A breeze of shit and piss blows out of the apartment when you push open the door. Mary whips Queeny with your stepfather’s belt. Queeny runs to you whimpering with a trail of blood behind her. Every seven months she bleeds. Mary’s eyes are swollen like she just woke up or finished crying. She isn’t wearing any makeup. The darkness under her eyes looks like shadows. As Queeny trembles between your legs, you realize how ugly Mary’s become.
“This dog is gone,” yells Mary. “We’re getting rid of it today.”
Nausea. Hold your nose. All this could be easily cleaned: the drops of blood, the pieces of shoes, the chewed corners on the sofa, the rubbles of shit and the puddles of piss.
“Just clean it,” you say.
Mary throws a shoe at you.
You duck and shout, “I hate you.”
After hours of crying and threats of running away, you find yourself on Pinehurst Avenue close to where Olivia, a friend of your stepfather, lives. Queeny is on a leash ahead of you and Mary.
“Rich people live around here,” says Mary. “They’ll adopt her.”
Drop the leash. Hope Olivia finds her. Follow Mary. Don’t look back. Queeny follows you, dragging her metal leash over the concrete. So you end up in Fort Washington Park and leave Queeny in the dog pen, where she forgets about you and chases after the other dogs.
That night Mary asks if you want to sleep with her.
You say, “I hate you,” and lick your lips, tasting the salt from tears and boogers.
“We can’t afford that dog. She was starving,” says Mary, slamming the bedroom door.
3.
Three days have passed and you haven’t killed yourself. Your stepfather hasn’t called. Frankie hasn’t been to school since the day you attacked the zombie. Mrs. Vicioso says he’s sick. You’ve asked the dog owners in Fort Washington Park about Queeny, but no one has seen a reddish brown dog with hazel eyes that looks like a bulldog but is really a mutt.
This morning Mary woke you up for school by caressing your face because she knows you’re mad about Queeny. She caressed your face at the hospital after almost drowning in the bathtub. You saved her that day by pulling her head out the water and holding on tight to her hair.
After school you find Nilda sweeping the kitchen. Pass her and go to the living room. Sit on the sofa. Wait for her to say something. She says something. Ignore her. She drags the broom into the living room and stands under the lamp like an angel-witch with a glow over her head.
“I’m sorry about Queeny,” she says.
“Queeny’s dead.”
“You’re wrong, Ray. They adopt dogs like Queeny.”
“Don’t paternize me.”
“What?”
“Don’t paternize me.”
“You mean patronize. Do you think I’m patronizing you?”
“Depends.”
You go and sit at the kitchen table and look out the window. Think about jumping out.
Nilda throws words at you while cooking spaghetti because it’s the only food left.
“Stroke,” yells Nilda.
“It’s like to strike, but only harder like a punch.”
Stirring the pot, Nilda says, “Nope, it’s a gentle touch like petting a cat.”
“Didn’t you say it was a heart attack?”
“Nope,” she says with her back to you. “It’s a soft touch. Next word . . . Independent.”
“Being single and happy—”
There’s a knock on the door. Think about your stepfather. Think about Queeny. Think about Nilda’s secret friend, Gregorio. Nilda checks her cell. She turns a knob on the stove and walks out of the kitchen. Think about jumping out the window and breaking one leg.
“Come on, baby, she ain’t gonna say shit,” says the man in the hallway.
“I can’t. It’s my job,” says Nilda.
“Come on, love.”
“Only for a few minutes.”
The door closes. Locks click. A man in a Yankee baseball hat extends his hand. Stare at it. He wears a leather jacket, jeans, and black boots. He’s younger than your stepfather.
“Hi, Mr. Rodriguez,” says the man.
“This is my friend, Nino,” says Nilda.
“Yes, her boyfriend,” says the man.
Your chest feels funny. Think about your heart murmur. Cavity. Nilda says anything can have a cavity, not only teeth.
“Daydreaming, Mr. Rodriguez?” asks the man with his hand out.
“Stop calling him that,” says Nilda. “He’s not in the mood.”
