Soon there’s a buzz. I pick up.
Wendy tells me she’s out on the patio in Florence.
I tell her I’m walking in Delano, California.
Wendy says she’s looking up at a clear night sky.
I tell her it’s clear here, too.
She helps me find the Big Dipper. “We’re under the same stars, Teodoro.”
I tell her about watching Manny with Elena. How good it is we came here. Then I tell her about the stuff the preacher said and how angry I got.
I can’t tell Wendy it’s Manny’s letter—and what made him want to end his life—that got me so pissed off at that preacher. But Wendy still understands me. And she gets angry right along with me. And we spend a long time looking up at that Dipper and asking big questions about God and war, life and death, and we wonder why some people just seem to be placed where they can take advantage of all the good stuff, and why some people aren’t so lucky.
After a while we run out of questions and run out of anger and we start making a list of all the amazing things and people in the world. Everything we can think of.
I tell Wendy I’m so lucky she’s on my list.
She tells me she’s lucky I’m on hers.
Then I tell her about Leo and Elena. The way they are together. The way they look at each other. The way they talk to each other without words. After everything they been through.
Wendy knows why I’m telling her that stuff.
She doesn’t say so.
But she knows.
TUESDAY, JUNE 16, 2009
Xochitl tells me to come out to the car after breakfast.
She’s all bright eyes and smiles. She reaches out. Puts a hand on my shoulder. “What do you think?” she says.
“It’s good Manny’s here. For Elena.”
“And it’s good he’s here for him,” she says. “I think he’s gonna make it.”
“Like you think he’s gonna not … do that?”
“Yeah, T. And I think he’s going to make it to Tío Ed’s farm in New Mexico, where he and I have jobs for the summer, which is what I been totally wanting to tell you since we left home.”
My muscles clench.
My jaw locks. You did not. You did not. You did not just say that. Then it’s like a missile launching from my gut. I wanna scream. I wanna kick that glove box door right through, blast it into the engine.
Xochitl sees it coming. She puts her hand on my chest and says, “I didn’t know what else to do, T. I found Manny’s note. I promised I wouldn’t tell Mami and Papi. I was alone with it, T. Completely alone. I needed help. So I called Tío Ed. He came back from Vietnam as sick as Manny came back from Iraq. Then he got better. He told me he could help. He said we could work on his farm and he knows what to do for Manny.”
“If you’d just told me all that stuff!”
“You wouldn’t have come, not in a million years. But that doesn’t matter anymore. I needed you and you helped get us this far. LA is a couple hours away. I have money for your bus ticket home. You got a hot date to make. You have a job to get back to. We gotta keep you college-bound, right? Manny and me, we’ll be fine. We’ll drop you off and then drive to New Mexico.”
I wonder how fine they’ll be.
Then I stop wondering and say, “Yeah, Xoch. Drop me off in LA.”
Xochitl tells me there was a point where she knew she had to take off with Manny. But she didn’t think she could do it alone. She needed me. So she went searching for my Kryptonite. She called Caleb, and because he’s always had a gross crush on her, he spilled everything about me and Wendy.
“I call her up,” Xochitl says. “I ask her how she’s doing. She tells me she’s taking college-level math and science. So I get this idea that maybe she’d be into a summer working on a farm in New Mexico and maybe she could be your tutor. And if she would do that, maybe you would do the drive down with me and Manny. I talked to Ed and he said he’d have enough paid work for everybody. All of us. For the summer.”
I tell Xochitl how pissed I am she did that behind my back.
But I can’t believe she tried to get me a whole summer with Wendy.
“I thought she was gonna do it. But I begged her not to say anything till she knew for sure. I was gonna tell you everything. Then stuff with her dad came up. Stuff with her mom. She waffled on me. We had to get the trip started fast. I was hoping I could convince her in Florence, but she’s set on seeing her dad.”
Xochitl tells me she’s sorry her plan sucked. And she’s sorry she lied. But she’ll take me to the bus station and I can be home in a day.
