He comes to.
“I need you to check it, Manny.”
He shakes his head. Stumbles out. Looks up. Squints. Scratches his head as he watches billowing smoke darken the Sonoran Desert sky. He scratches his belly. Yawns.
There is no fix for Sally.
We call Tío Ed. He asks Xochitl where we are. He tells us to stay put. He’ll call us right back.
We pass around our last swigs of water. Haul our stuff out. Make a pile down the road from the car.
Tío Ed calls and says he contacted the Tres Estrellas de Oro bus company. The driver will be watching for us to flag him down out on the freeway. That bus goes across I-10 to El Paso, Texas. Tío Ed will pick us up at a stop in Las Cruces, New Mexico.
We’ve got an hour till the bus, and the hike to the freeway will only take a few minutes.
There’s time to kill.
Manny walks up to me. He’s holding Sally’s tire iron. He points to the car. “You’re going to need this.” He says it like last night never happened. Like he never punched me. Like he never talked like we were all in Iraq.
He hands me the tire iron and I know exactly what he’s thinking. “Seriously, Man?”
There are horrible grinding sounds as Manny twists the tailpipe till it pops off the muffler. He offers that to Xochitl.
“Nah, Manny,” she says. “It’s Sally.”
He bends down. Picks up a football-size rock. “You’re gonna feel better,” he says.
He walks to Sally. Nods at us to follow.
We surround that old car.
Manny lifts the rock to the sky, real slow, stretching his body, high as he can.
We do the same.
Heels off the ground, rock even higher, he says, “One … two … all together … three!”
A current screams through hands into bodies as we shatter glass, blast dents into doors. Meet metal with metal.
We dance and howl, swinging, pounding, exploding a storm of thunder and hail, the saguaro cactuses our only witnesses, we burn in that Arizona sun, putting an end to the life of one worthless car, the whole time wishing we could put an end to so much crap we got no way of fixing.
* * *
When we’ve finished our business, my brother and sister laugh as they struggle, bent over, to catch their breath.
“See?” Manny says.
“Yeah,” she says. “I needed that.”
I watch them pick up bags and start the walk to the freeway. Sun-drunk. Starving. Laughing. After everything we’ve been through.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 17, 2009
Brakes screech. I open crusty eyelids and peel my cheek off the bus seat.
We file off into a church parking lot. And there, stepping out of a silver minivan, is Tío Ed. He’s sporting a John Deere cap and sunglasses. A button-down denim shirt. Work boots. He’s a thick-looking, strong guy. Way younger than Abita, but still really old. He doesn’t look it.
“Woo-ee!” Tío Ed squeals. “I would hug you people, but you smell fuchi.” He stands in the scorching heat, pinching his nose with the fingers of one hand, holding open the sliding door with the other.
Xochitl hops in. I’m next in line, but Tío Ed stops me and says, “That’s a serious forehead shiner, Teodoro. What the hell happened?”
I tell him it’s a couple long stories.
He says it might be better if he doesn’t hear ’em. And he asks Xochitl to grab me some Tylenol from the glove box.
Then he squeezes Manny’s shoulders. Looks in his eyes.
Manny forces a smile, like he wants to show how positive and together he is.
Tío Ed says, “Manuel, it might not feel like it, but all the fighting you’re doing? Just to be standing here? It’s worth it.”
“I know.” Manny punches his smile a notch brighter.
Tío Ed bear-hugs him. “You’re lying to me now, mijo. But you’ll see.”
We drive through Las Cruces on our way to the farm. The craggy Organ Mountains overlook the city to our right. To our left, it’s Chihuahuan desert plains, isolated mountain peaks, and mesas all the way to the horizon. Shiny strip malls, big-box stores, hospitals, and the New Mexico State campus share the town with dusty streets and old abandoned storefronts.
Tío Ed points out water bottles and a towel in the back of the van. He tells us to get cleaned up as good as possible before we get to Dr. Fuentes’s office.
Then he says, “Manuel, you got three things on your summer to-do list. Number one: Work hard on the farm. Every day. Two: Attend my support group for dinged-up vets. And three: Pop your pills and do your counseling as directed by Doc Fuentes. Those are the keys to staying alive and getting yourself healthy. Worked for me. They’ll work for you. Got it?”
