Unbroken

by Anne Schraff

  “Unbroken!” he declared.

  David’s face broke into a broad smile. “Unbroken!” he responded and fist-bumped with his brother.

  David’s thoughts then returned to finding a job.

  “I worked for Mr. Hawthorne for about three and a half years,” David was thinking out loud. “I think I’ll go down there and see if he’d give me a chance. I never stole anythin’ from him. I got in trouble after I quit there. I guess he probably knows what happened to me. I mean, it was all over the barrio. But he’s gotta remember I was always on the up-and-up with him.”

  David looked at his brother. “I bet he’d give me a try, Paul. I always liked Mr. Hawthorne. Man, I’d really work hard. It’s worth a try, don’t you think, Paul?”

  “Well, no harm in trying,” Paul responded. “But don’t get your hopes up too high. People change. Mr. Hawthorne isn’t doin’ as well as he was a coupla years ago. All the businesses up on Washington are having problems. But I’ll drop you off on my way to work, and you can go talk to him.”

  “Thanks, Paul. I got a good feeling about this,” David said. “If there’s anybody who’d be willin’ to give me a break, I think it’d be Mr. Hawthorne. He’s gotta remember how hard I worked there, you know.”

  “If it doesn’t work out, it’s close enough for you to walk home, David,” Paul told him.

  As they left in the pickup, Paul advised his brother. “Lissen up, hermano, this isn’t going to be any walk in the park. If you can’t find anythin’, I can help you.”

  “Paul, I’d never want you to get me in where you work,” David objected. “That’s a classy place with expensive electronics, just like the stuff I stole. I wouldn’t wanna work at a place like that. And I surely wouldn’t wanna damage your reputation where you got a good job by even asking for work.”

  “No, I wasn’t thinking of my place,” Paul replied. “They’re not hiring anyhow. I got another little ace in the hole. So at the end of the week, if you’ve shaken a lotta trees and got no coconuts, we’ll talk. It’d be in the restaurant business. Not a great job, but a place to start. So don’t get discouraged. It’s gonna be okay, man.”

  “I’m pretty sure Mr. Hawthorne will want me,” David assured himself. “He knows what a good worker I was. Man, I’ll break my back for him. But, thanks, Paul . . . for everything.”

  “The good thing about this job I’m thinking of, man,” Paul added, “the owner of the place knows all about you. She’d hire you anyway. So there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Okay?”

  Paul pulled up to Hawthorne’s furniture store and David got out. The boys highfived each other and Paul declared, “It’s gonna be okay, hermano. Trust me.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The furniture store wasn’t open yet. David remembered working at the place as a teenager. Mr. Hawthorne usually opened at ten, sometimes ten after ten. He was a middle-aged, heavyset man. He often complained of being tired and having sore feet.

  That’s why Mr. Hawthorne appreciated David so much while he worked here. He took a lot of the pressure off the man. Now David was prepared to work even harder. All he needed was for Mr. Hawthorne to give him a break. He needed to be hired for that all-important first job after being in prison. David knew he’d be deeply grateful to anybody who gave him a chance. He wouldn’t let them down.

  David looked through the window of the store. He saw the used and low-end new furniture—beds, sofas, chairs. The new furniture Mr. Hawthorne sold was called “stick furniture.” It was poorly built, but it was all many people in the barrio could afford.

  Suddenly the lights went on in the store. Mr. Hawthorne always came in the back door. David’s heart began to race. He was sure Mr. Hawthorne would remember him. David began working here when he was barely eighteen and stayed at the store for quite some time. Mr. Hawthorne always complimented him a lot. David was hoping that the man would value David’s past service enough that he could overlook his being in prison.

  The “Closed” sign on the window was turned to “Open.” Mr. Hawthorne swung open the front door and stood there for a second. He had put on at least fifty pounds. He looked like he’d aged a lot since David last saw him. David had changed too. He wondered whether his old boss would remember him. David used to be a wellbuilt, robust young man with longish curly black hair and bright eyes. Now he was much thinner, with a very short haircut and fear in the eyes that once sparkled with dreams.

  “You’re David Morales,” Mr. Hawthorne remarked. “What are you doing here?” He sounded hostile. David’s legs began to shake.