Her friend, Nino, says he’s seen you around. He says most stray dogs are adopted. Ignore him. Walk out of the kitchen with your plate.
You hear loud whispering in the kitchen.
“Are you seriously thinking of going?” asks Nino.
“I’m going,” says Nilda. “It has nothing to do with Greg.”
“What is it with you and this Greg guy?”
“Some of my friends are going to be male.”
“I ain’t bring Gregorio up. Why travel so far?”
“Because I want to,” says Nilda in five hard whispers.
Dishes slam in the sink.
Wake up after falling asleep on the sofa. Water runs in the bathtub. Nino sits on the other end. A picture book and a jackknife rest on his lap.
“Mr. Rodriguez,” says Nino, fixing his belt. “You think keeping a secret is important if it could get someone in trouble?”
Rub your eyes. Don’t say anything.
“Would you get me in trouble, Mr. Rodriguez?”
You don’t understand. Stay shut. He’s a stranger.
“Have you ever gone under the bridge?” asks Nino.
“No.”
“You sure you haven’t gone under the scaffolds?”
“Yea . . . But with my stepfather. I can’t go alone.”
“If you snitch, Mr. Rodriguez—”
“Why you call me that?”
“Respect,” says Nino. “Nilda says you hate being patronized . . . I’ll get to the point. You ain’t tell Nilda you saw me under the scaffolds because you ain’t a snitch. If Nilda found out you saw me she’ll think I was doing something wrong. And if I tell your mom I saw you throwing bottles at bums you’ll get in trouble. But I ain’t a snitch.”
Nod because you almost understand. He thinks you saw him taking the shortcut under the bridge.
“You kept a secret. I trust you, Mr. Rodriguez.”
Nino flips through the pages of Where the Wild Things Are. “Lonely boy surrounded by monsters. Sounds like Beasts of No Nation.”
Nino doesn’t look like someone who likes books. His hat is now to the back. He’s like those guys with red eyes that lean with one foot against the wall and sit on milk crates by the corner. Guys like Frankie’s drug-dealing brother.
“His mom sends him to bed without supper,” says Nino.
“That book is for little kids,” you tell him. “You know about heart murmurs?”
“Heart problem?” says Nino, scratching the few hairs on his chin.
“I have one. Mary says I was born with an extra-small heart.”
“Who’s Mary?”
“My mother.”
“You look healthy. Nilda said you wanna run away.”
“Sometimes.”
“Me too,” says Nino, “but I wanna run back to my parents’ place.”
“Why?”
“I got kicked out for selling . . . for . . . taking the shortcut.”
“I haven’t talked to my stepfather in mad long,” you say.
“Reading helps you not think about people you miss. You gotta read a lot to be with a girl like Nilda.”
Don’t believe that Nino reads. He’s not like Nilda.
“Imagine you had a girlfriend with a new friend named Gregorio,” says Nino. “Now imagine this girlfriend mentions this new friend lent her a boring book called School Days by Patrick something. And your girlfriend says it’s better than the book that you like, Beasts of No Nati
on.”
“She thinks that other school-book is better than the beast-book?” you ask and try not to think about Nilda’s secret friend.
“Yup, that’s what Nilda thinks. She’s never finished Beasts of No Nation cause it’s too violent. I read it and loved it and I don’t even like reading. I never finished School Days because it’s boring. I wonder why she likes that boring book, School Days, so much.”
“Because it’s not violent?”
“No, no, wrong, Mr. Rodriguez. Remember this Gregorio friend told her about the School Days book.” He starts cleaning his nails with the jackknife. “How would you feel if you finally read a book to impress your girl and she doesn’t even read the book you read?”
“Jealous because she likes Gregorio’s book better.”
“Shit, you’re smart. Has Nilda talked to you about Gregorio?”
“Nope,” you say, rubbing your chest. Your heart hurts when you lie but would hurt even more if you snitch. “Is Nilda your girlfriend or your friend?”
“My girlfriend,” he mumbles.
“Are you scared that Gregorio is bigger than you?”