Manny nods his head more. Smiles more.
Xochitl tells Tío Ed she’s not sure how we’ll pay for the doctor because Manny only has VA insurance.
“Don’t worry,” Tío says, “Manny ain’t stepping foot in no VA.” He turns to Manny. “Me and Doc known each other a long time. We got it all worked out. He takes care of my visits and pharmaceuticals, and I take care of his green chile needs to the tune of half an acre each season. That’s a lot of chile, Manuel.”
In a few minutes we’re parked in the clinic lot. But Tío Ed isn’t finished with Manny. “You can trust my doc. But you got to let him do his job. That means showing him everything you been taking, mijo. Everything.”
Our tío watches like a hawk as Manny digs through his bags and empties all his pockets. He’s got a scowl on his face and he’s shaking as bad as ever.
“Trust me, Manuel. I know.”
He hands the van keys to Xochitl. “I got him. You two go get something to eat.”
We watch Tío Ed walk Manny to the door. He reaches out for it. Opens up. But Manny stops. He can’t go inside.
Tío Ed lets the door swing shut.
He’s calm. He tilts his cap back. Puts his hands in his pocket as he talks to Manny like he’s shooting the breeze.
When Manny finally talks, Ed listens close.
After a lot of back and forth, Manny nods at our tío.
Tío Ed nods back and they disappear into the clinic.
* * *
We devour Circle K hot dogs and watch our clothes slosh round in a Las Cruces laundromat.
Xochitl looks over at me. “We are here. And he is not here. And that is okay.”
“I can’t believe it, Xoch.”
“If we didn’t make this trip … if we didn’t have Tío Ed…”
“No ifs,” I say. “Manny’s gonna be all right.”
“I can sleep tonight. My God, I can sleep.”
“You deserve it, Xochitl.”
“Does that mean you’re not mad at me?”
“I’m too tired. But don’t worry, after I get some rest, I’ll be pissed off at you again.”
“That’s good.” She puts a hand on my cheek. “It’s not good. It’s just—”
“You should get some Zs, Xoch.” I pat my shoulder.
Xochitl rests her head. Yawns big. “I don’t know if I can sleep here.”
In a minute, she’s out. I pull the hot dog foil from her fingers. And watch our clothes go round and round.
Manny is safe, and I’m finally heading home.
* * *
We take the scenic route along the Rio Grande.
Crops stretch to the edge of Valley Drive. Tío Ed points out pecan trees, rows of cotton, and acres of knee-high chile plants. The river is a ribbon of green oasis squeezed in by towering mountains, their jagged rocks glowing purple and pink in the sunlight.
He points out the farm as he drives past it. In minutes we’re in the tiny town of Hatch. It’s easy to imagine cowboys and saloons—all that Wild West stuff. Seems like half the stores are boarded up. Barely anyone walking outside. Some tourist shops with clay pots and dried red chile ristras hanging from beams.
We get to this cross street and see a bunch of colorful cartoon statues wrapped aro
und a corner building. Ronald McDonald, Colonel Sanders, and a twenty-foot-tall chicken.
Tío Ed says, “That, my friends, is Sparky’s. Best green chile cheeseburger in the state. And that makes it the best burger in the world. They have live music going all the time. Sparky’s is the heartbeat of Hatch these days.”
We leave the town and backtrack along the river, toward the farm. I wanna ask Tío Ed about plans for my trip home, but he won’t stop with the farm talk.
He says he’s always grown ten acres of chile with his old farmhand, Hector. But he just bought ten new acres from his neighbor, and it’s become clear that they can’t handle it on their own. He needs Manny and Xochitl to help him work the fields.
Tío Ed cranes his neck and says, “Teodoro, I got you and your tutor gal signed up for chile stand duty. Truth is, it’s just a crumbling old outbuilding. I’m leaving it up to you kids to turn it into the best roadside stand in Hatch.”
I turn to Xochitl and whisper, “Tell him it’s not happening.”
