again.

  “Shut up, Jorge!” Admeta yelled and stood up.

  “Whoa, settle down pequeña hermana. What’s the matter? Is she your girlfriend or something?” he asked and then laughed hysterically. Cornelia just sat still on the couch. She didn’t see what was funny about his statement. She thought he had a very threatening demeanor.

  “You’re an idiot. Can you just go to your room, please?” Admeta asked with one hand on her hip.

  “I’m sorry, did you just tell me to go to my room, little sister?” he asked and his accent was suddenly gone. Cornelia surmised that this must have been his angry tone, but she wondered why the “idiot” comment hadn’t bothered him.

  “Please, Jorge?” Admeta said and then pouted a little. Cornelia was almost amused at how Admeta was trying to manipulate her brother.

  “And what will you do for me?” he asked.

  “I’ll do the dishes when it’s your turn,” Admeta offered.

  “Alright, pequeña hermana, I’ll go to my room like a good little boy, but if white girl needs anything at all, you just give me a holla, k?” he asked and winked at Cornelia. Then he kissed his fingers and gave Cornelia a peace sign as he walked to his room which was right behind the living room.

  “What was that about?” Cornelia asked.

  “Nothing, my brothers are just stupid,” she replied. Just then loud music erupted from the room he had walked into. It was so loud that the wall vibrated. “Jorge!” Admeta screamed as she pounded on the wall and the music was lowered, slightly. “God!” Admeta was obviously annoyed.

  “How many brothers to you have?” Cornelia asked.

  “Four. Raoul is the oldest, then there’s Manuel, Vuello and Jorge. He’s the youngest as you could probably tell by his behavior.”

  “Wow, do you have any sisters?”

  “Nope, I’m the only girl in the house,” Admeta said, hoping Cornelia would not ask where her mother was. Cornelia got the hint. She only saw two bedrooms and a bathroom behind the living room, so she asked Admeta where her bedroom was.

  “I sleep downstairs,” she said, pointing to the basement door that Cornelia hadn’t noticed on the left side of the living room.

  “Oh,” Cornelia said, but quickly added, “it makes sense to have boys on one floor and girls on another.” She knew it sounded ridiculous, but she didn’t want Admeta jumping to the wrong conclusion again. Cornelia realized that all four of Admeta’s brothers must share one bedroom and her father must have the other. She wondered what Admeta’s room was like, but she didn’t want to be pushy.

  “You want to see it?” Admeta asked, much to Cornelia’s surprise.

  “Sure,” Cornelia answered and the two girls stood up to head downstairs. Admeta stopped and turned around.

  “Umm,” she said, “You might want to bring your purse and book bag with you.”

  “O.k.” Cornelia said, careful not to have any kind of inflection that could be misunderstood. She wondered why Admeta wanted her to bring her purse and bag, but she didn’t question her and simply picked them up, along with her coat.

  The basement stairs were steep. They had ugly red and black flat carpeting and the walls were wood paneling. At the bottom of the steps was a doorway with an American Flag acting as a door. Admeta pulled the flag aside and invited Cornelia inside.

  Admeta’s room was a complete contrast from the rest of the house. Her walls were covered from ceiling to floor in posters of boy bands, actors and girly things like flowers, butterflies and unicorns. Her bed was completely pink from the pillows to the bed skirt and it was covered with heart-shaped pillows and a few stuffed animals. Her curtains were pink too, with little yellow flowers. Her windows were high up on the wall on account of being in the basement. Unfortunately, her room was stuck with the ugly red and black carpeting from the stairs.

  There was a desk and chair in the corner. Cornelia thought they must have been purchased at a thrift store because they were all beat up. Admeta also had two bookshelves. One was filled with books and the other had knick-knacks and music boxes. There were postcards propped up against some of the music boxes. They had scenes from someplace that looked like Central American and they had Spanish writing on them. Cornelia had no idea what they were or who they were from.

  “What are the postcards?” Cornelia asked, placing her book bag, coat and purse on the bed.

  “They’re from my mom,” Admeta answered. “She’s in El Salvador.”

  “Oh,” Cornelia said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?” Admeta asked and Cornelia could see she was ready for another fight.

  “Because your mom is so far away,” Cornelia said, matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, thanks,” Admeta said. “She sends me postcards whenever she can. Sometimes she even sends me presents. Most of the music boxes are from her.”

  “This one’s cool,” Cornelia said, pointing to a ballerina on a spinning case.

  “That’s my favorite,” Admeta said. “I wanted to be a ballerina when I was a little girl.”

  “What happened?” Cornelia asked.

  “Reality happened,” Admeta said with a laugh.

  “What does that mean?” Cornelia laughed too.

  “It means gravity didn’t agree with my choice of vocation.” Admeta was grinning.

  “I know what you mean,” Cornelia grinned. “I took ballet when I was five. I didn’t last more than six months. I’m uncoordinated.”

  “Me too,” Admeta said.