Then she says, “T, there’s this alternate plan.”
All that talking was my sister working her way to the thing I really do not wanna hear.
“And that plan is we all drive to Tío Ed’s together.” Her voice gets shaky and full of hope. “It’s about nineteen hours. Then I’ll get you a plane ticket home.”
Yes. Of course. I’ll get you to New Mexico, Xochitl. No problem.
That’s what I want to say. Because I want to help Xochitl. I want to help get Manny to Tío Ed. And I want them to be safe. I want all that.
But even more, I need to leave this car. I need to leave Xochitl and her lies and Manny and his craziness. I need to see Wendy. And for us to do our date. I need to hold her and stare in her eyes and kiss her all over Portland before we say our gut-wrenching good-byes.
After that, all I have is this summer to get ready. For senior year. For my SATs. For my application. For U-Dub and this life I been working so hard for.
I need to get back to Caleb’s. And I need to do it now.
* * *
It’s almost noon when Manny finally hauls his ass out of bed. So we stay for lunch.
We say some emotional good-byes and pile in the car.
Elena pokes her head in and tells us to wait. Then she runs in the house. Comes out a minute later with an old photo of her and Mami from way back.
We do the emotional good-byes all over again.
Finally, Xochitl turns the key and Sally starts steaming like crazy.
So … we pile out.
It takes Manny and Leo a couple hours and a can of radiator sealant to get Sally running.
So we stay for dinner.
Then it’s our third and final round of way-too-long, way-too-emotional good-byes. It’s nine thirty when we finally head down Highway 99 toward I-5 and Los Angeles.
And my bus ride home.
* * *
I wake up to a loud thump. The car jolts. My head blasts the dash again. Boom-boom.
Xochitl’s at the wheel, screaming. The car speeds on.
Boom-boom. Boom-boom.
A scraping sound as we haul down the freeway.
Boom-boom. Boom-boom. Boom-boom.
“Stop, Xochitl!” I shout. “Stop the car!”
Suddenly, Manny’s hands float out of the back seat and grab the wheel. “Take your foot off the gas, Xochitl.” He’s loud enough to be heard over the screeching, but somehow, calm and in control.
He steers the car to the shoulder.
“Good, Xoch. Brake now.”
Xochitl steps on the brake.
And Manny collapses into his seat.
Boom-boom. Boom-boom. My head. My head. Boom-boom.
Xochitl whimpers. She holds her hands in the air like she doesn’t want them near her. She turns to me. “Go see what it is.”
I squeeze my head to keep it from splitting.
“Something’s out there,” she says. “Something messed up Sally.”
I’m trying to put words together when the back door creaks open.
Manny.
Xochitl tries to call him back.
He tells her he has to pee. He says it desperate. The door slams and he’s gone.
“He can’t be alone, T. Follow him.”
My head is killing me. I don’t wanna go. And I’m afraid of what’s out there.
“Go, T. Go!”
I get out. I
can’t see anything. But I hear steps crunch gravel as Manny walks slowly to the front of the car.
I follow him.
There’s enough moon and starlight to see Manny standing perfectly still, eyes wide.
The right headlight is smashed. The corner of the hood is bent toward the sky. There’s blood all over and a fleshy strip of something sticking to the corner of the hood.
The smell hits me and I’m gonna be sick.
Manny walks to the back of the car. The sound of his footsteps stop. He wails. “Awwww, God, awwww.”
I scramble back there. And I see it.
A big buck head. Massive antlers on the ground. Frozen eyes staring at me sideways.
“Let’s go, Man. Let’s get in the car.”
He drops to his knees.
“No, Man. Don’t do that.”
He yanks at the antlers and scoots himself under.
“Oh, God, come on, Man.”
He holds the head in his lap and rocks and moans, rocks and moans.
We’re lit up by headlights as an SUV glides to a stop behind us. The door opens. The driver steps toward us. He looks big with the lights shining behind him. He takes off his baseball cap. “Jesus,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Y’all okay?”