  “I just wondered if you needed anybody, Mr. Hawthorne,” David replied in a barely audible voice. “I need a job.”

  “I bet you do,” the man snarled. “You wanna come in here and help yourself to my stuff. I heard you got out of prison. It makes me wanna puke. I don’t believe in prisons.”

  The man almost turned away but swung back to face David. “I liked the way they did it in the Old West. Dirty thieving punks were hung from trees. Last year, a slimy creep come in here to rob me. He beat me so bad I was in the hospital for a week. Some mad dog posin’ as a human being. You all oughta be in the grave.”

  “Mr. Hawthorne,” David gasped, “I never hurt nobody. I never woulda done that to you. I’m sorry about what happened to you, but—”

  “You’re not sorry,” Mr. Hawthorne snapped. “You’re just sorry I ain’t fool enough to hire you. You had me fooled before, Morales. I thought you were a straight-up kid. When I found out what you are, I swore I wouldn’t even let you come in here. Not even as a customer.”

  “I never stole anything from you,” David protested.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” the man growled. “I bet you stole plenty, but I was too stupid to catch you. I trusted you. Scum like you don’t work nowhere without helping themselves when nobody’s looking. Times when I couldn’t get my books straight—you probably got in the cash drawer.”

  Mr. Hawthorne dismissed David with a wave of his hand. “Get outta my sight, Morales. You’d be smart to get outta the barrio. Everybody knows what you are. Ain’t nobody gonna want you. You’re a dirty ex-con. Your kind doesn’t reform. Once a criminal, always a criminal. Get off the sidewalk in front of my store and keep off, you hear me? Or I’ll call the cops. You’ll be back in the slammer before the sun goes down today.”

  David turned and hurried away. He really had hoped that Mr. Hawthorne might hire him, considering how hard he’d worked for him before. Even if he didn’t get a job here, David figured, maybe he could get a letter of recommendation or something. He never thought he’d face such the bitter hatred. That shook him to his soul.

  David got off Washington as fast as he could. Mr. Hawthorne’s vindictive words kept running through his mind. They slashed at his heart like icy sleet during a blizzard. He felt so humiliated by the incident that he resolved not to tell anybody, not even Paul.

  Two elderly women were coming in the opposite direction. They looked vaguely familiar to David. He couldn’t place them, but he knew them from sometime in the past. They both looked at David, and he was sure he saw revulsion in their faces. Maybe he was just imagining things. But their faces seemed to tighten and grow hard. Their eyes narrowed, and they pressed shut their lips and hurried past him.

  David hurried past the women and turned onto Polk. He just wanted to get back to the apartment and try to erase this morning from his mind. He didn’t have the courage to look for work anywhere else right away. He was too bruised. His nerves were shattered.

  David passed the Redbird Bar on Polk. He and his friends used to go in there even before they were of legal age. They used the drivers’ licenses of older brothers or friends as ID. David remembered drinking a lot in that bar. The bar was where his troubles all started. He started drinking too much and then using weed.

  Sometimes they didn’t have money to drink at the bar. David and his friends would boost cartons of beer and wine from the back of supermarkets. They’d go down
to the ravine off Washington, to Turkey Neck, and drink until they passed out. A lot of homeless men and runaway kids hung out there too. Everybody usually got wasted at those parties.

  “Davy!” somebody shouted as David passed the Redbird Bar. For a second, David froze in terror. He wasn’t sure whether he was hearing the voice of another enemy or a friend. He didn’t know whether he should turn or run for his life.

  He turned and saw Freddy Meza, one of his old drinking buddies. Freddy was grinning and holding his arms open. He was about three years older than David. David had looked up to him in the old days as a very cool dude. “Davy,” he exclaimed. “I heard you got out! Man, it is good to see you! You look like a ghost, Davy. Those slammers ain’t no spas, right?”

  Freddy hugged David and asked, “Where you livin’ at, man? I could get a place for you. Me and a coupla guys—”

  “No, thanks, Freddy,” David interrupted. “I’m staying with my brother.”