She says, “Tío, Wendy decided not to come. T’s heading back home.”
“Mija,” he says, “your tía Lucía is on her way back from El Paso. She just picked Wendy up from the airport. We good here?”
OH MY GOD.
Xochitl’s got the wild eyes now as she looks at me and says, “That’s some good news, Tío. Right, bro?”
Sharp tingling again. Shaking again. I cannot control my body or make words with my mouth. They just fly around inside my head. She’s choosing me. Florence was real. She’s choosing me. Florence. It was not a dream. This is not a dream. Wendy. Is choosing. Me! Not San Fran! And I … I’ve got a job here for the summer. I’ve got a tutor for the summer. I’ve got Wendy for the summer. I’ve got everything.
Xochitl shakes my shoulder. “T?”
I hold out a fist. And I pop my thumb up.
“You sure?”
I nod my head yes.
Xochitl whoops. “Good to go, Tío Ed! T is staying for the summer.”
I don’t know how good to go I am because my heart’s trying to punch a hole through my chest. I try to hold my breath, but that makes my forehead pulse and ache even worse.
“I need to hear it from you,” Tío says. “You my farm stand guy for the summer?” He looks in the rearview mirror.
The words shoot out my body, way too loud. “I’m your farm stand guy, Tío! For the summer! Uh-huh!”
Xochitl pokes me. “What possibly could have changed your mind?”
“Xoch, I couldn’t handle the thought of being away from you for even one minute.”
“Ha! That’s what I thought.”
I pull out my phone. I have to tell Caleb.
WED JUN 17 1:43 P.M.
T: Working on my uncle’s farm in
N.M. Be back for school in fall
Caleb: Ha!
T: No joke. Tell ur folks thanks for
everything. And I’ll see em in
September
Caleb: Ur leaving me hanging
T: I gotta do this. Family thing
T: And Wendy’s gonna be down here
T: She’s gonna be my tutor. X
hooked it up thanks to your
big mouth
Caleb: NOT a family thing then it’s a
Wendy thing
T: Come on C
Caleb: You can’t let kissing mess up your
goals
Caleb: How am I gonna keep tabs on u?
Make sure u don’t screw up
T: I still need you C
Caleb: COME HOME NOW
We make a left turn toward the river, onto Tío Ed’s property. There’s a pole with a US flag and a yellow-and-red New Mexico flag. And a black one that says, POW-MIA.
We pass an ancient wood shack. “It’s got good bones,” Tío Ed says. “Put a picture in your head of a sweet little farm stand. Then make it happen.”
All I got in my head is a picture of me and Wendy lighting that shack with a match and watching it burn. Then a picture of us hiring someone to build a new one.
An amazing house comes into view. “Casa de Lucía,” Tío Ed says. “She pretty much designed the whole thing. Even did a little of the construction when our first contractor skipped town. Yeah, she’s a lawyer lady who defends all manner of travieso punks. But she can also hang drywall and run a power saw.”
The house has a flat roof. Two stories surrounded by tall desert shade plants. Huge windows in the front and back so you can see clear through it. The cream-colored paint is peeling. The weathered look makes it feel like it belongs in the desert—like it’s been here for a long time—but it’s totally modern.
I can’t believe that house is here. I can’t believe my tíos own it. And I can’t believe the sight of a house has my guts, like, churning. I’ve seen millions of houses in my life—what’s so different about this one?
Maybe it’s just the road trip getting to me. Maybe it’s the thought of seeing Wendy.
Maybe it’s comparing Ed and Luci’s amazing place to the depressing rental we been forced to squeeze into. Or comparing it to the soulless box we had to walk away from. I don’t know. It just feels like that house belongs here and Ed and Luci belong in that house. And that’s the way it should be.
Ed parks the van in the carport. Pulls the brake.
We unload and I have to remind myself to breathe again. The bass drum is back, pounding my head. I reach up and check for blood and puss. It’s crusted over. I washed my face and I’m wearing clean clothes, but underneath I’m still covered in Arizona grime. And my pits … not my freshest for Wendy.