“We’re good,” I say.
Manny moans. He gasps for air.
The guy takes a step toward Manny. “Hang in there, brother.” He steps closer. Says he’ll call for help.
“I already did,” I say.
The guy keeps coming. Bends down. Reaches a hand to help Manny.
Manny pushes the deer off.
He grips the guy’s hand. Yanks him to the ground. He punches him in the face, shouting, “Why’d you do it? Why’d you do it?”
The guy rolls, fighting to get to his feet.
Manny doesn’t let him.
I yell at Manny to stop. I stumble over and try to pull him off the guy. Then Manny turns and punches me in the gut. I drop to the ground, fighting to get my breath back.
Manny hits the guy more. “Why’d you do it? Why’d you do it?”
Xochitl rushes up to Manny. “Stop it, Manuel!” She tugs his arm, trying to pull him off.
Manny springs to his feet and runs.
“Follow him, T!” Xochitl says.
We race along fields of corn or whatever, chasing the sounds of him.
Xochitl’s yells at me to run faster.
Plants rustle. I plow in. Stalks scrape my arms and face. I can’t see him. I can’t hear him.
The scrapes stop and I’m on a dirt road—irrigation ditches on either side.
“He’s over there!” Xochitl shouts, pointing farther down the dirt road.
Manny’s hopping, pulling off his pants. He whips off his shirt and jumps, screaming, into the ditch.
I freeze at the edge of it, watching Manny as he lands with a muddy splash.
Xochitl flies past me, another splash in the ditch.
She grabs his arm. Holds on for dear life as he thrashes.
I’m stuck there, watching them.
“Come on, T!” she shouts.
I jump. The water’s slimy and cold. I grab Manny’s other arm and hold him tight. Xochitl wraps her arm around his back. “It’s okay,” she says. “It’s okay.”
His body slowly starts to calm.
“We got you, Manny.” She takes his hand in hers. It’s okay. It’s okay. Shhh. It’s okay.
Then she gets quiet.
The sounds of our breathing. The trickle of the stream. The rustling corn in the breeze. The sound of Xochitl running her hand through Manny’s wet hair.
“This checkpoint,” Manny says.
Xochitl flashes me a look. “What, Manny?”
“It happened at this checkpoint,” Manny says. “He took them out right over there.” Manny points into the darkness.
“Who was over there?” Xochitl says.
He pulls in a desperate breath. “Aw, God.” He shakes and shudders his body. Water splashes.
Xochitl wraps her hands around his arm. Squeezes tight. Nods for me to hold on. “What are you talking about?”
“The parents got out of the truck and ran. The boy, too. We did the hand signals. We shouted them down. They didn’t stop. They ran into the desert. He raised his—the corporal—he raised his rifle. His buddies tried to stop him. We tried to stop him. But we didn’t try hard enough.” Manny closes his eyes. He shudders. Slowly opens them again. “We watched the boy scream for his parents. Then watched him run away, leaving them behind. We all watched the boy run. We let him run. Alone. Into the desert.”
“Why did he shoot?” she says.
“That’s enough, Xoch,” I say.
“What happened to the boy?” she says. “Why didn’t anyone help him?”
Manny looks at Xochitl like he’s asking her. Pleading with her to explain it to him.
She puts a muddy hand on his cheek. “Oh, Manuel.” She touches her forehead to his. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
He stands.
We stand with him. The sound of mud and water slopping off our bodies, into the ditch.
We walk our naked brother back through the stalks.
“I got him,” Xochitl says. “See if you can find his clothes.”
By the light of the moon and stars, I see a shoe up ahead. A sock. I follow the trail, holding Manny’s clothes as tight as I can. Holding them with all I got.
* * *
A baseball cap sits in the gravel on the side of the road. The guy and his truck are gone.
Xochitl gives me a towel and tells me to dry off. Passes me the duffel. I peel off wet stuff and put on whatever.