Nino laughs. “I’m never scared. He might be taller but not bigger—”
Nilda comes out of the bathroom with her hair messed up. She asks for clean blankets. Nino puts one finger over his lips. You tell her the blankets are dirty. Go to the bedroom. Nilda makes the bed over with the same dirty sheet even though Mary had already made the bed that morning. When she’s done you fall on the bed. Underneath one of the pillows is a moist spot that smells like Clorox. Fall asleep.
Fall with Mary. She holds your hand tight. There’s a bridge in the sky above. The wind feels like a cold shower. Steam comes out of Mary’s mouth because of the cold outside or something deep inside. The fall isn’t so bad and it feels like a roller-coaster ride. As you plummet notice two objects falling below you. The two objects grow closer until you drop past them. Look up. See your stepfather and Queeny floating in the air. Both bodies disappear. You can’t find Mary. Try flying. Feels like you’re swimming. You’re drowning. Swim.
Wake up and smell Queeny. The lamp reflects on the TV screen, where the only clean spot is your handprint in a thick layer of dust. The hamper teems with dirty clothes and a puddle of jeans around it. Shades cover the two fire escape windows. Stretch your legs. It’s not Queeny you smell but your own piss. Mary will go mad when she finds out.
Nilda could dry the bed with a blow-dryer. Ever since Nilda surprised Mary with a visit she fixes everything. Nilda was dressed in black slacks and a gray shirt. She wore makeup, her hair was blow-dried, and an ID hung around her neck. Nilda wrote in a black notebook and asked about you dialing 911 and saving Mary’s life when she almost drowned in the bathtub. At first Mary told you not to tell Nilda anything because she was going to try to take you away. But Nilda helped Mary get food stamps and a sofa bed and babysits whenever Mary goes out.
If Nilda doesn’t dry the bed Mary will go mad. Your jeans stick to your legs. You almost shower, but change jeans instead. The living room is dim with the kitchen light. Nilda’s gone. Mary snores on the sofa like always. She probably forgot parent-teacher conference is tomorrow. Scratch your tear ducts. The crust goes in your nails. The floor creaks. Bite your nails. Run away because she went crazy the last time you wet the bed. Put your coat on. Look at Mary dreaming before you leave. Grab her by the wrist and touch your face with her hand. Her watch says 11:30 p.m. There’s a hole in between her nostrils. She coughs and gasps for air. Press on her heart like the ambulance man. She coughs. She doesn’t open her eyes like when you pulled her out of the bathtub.
Mary says, “Chris?” but doesn’t wake up.
It’s nighttime but Riverside Drive is not scary. It’s not like morning when there are no parked cars. The yellow in the apartment windows tells you who’s awake. Sometimes you can see the shadows of families on walls and ceilings. You cross the empty streets in the dark cold. The winds are angry on Pinehurst Avenue. Stop coughing. You can’t. Keep coughing. Boogers run down your stuffy nose. Wish you had a hole between your nostrils like Mary.
Surprise! Ralph is in front of Olivia’s building. The fat guy from New Jersey who used to bring food to your house, but disappeared when your stepfather left to school. He sits on the stoop with shopping bags. He is nodding off like a zombie. But Ralph is too fat to be a zombie. If Ralph sees you he’ll snitch and tell your stepfather. Run back home.
Run up your building’s stairs. Hope your stepfather hasn’t called.
Mary blocks the door to the apartment. “Where have you been?”
“Nowhere.”
“Want me to tell Chris you ran away because you wet the bed?”
The cuticles on your middle finger bother you. Bite them off. It burns. “I saw Ralph taking food to Olivia’s building.”
“What?” asks Mary. “Big Ralph?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go,” she says.
When you and Mary get to Pinehurst Avenue she tells you to stay across the street from Olivia’s building. She leaves you her cell phone and tells you to call the cops if anything happens. Mary enters Olivia’s building. Wish Ralph was taking food to your house. Think about how the lightposts glow the color of pee. Look at the moon. It doesn’t look like it’s made out of cheese.
Mary runs out of Olivia’s building with two shopping bags. “Let’s go,” she says. “Let me get the phone.”
