Mexican WhiteBoy

by Matt De La Peña

  Danny looks down at the mound, kicks at a clump of brown grass, looks back at Uno. Why is Uno telling him this story? He pulls the ball from his mitt again. What’s the point?

  “Both coaches ran on the field to check my shit. The ump called time. But then my old man comes out of the stands, too. Yellin’ his head off. This is back when he was doin’ mad drugs. I knew it was his voice right away, man. At first I thought he was yellin’ at the ump or somethin’. But it turned out he was yellin’ at me. ‘Get up, you little punk-ass bitch! Get your ass up! Ain’t no son of mine gonna lay there cryin’!’ I was shocked, man. But I stood my ass up.”

  Danny stares at Uno.

  “I was like, Damn, what’s this dude’s trip? But he kept on yellin’, even after I got up. And then my moms yells from the stands, ‘Don’t yell at my son!’ And my pop turns to her and yells back, ‘You shut the fuck up, bitch!’ I tried to put the catcher’s mask back on, but the coach from the other team stopped me. And my own coach took my face and looked at my nose and told me I was hurt. I still tried to put the mask on ’cause I barely even heard what he was sayin’, man. ’Cause I was trippin’ on my old man. But they didn’t let me. Instead my coach walked me back to that dugout right there.”

  Uno points to the dugout on the first-base side. He laughs a little under his breath, says: “I remember all my friends was starin’ at my dumb ass, man.”

  Uno pulls a baseball from Danny’s bucket, snaps it in and out of his glove a couple times and says: “Anyway, that was the last time I played organized baseball. I quit the next day. Didn’t even go to the championship game, man. Or play in the all-star game. I was through.”

  “That’s messed up,” Danny says, surprising even himself. The words just popped out of his mouth. English words, but for some reason it doesn’t matter.

  Uno studies Danny for a sec, then says: “Like I told you, dawg, the old man was on mad substances back then. He all changed now. A cool guy. But sometimes when I walk out on this field, man, I remember that shit. The look on his face and how scared I was.”

  3

  Uno digs his foot into the side of the mound, goes into a pretend windup and throws a pretend pitch at the backstop. Then he lobs the ball back into the bucket. “Anyway, you can keep on with your workout, man. I ain’t mean to interrupt nobody.”

  Danny grips the ball in his mitt, thinks about what he’s gonna say this time. “You can work in if you want.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m just throwing at the backstop.”

  Uno smiles, says: “Hey, man, I thought you barely talked.”

  Danny shrugs.

  Uno laughs. “Anyway, maybe I could catch a few. Then you ain’t gotta chase ’em down.”

  Danny shrugs.

  “Cool, man.” Uno starts toward the plate. He turns around midway and says, as he backpedals: “Yo, but don’t throw no crazy hard ones. Like you did at the fair. I don’t got enough padding on my mitt.”

  Danny steps back up onto the mound and tries to take in what’s happening. He’s about to pitch to Uno. To the black dude who gave him stitches. He wipes his sweaty hand on his pants and digs the toe of his Vans into the hard dirt. This guy gave him stitches. And even though he’s over it, even though he’d like to pretend it didn’t even happen, he knows he can’t. At some point he’s gotta fight back. Stand up for himself. That’s what his dad would tell him. And his uncle Ray. They’d make him fight back.

  “Go ’head,” Uno says, setting up behind the plate. He slaps his mitt, sets a target.

  Danny goes into his windup and lobs a pitch across the plate.

  Uno catches it, stands up and fires it back. “See? It’s better when you don’t gotta go chasin’ it.”

  Danny watches Uno squat behind the plate again. Pictures the guy’s fist coming at him. The back of his head hitting the dirt. The doctor’s hands in his face while he stitched him up. He reaches up behind his head, fingers where the stitches used to be. There’s still a lump. And he realizes he’s mad that it happened. He’s pissed off.

  Danny grits his teeth, goes into his windup and fires a rocket at Uno, the hardest pitch he can possibly throw.

  When it hits Uno’s open mitt it sounds like a gunshot, and Uno literally flips over backward. He sits up quick, flings the mitt and ball away and holds his left hand. He looks up at Danny, on his knees, the pain all over his face, and shouts: “What the hell, dawg? I said not to throw it hard! Jesus!”

  Danny stares back without a word. He doesn’t care what happens next. He feels a little bit of rage rise up through his middle. Let the guy come out to the mound.

  “Goddamn, man!” Uno shouts, looking down at his hand. “You almost broke my shit!”

  Danny stays silent and stares. He feels physically stronger from the sit-ups and push-ups. Mentally, too.