She tells me to stay in the car with Manny while she uses rags to pick deer off the grill.
In a minute, Manny’s sleeping.
I tilt my head back. Close my eyes. Try to get as far from this car and from this place as I can. But my head aches so bad, and I can feel Manny’s punch with every breath.
Manny is not better.
He is so far from better.
We’re all too far and it’s all too much. I feel this burning and tightening. It takes over my guts. Then it takes over my muscles until my body can’t contain it and it blows up out of me and that glove box doesn’t stand a chance.
Xochitl gets in the car. She sits and watches me kick and scream.
She doesn’t say anything. Just waits for me to finish.
Waits for me to collapse. Waits till I’m sucking air.
The glove box door hangs by one hinge. Xochitl yanks it off. Tosses it out the window. Reaches in and digs out the alcohol and gauze. Cleans my head again. No words. She cleans my face.
I lay myself down. My head on her lap.
She runs a hand through my hair.
And starts humming.
I look up at her face.
“Shhhh.” She rocks forward and back. “Shhhhhh. It’s okay.”
It’s okay. It’s okay. Shhh. It’s okay.
She hums more.
No sounds but her voice.
And all I can think is there’s no way.
I’m not gonna let Xochitl do this alone.
I sit up. “Where are we?”
“Outside of Bakersfield somewhere.”
“Xochitl, I’ll go to New Mexico with you. Then I’m catching that plane.”
She grabs me with both arms. Pulls me in. Squeezes tight. “You okay to drive?” she says.
I’m not okay to drive.
Doesn’t matter. We switch seats. I grip the key. Please, God, let it start.
Somehow, everything fires right and Sally rumbles to life.
I stay on the shoulder, picking up speed. Kicking up gravel.
There’s a pulsing squeal coming from the engine now.
“Try to sleep, Xoch.”
“I’ll try, T.”
I pull onto the freeway. Eyes on the road.
But all I see is that deer head. Those eyes. I can’t shake the smell.
Manny drenched and shaking at my side.
I hear him telling that story.
I picture the little boy, running into the desert. Into the void.
I picture a soldier shooting the parents.
I picture Manny running to stop the shooting.
I picture Manny … doing nothing … just standing there … just watching …
I tell myself that war can mess with you so bad it doesn’t matter what Manny did.
But that’s not true. It matters. It matters. It matters.
“Xochitl?”
“Yeah?”
“You heard that story before?”
“No.”
Tears are rolling down her face.
* * *
Xochitl’s been sleeping for a while. I can’t keep upright. Can’t keep my eyes open.
I stop the car and step out into the cool night air. I pull out my phone.
WED JUN 17 4:17 A.M.
T: Hi Wendy.
T: I heard you considered it.
Thank you.
T: Now I know why you asked
about the rest of the trip.
T: I’m thinking about forgiving you
for keeping secrets.
T: I’m going to New Mexico now.
T: I’m not going to make it
back by Thursday.
T: I’m so sorry. I have to do this.
T: Call me when you can.
WED JUN 17 6:05 A.M.
T: I need to hear your voice.
T: Please call me.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 17, 2009
Xochitl took over the wheel sometime in the night.
I stayed awake as long as I could, waiting for Wendy to call back.
Now Xochitl’s shaking my shoulder, freaking out. “What’s happening, T?”
I open my eyes to an Arizona sunrise. And Sally steaming. Or smoking. Xochitl doesn’t know which. Whatever it is, it’s coming out bigger and faster than anything we’ve seen.
“Pull over, Xoch.”
She exits the freeway onto a frontage road and just keeps driving. “What do I do, T?”
“Stop the car, Xoch. Stop the car!”
She doesn’t stop until there’s a Mount St. Helens plume coming from Sally’s front end.
Xochitl looks at Manny.
Then at me.
I tell her I don’t know what to do.
So she shakes him. “Manny?” She slaps his face a little. “Manny, the car.”
American Road Trip Page 12