  “Are all of these books yours?” Cornelia asked as Admeta put her coat on the desk chair and then sat down.

  “Yeah,” Admeta answered.

  “Hey, you have Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Aren’t you afraid of being arrested?” Cornelia joked.

  “That’s one of my favorite books,” Admeta replied. “You can borrow it if you want.”

  “I just might do that,” Cornelia said, picking up the book and reading the back. When she was through, she walked over to the bed and laid the book down on Admeta’s night stand. She wasn’t sure if they were good enough friends to start borrowing things. What if Admeta bugged her to give it back before she was finished? She didn’t want any bad blood between them, so she decided to leave the book.

  “You want to check out a funny video I saw on the Web?” Cornelia asked.

  “I can’t,” Admeta replied, embarrassed. “The internet isn’t up either. It must be a tight month for bills.” She couldn’t understand why she wa
s being so honest with someone she barely knew and up until a few days ago didn’t even trust.

  “That sucks,” Cornelia said and she felt genuinely sad for Admeta. She had never known what it was like to not be able to afford the phone bill or the internet bill. She had never wanted for anything her entire life. “I’m grounded from the internet at home,” she added to try to make Admeta feel better.

  “It’s not so bad. I can use the internet at school if I really need to. I just go in early,” Admeta said. The girls heard the front door open.

  A man’s voice called, “Hola?”

  “It’s my dad,” Admeta said. “Grab your stuff.”

  Cornelia gathered her things and Admeta grabbed her coat and pushed the flag aside to go up the stairs.

  “Hola, papa,” she said, and then she continued in Spanish so quickly that Cornelia couldn’t keep up, let alone understand anything being said. Mr. Vasquez’s skin was dark and sunburned and his eyes were squinty and wrinkled. Cornelia could have sworn she had seen him someplace before. When the conversation was over, Cornelia surmised that Admeta was asking her father to drive Cornelia home.

  “O.k.,” her father said in English. “I know you?” he asked Cornelia in broken English. His accent was much thicker than Admeta’s.

  “I don’t think we’ve met, Mr. Vasquez, I’m Cornelia,” she replied, reaching out her hand to shake his. Mr. Vasquez shook her hand, but then he held it and pointed the index finger of his left hand at her.

  “No, no, I know you,” he said, and then released her hand. He stood staring at her for a minute and Cornelia just smiled. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say.

  “Yes, yes, now I know,” he said, and his ‘Y’s sounded more like ‘J’s. He pointed his index finger to his lip. Cornelia just looked at him quizzically. “You were with the gringo who gave me back the money I drop at the store. He was skinny, kind of scruffy looking, you know.”

  “Dad!” Admeta yelled.

  “No, it’s o.k. Admeta, Chad is a little scruffy looking,” Cornelia laughed. “I remember you now.” Cornelia realized he was the man in the convenience store months before. She was again ashamed of herself because she had been afraid of him then. She remembered thinking that her fear would have kept her from returning his money to him. Then she thought about Mr. Vasquez not being able to pay the phone or internet bills. That twenty dollars could have made a big difference in his life. She was never so proud of Chad and ashamed of herself at the same time.

  “Yeah. You still go with that boy?” he asked.

  “Dad!” Admeta yelled again.

  “Yes, sir,” Cornelia replied.

  “You tell him I said thank you, o.k.?” he said and then laughed heartily, showing Cornelia that he was missing some teeth. Admeta was mortified, but Cornelia thought her father was funny. She couldn’t believe this gentle man was the one she had feared in the convenience store. She had been foolish and she knew it.

  “Let’s go, Poppy,” Admeta insisted, grabbing her father’s arms and pulling him out the front door. The girls piled into the front of an old beat-up pick-up truck. Admeta sat in the middle. Cornelia sat by the window watching as Price Valley became more and more distant.

  “We going the right way?” Mr. Vasquez asked Admeta.

  “Yes, Poppy,” she assured him. Cornelia told him to turn right at the next light and he complied. When they arrived at Cornelia’s house, Mr. Vasquez let out a sigh that almost sounded like a shriek.

  “This your house?” he asked Cornelia.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied.

  “You live in a mansion,” he said and then laughed.

  “Poppy!” Admeta shrieked in horror, but Cornelia and Mr. Vasquez just laughed at her embarrassment.

  “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Vasquez. I’m sure my mom can give you money for gas,” Cornelia said cautiously. She didn’t want to offend the Vazquezes but she knew that if the phone and internet were turned off in their house that they might need it.

  “Oh, no, your boyfriend gave me that the day he found my money on the ground and gave it back to me. If he didn’t do that, my family not eat that day.” Admeta’s face was now red with embarrassment.

  “If you’re sure,” Cornelia said, grabbing her book bag and purse. “Thanks for the ride,” she said and headed to the front door of her house. When she got to the porch she turned around and waved. Mr. Vasquez waved back but Admeta just looked out the window.

  Chapter 16

  Changes