  Uno stares back at him for a few seconds, holding his hand, shaking it out and then holding it again. And then a slight smile comes over his face. He even lets out a little laugh. “Okay,” he says, getting up, going over to get his mitt, the errant ball. “All right, D. I got you. It’s cool.”

  He tosses the ball back to Danny and lets that be the end of it. Still shaking out his hand, he sets back up behind the plate. Smiles again. “I deserved that shit. Go ’head with another one if you want to.”

  4

  Danny goes right back into his windup, throws a mellow curve this time.

  Uno snags it, tosses back.

  They go on like this for a few more pitches, then Uno walks the ball halfway to the mound and says: “Yo, I been thinkin’ ’bout somethin’, D. You interested in makin’ a little money?” He tosses the ball back.

  Danny snatches it out of the air and shrugs. He thinks about his trip to Mexico. The plane ticket.

  “It’d be cool, man. I swear.”

  Danny shrugs again.

  “How ’bout I explain the details when you done workin’ out?” Uno turns and walks back behind the plate, sets up.

  The wind has picked up. The trees are swaying behind the backstop. Danny peeks into the sky, but he knows the hawk is long gone. Sometimes he plays a little trick on his mind. When he sees a hawk soaring around in the sky, he pretends it’s been sent all the way from Mexico by his dad. To look after him. And then it goes back to Mexico to report what it sees. He knows it’s just kid stuff, but he does it anyway. He just wishes the hawk hadn’t already left so it could’ve seen what he did. Because he finally punched somebody back. The first time in his life. Sure, it was weeks after the fact. And it was with a baseball instead of a fist. But he’s pretty sure Uno knows what’s up now. And how cool would it be if his dad did, too?

  Danny looks over his shoulder at the hill. Nobody else around. Just him and Uno. He winds up and lobs another curve over the plate.

  Uno snags it, tosses back.

  The Workouts, the Hustles, the Drive-in Theater

  1

  A week later Danny and Uno are walking home from another all-day Las Palmas workout session, their seventh straight. Danny’s arm is sore, but it’s a good sore. The kind that tells him he’s been working hard. What’s surprising to him is that Uno is working just as hard. Joins in on every set of sit-ups, every set of push-ups, every set of sprints, catches every pitch. Never even complains. Danny trips out sometimes, looking at Uno crouched behind the plate, holding out his target. Who would’ve guessed that this was how things would play out?

  “Got some good news for you, D,” Uno says as they walk down the hill, side by side.

  Danny turns to look at Uno.

  “We meetin’ up with this cat Carmelo tomorrow after his summer league workout. I sort of know him ’cause Lo’s brother does all his ink. He plays second base for Morse High. Batted three-twenty last year, made second team all-league.”

  Danny nods, switches the bucket of baseballs from his right hand to his left.

  “Like I been tellin’ you all along, man. Key’s to play on a dude’s ego. Let ’em hit you a
round a little when y’all warmin’ up. Before the money’s on the table. For all he know, you just another punk Mexican kid from National City. One of my boys. Trust me, he gonna be laughin’ at you.”

  Danny nods.

  As the sun drops under the horizon the National City sky grows dark and colorless. Ugly almost. And though the wind is cool for a summer evening, both Danny’s and Uno’s shirts are soaked in sweat. Danny circles his right arm a couple times to stretch his shoulder. Sore for sure, but he doesn’t care. He likes this feeling.

  It’s been a full week since Uno approached him with his big moneymaking idea on the infield grass. What if they hustled guys around San Diego using Danny’s pitching prowess? Danny shrugged and Uno took it as a yes. Which it was. And ever since, during each break they take during their workout, Uno excitedly reviews the way these hustles will go down.

  They’ll show up at a high school when the school team is wrapping up a summer practice. They’ll cruise out onto the field, harmlessly toss a ball back and forth without saying much. Soon as the coach takes off, Uno will make small talk. He’ll find out who’s the best hitter on the squad, dare him to step into the batter’s box against Danny. At first Danny will let the guy spray a couple hits around. But he’ll also whip one or two by, give him a hint of what’s to come. After a little more warm-up, Uno will bet the guy he can’t put one in play before Danny strikes him out. They’ll put the money in the hat, just like they do at the derby, winner takes pot.

  For 50 percent of Danny’s payout, Uno’s offering an on-call practice catcher, 24/7. Anytime Danny feels like climbing the Las Palmas mound he can call Uno, and Uno will drop whatever he’s doing and meet him at the run-down park. Plus Uno will do all the research, find out all the teams’ practice schedules. He’ll do the haggling and be the strong arm if anybody acts crazy. In fact, Danny is never even to speak. Not a word. “Ain’t exactly a stretch, right, money?” Uno told him just this morning during their first break.