  Freddy Meza continued grinning. “Paul always hated me, Davy. He’s not like you. He’s as mean as a snake. That tattoo on his hand fits him good. Paul’s hardcore. Hey, Davy, come on in the bar. The drinks’re on me. Augie’s in there too. He’ll freak when he sees you.”

  Augusto “Augie” Rojas was older than David too. He got David started burglarizing the stores at night. Augie and David were partners in crime, but Augie never got busted. David could have implicated Augie and turned state’s evidence. His sentence would then have been a lot lighter, but he wouldn’t drop a dime on Augie. He wouldn’t rat him out, so David took the fall for both of them.

  “I better not, Freddy,” David responded.

  “Come on, man,” Freddy insisted, grabbing David’s arm. “I told you I was buying.” He dragged David into the bar and yelled to Augie, who was sitting on a stool. “Look what the cat dragged in, Augie! It’s our old buddy, Davy Morales.”

  Augie had put on a lot of weight. He was almost thirty now. David was shocked to see him looking so different. But he had the same big smile. He hopped off his stool, rushed up to David, and embraced him. “Dude, you’re solid gold,” he cried emotionally. “They don’t come any better.” Augie always knew the kid had taken the rap for him. Augie already had a long rap sheet. If David had ratted him out, the conviction might have been a third strike for Augie. Augie was grateful.

  “What’ll you have, Davy?” Freddy asked. “Anything you want.”

  “I don’t drink anymore,” David declared.

  “Are you kidding me, man?” Augie gasped. “You could hold your liquor better than any of us.”

  “Yeah, I know,” David agreed. “My first run-in with the law was a DUI. I killed a palm tree. But in prison they had this program, and I ditched the booze. I committed to be sober, man. Besides, I’m on parole. I shouldn’t even be in here. But I’ll take a cup of coffee, though.”

  When David sat down, he asked, “So what are you guys up to now?”

  “I got a gig as a messenger now, Davy,” Augie answered. “I live in a dump with my chick, but you’re welcome to crash there.”

  “I sell vacuum cleaners to old ladies,” Freddy responded. “They’ll buy anything just so somebody comes by and talks nice to them. They’re so lonely. Their kids’ve dumped them, and mosta them’re widowed. It’s boring work, and half of them got dementia.”

  He grinned wickedly. “But there’re fringe benefits. Last week some old bird, she reaches in her purse and wants to give me a tip. She thought she was giving me a ten, but it was a hundred! She didn’t know the difference. She kept hangin’ onto my arm with her hand, all wrinkled like a little claw. I think she thought maybe I was her son or something.” Freddy laughed.

  David finished his coffee. A long time ago these were his best friends. He hung with them all the time. Paul was an angry teenager, just finishing at Cesar Chavez High. He told David his friends were pure trash. But David didn’t want to hear that, especially from a brash kid brother. David had great times with Freddy and Augie, and they were all in the money from time to time. They could afford hot chicks, and life was good. Or so David thought.

  “Well, I gotta be going,” David announced. “It’s been nice seeing you guys.” He was lying, of course. Seeing them again wasn’t nice at all. He didn’t want to be with Freddy and Augie anymore. They were too much like the guys he had had to live with for the past two years. They were losers. They were bad news. They almost took David’s whole life away.

  As he walked back to the apartment, David Morales thought about that Sunday dinner at the Sandoval house. Did those people really want an ex-convict at their dinner table with their little kids and old grandmother? Paul had probably pushed the idea on Ernesto. And this Ernesto was a nice guy, so he gave in. That was how David saw it. Every time David thought about walking into that nice house with those good people, he got sick. In his mind, David saw Mr. Hawthorne’s red, hate-filled face. He saw the angry, frightened looks on the faces of those old women on the street. He wondered whether Ernesto’s father might feel the same way about ex-convicts. That was probably how the Sandoval grandma would look at him too.

  When David got back to the apartment on Cardinal Street, he made himself some chicken noodle soup for lunch. Paul was due home around five, and David turned on the television. He half-watched a game. He used to enjoy football and baseball, but he hadn’t kept up with the teams. He sat there like a zombie, not understanding who was who.

  When David heard the doorknob turn, he stiffened. He turned off the TV and prepared to tell Paul that Mr. Hawthorne wasn’t hiring.