Keep up with Mary as she talks on the cell.
“Answering machine, Ralph? You fat piece of shit. If I find you in the Heights buying from that cutthroat, Olivia, I’m gonna make Chris cut your balls off when he comes out. I could’ve gotten you what you needed like Chris used to but you go behind my back to Olivia . . .”
“Why you mad at Ralph?”
“He’s a drug addict,” she says. “I don’t want you around junkies.”
The next morning you wake up alone in the bedroom. Mary didn’t wake you up for school but she never does. You hear a man in the living room. Think about your stepfather.
Nino is on the sofa, talking on his cell.
“I won’t throw it in your face. I’m doing the boy a favor, not you . . . Studying abroad ain’t about studying. People travel to fuck.” Nino sees you, puts one finger on his lips, and hangs up.
“Is Mary in the hospital?”
“No, your mom’s running errands and Nilda’s at work.”
“I’m late for school.”
“You won’t miss nothing. It’s a half day today. Don’t tell Nilda I let you stay home . . . Hungry? I ordered Chinese for breakfast.”
“It’s half a day because it’s parent-teacher conference today.”
“I know,” he says. “Nilda and your mom won’t be back until later so I’m gonna take you.”
Around dusk you and Nino take the shortcut to school. One of the zombies yells from under the scaffolds, “Arturo!”
Nino throws a hand in the air and says, “Dry.”
When you reach the foot of the stairs that lead to Fort Washington Park, you ask Nino, “Why does Nilda help my family?”
“It’s her job. Plus, you remind her of her cousin Juan.”
“Does Juan have a dog?”
“Nope.”
“Did Juan get left back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Community college is like being left back.”
“Was Juan born with a heart murmur?”
“I’m not sure, Mr. Rodriguez.”
“Did Juan’s mother try to suicide herself?”
“Juan’s mother died from taking drugs,” says Nino, cleaning his nails with the jackknife.
The moon is out when you reach an empty Fort Washington Park. No runaway kids on the playground or runaway dogs in the dog pen. The swings are so still they look frozen. You can see right through the monkey bars. There’s no line for the big slide. Nino and you sit on a bench by the water fountain because you’re early. There are no stars, just an airplane’s red light
in the sky.
“Nilda said she’s going to Spain.”
“I know.” Nino opens his eyes wide like they need air.
“You sell drugs?”
“I know people in jail for selling drugs,” says Nino.
“That bum called you Arturo. You got different names for different people?”
“Yup, and different secrets,” says Nino. “Mr. Rodriguez, if you knew Nilda had another boyfriend, would you tell me?”
“Depends.”
When you enter the school Nino drops you off in the gym where there are no adults and leaves to talk to Mrs. Vicioso. There are big kids throwing basketballs at smaller kids and boys and girls under the bleachers. A girl in a pink coat chokes a girl in a blue coat. A boy runs up to you, screams, and then runs away, leaving a sneaker behind. Two boys howl at the ceiling lights.
You sit on the bleachers, ignoring the kissing sounds below you and watching everyone’s parents drop them off. Frankie enters the gym with his father. His father looks old and stupid because he doesn’t know English. Frankie is a liar who abandoned you. Your stepfather would kill Frankie’s father in a fight. Frankie’s father doesn’t care about Frankie, because he leaves him behind with all these crazy kids in the gym. Frankie runs across the gym and the closer he gets, the more he looks like his father.
“I spoke to my brother,” says Frankie. “He’s not in Rikers. He’s in the SHOCK program. Like a boot-camp jail. He saw your father. There’s this drill sergeant with a tattoo on his arm of a black baby hanging on a rope that makes them do push-ups—”
“He ain’t my father. He’s my stepfather and he’s in college.”
“It’s not a real college like my other brother is in. They just let them take a test for a diploma.”
“Stop lying.”
You punch Frankie in the face. He walks backward, crying like a little bitch. Frankie covers his nose with blood dripping between his fingers. He might bleed to death. A crowd forms around the two of you. Run to the back exit. Hurry!
PEN America Best Debut Short Stories 2019 Page 9