Wendy, who is walking my way, smiling huge at me. Wendy, who is looking kinda goofy and kinda hot in cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. Wendy, who is still wearing the shells-and-beads bracelet. Wendy, who is sandwiched between Tía Luci and her mom.
* * *
Rebecca O’Brien does not let Wendy out of her sight. Except for an awkward hug moment, we don’t get a minute to ourselves. No time to establish what the heck we’re both doing here.
Tío Ed tells us to clean up before dinner.
I take a steaming shower and watch miles’ worth of sand, sweat, and blood flow down the drain. I look up to the heavens through the bathroom skylight, and send thanks for the miracle of us making it here in one piece.
As the sun sets, Tío Ed give us the grand tour. Turns out he’s going for organic certification, so no pesticides.
“I’m small-time,” he says. “I needed a niche, so I figured I’d try organic. Plus, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”
Wendy and I lock eyes and smile when he says it.
Ed points out chile varieties. 6-4s, Sandias. Slim Jims. He shows how the drip irrigation system works. It’s just a bunch of connected hoses with tiny holes in them, but they need to be checked and adjusted constantly.
At one point he reaches down and picks up a bug. Holds it for all to see. “That, my friends, is a thrip. Keep your eyes peeled for damn thrips,” he says, pinching it till we hear a tiny cracking sound.
He tosses it aside and pulls a baby plant out of the ground and says, “I got two words for you: weed control. Look close.”
We gather around him.
“This is mustard weed. It is the enemy. He yanks another. “Russian knapweed. Be vigilant. Cold war ain’t over out here.”
We walk the fields and Tío Ed looks right at Manny as he talks about the healing powers of growing and eating large quantities of New Mexican chile.
Manny nods, eyes-wide and manic. It’s like he’s trying to convince everyone he’s listening and taking it all in.
We poke our heads in the shack where Wendy and I will be working.
It’s full of ancient farm equipment, spiderwebs, and dirt.
I ask him when he’s gonna get the junk hauled out.
He looks at me and says, “When are you going to get the junk hauled out?”
“That is right,” I say. “Very soon.”
“I
don’t need it to look like no Walmart,” he says. “Just a festive little place people will trust they can buy some untainted chile.”
I have no idea how we’re gonna pull that off, but Wendy assures Tío Ed we got this and she nods at me with a smile and eyes that are totally convincing.
Inside the house, Wendy and I squeeze another quick hug in front of her mom and say good night. Then Wendy and Xochitl head up to the room they’ll be sharing.
I’ll be sleeping with Manny.
Not even a wall between us.
I pull Tío Ed aside and tell him I’m not sure about the arrangements. Tío Ed says Dr. Fuentes gave Manny a few nights’ worth of something to knock him out. He wants Manny to sleep hard. And soon the heavyweight antidepressants and antianxiety meds will kick in. Tío Ed says Manny should be all right at night. But we’ll monitor and adjust as we go.
I choose to trust Tío Ed and the doctor.
I head into the room and Manny’s taking his time figuring out which bed to sleep in. His brows are scrunched. Jaw locked. He looks from one bed to the other. Hops in one, then the other. It is a difficult and almost overwhelming decision. But when he finally picks his bed, my big brother is out hard and fast.
I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this tired.
But I can’t stop thinking about Wendy. I mean, I’m going to see her every day. I’m gonna see that smile. I’m gonna hug her every day. Feel her hand in mine.
And she’s going to be my tutor.
And I’m going to be exposed as dumb. Because I’m not going to get pre-calculus.
And I’m going to say stupid, unfunny stuff because I can’t craft and then send her texts because we’re going to be in the same places, like face-to-face, so texting would be extrememly awkward—Breathe, T. Imagine yourself being not an idiot. Breathe. Imagine yourself being the kind of person who deserves Wendy Martinez.
The self talk isn’t working.
I get out of bed and walk outside, into the cool night air.
I pull out my phone and dial.
My dad picks up. “Mijo!”
“Papi, can you put Mami on speaker?”
I tell them I miss them. I lie and tell them our trip was great.
I tell Mami her tío is doing well and he’s getting Manny on a solid program.
A deep sigh of relief. “That’s good.”
American Road Trip Page 13