  “Hey, hermano, how you doin’?” Paul asked when he came in.

  “Didn’t get a job,” David reported. “They don’t need anybody at the furniture store.”

  “Okay, just a bump in the road. No problem. There’ll be a job. Just take it easy, man,” Paul assured him.

  “Paul, I’ve been thinking about Sunday,” David said. “You sure that’s a good idea? I mean, this guy Ernie seems like such a good guy. Maybe he committed his parents to that dinner when they don’t really want—”

  “We’re going,” Paul declared. He pulled a ginger ale from the refrigerator and popped it open. “Don’t sweat it, David. You’ll love this family, and they’ll love you. Be the best thing in the world for you. Hey, you remember Hortencia at the tamale shop, right? She’s Ernesto’s aunt. You and me used to go there.”

  “Yeah,” David recalled. “Hortencia’s pretty and nice. I used to stop in there sometimes after work at Hawthorne’s.”

  “Remember me telling you I had an ace in the hole for you if nothin’ else worked out, hermano?” Paul asked. “Well, Hortencia knows all about you, man, the whole enchilada. She said she’ll hire you as counterman. Ernie texted me with that before you even got outta prison. I know it’s not a great job, but it’s something. Minimum wage and a cut of the tip jar.”

  Paul took a long slug from the soda can and went on. “And it beats sittin’ around the house feeling sorry for yourself. But give it some time. You did a lotta college work, and there might be something real good out there for you. You got accounting classes and public relations under your belt. Who knows what might turn up? And if nothing does, then you can work at the tamale shop until you get your mojo back.”

  David sank bank in the leather chair, his brain spinning. He thought back to when he and Paul were little kids. Paul always had a dynamite personality. He’d flash that smile like a beam of light, and any darkness was gone. Paul found it easy to win friends. David wasn’t like that. He was a shy kid. He took things harder. When the boys’ mother died, David was twelve. Her death hit him harder than it did nine-year-old Paul. Even at nine, Paul seemed to understand that the pretty, troubled lady they called Mom was not Mom at all.

  David remembered his mother’s funeral on a cold January day. Mom looked beautiful in her coffin, as though she was only sleeping. The undertaker had done a wonderful job of covering up the ravages of drugs. David wept until his eyes ached. Paul nev
er shed a tear.

  After the funeral, social workers took custody of the two young boys in their shabby dark suits. There were no grandparents, no aunts or uncles, nobody. David remembered desperately hugging Paul before they went to separate foster homes. In some strange way, Paul seemed like the older of the two that day. He just kept saying to his older, taller brother, “Be okay. Be okay.”

  And Paul was still saying it, though David scarcely believed him anymore. On Sunday, David knew he would go to the Sandoval house with Paul. He’d go even though the thought of it horrified him.

  On Saturday night, David couldn’t sleep more than a few fitful naps. In the dark of the night, he pictured the Sandoval family standing at the door. His worst fears took shape in his mind. The father, a teacher at Cesar Chavez High, would be stern faced, as most of David’s teachers had seemed to be. The mother would look distressed and frightened. To her, a pair of wolves were suddenly at their door and were going to come in. The grandmother would be leaning on her cane. She’d be looking in dismay at her son and his wife, as if to ask them why they let such people in their home. The little girls would be hiding behind their mother, whimpering in fright, like kittens confronted by a fierce dog.

  Ernesto, the do-gooder Paul always talked about, would be trying to put a good face on the awful situation. He would probably put on a fake smile and try to get his unhappy family to be welcoming. All of this ordeal would happen just because a worthless ex-convict happened to be Paul’s brother.

  On Sunday morning, after he showered and shaved, David put on a new greenstriped polo shirt and jeans. It was part of the wardrobe Paul had bought for him and put into the closet before David got out of prison.

  “You look good, man!” Paul declared. “Clothes are a little loose, but I didn’t realize how thin you were. A few weeks from now, they’ll fit you fine.”

  David climbed into the cab of the pickup truck that, years ago, was his. He had bought the pickup as his first vehicle, and he loved it. While David was in prison, Paul drove it. Now Paul drove down Tremayne Street toward the fateful dinner. They passed Bluebird Street and turned onto Wren.