  Danny frowned, said: “I talk.”

  “I know that, dawg, but they don’t. You not talkin’ is gonna be part of our image. Be the buzz on the street, money. Watch. People be sayin’: ‘Yo, you hear about that stud mute pitcher and his handsome-ass businessman catcher?’”

  They both laughed and Uno stepped off the mound, headed back to his spot behind the plate, where he set up yet another target.

  2

  As they continue down the street, Danny peeks at Uno out of the corner of his eye. Will he actually be able to come through for this guy? Sofia explained how bad Uno needs money, how he wants to go live with his dad. It hit home with Danny. But what happens if he can’t strike this Carmelo guy out? If he goes wild again, like at the Leucadia Prep tryout? What if he makes Uno lose money and Uno can never get up to his dad’s?

  Uno scoops up a stray rock and skips it toward the gutter.

  Danny watches the rock ricochet off the sidewalk and into the street. He wonders if Uno will still wanna work out with him if he doesn’t come through.

  “Hey, D,” Uno says. “You see that big Mexican dude up on the hill today?”

  Danny looks at Uno. “Yeah.”

  “You know that cat? Seems to be everywhere you go.”

  Danny looks forward again. “He’s a scout. He used to watch this guy Kyle Sorenson at my school.”

  Uno stops cold. “Oh, shit, man. That makes sense. He scoutin’ your ass, too, D.”

  Danny shrugs.

  “I thought homey was a molester or some shit.” Uno laughs, shakes his head. “He tryin’ to see what round they gotta draft you by, D.”

  Danny shrugs. Can that be possible? Is the guy who scouted Kyle now scouting him?

  As they pull up to Uncle Tommy’s apartment building, they find Sofia sitting on the sidewalk smoking a cigarette. She stands up, ashes into the street, says: “You two? Together again? Yo, this is gettin’ mad weird.” She turns to Uno. “Better not be corruptin’ my cuz. You remember what I told you about that pumpkin.”

  Uno walks up on her. “Gimme that,” he says, swiping the cigarette from her mouth and pulling a drag.

  “Go get ready, Danny,” Sofia says, taking her cigarette back. “Movie starts in forty-five minutes. Carmen’s swinging by in twenty.”

  Uno cocks his head. “What up, girl? Your boy can’t get no invite? This movie’s only for full-on Mexicans? They can’t let nobody in if he got a drop of brother?”

  Sofia laughs. “Carm’s car is already full. Get Chico to go or something. Come on, Uno, use your resources. You ain’t as dumb as you look, right?”

  As the two of them continue going back and forth, Danny slips by. Heads into his uncle’s apartment to shower up, already thinking about the hustle he and Uno are gonna do. Hoping he doesn’t let anybody down.

  3

  “Oh my God!” Carmen shouts, reaching for Sofia’s hand. “Why you even going in there, tonta?” She turns to Sofia. “Why she’s going in there, Sofe?”

  Sofia grabs Carmen’s arm, cringing. Her eyes glued to the big screen.

  “I can’t even watch,” Angela says, covering her eyes with her hands.

  On the giant screen, a pretty black girl walks into a dark barn only to be snatched by some mummy-looking person and immediately hacked to pieces. The girls all scream in unison, piercing Danny’s ears again.

  He’s crammed in the backseat of Carmen’s Festiva with Angela and Bee. Sofia and Carmen are in the front. All the girls have a cell phone in hand, occasionally sending or receiving texts between murders, their mesmerized faces made bright by the horror flick showing on National City’s run-down drive-in screen.

  The movie’s about a big group of high school kids who get trapped in a house and barn in the middle of nowhere. The girls are absolutely riveted, but Danny’s finding it hard to pay attention. All the murders seem too fake. Every time somebody’s killed and the girls scream he just feels like laughing. The girls are so into it.

  The giant screen has a tear in the upper right-hand corner. It must be super old, Danny thinks. He wonders if his dad ever watched a movie on this screen. And whose car would he have been in? And did he ever take Danny’s mom?

  Sometimes it hits Danny how little he knows his dad—even back when they lived under the same roof. His dad hardly ever spoke. After work he’d sink into the far end of the couch with the remote and his smoke box. He’d roll a joint and start toking away. After a while his eyes would sag and he’d laugh at whatever was on TV. Then he’d go to bed early.

  Danny’s watching a door creak open on the big screen, like everybody else, but he’s thinking about this one time when he stayed home from school with an ear infection. His dad was off work that day and watching him.

  He remembers how they were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, in front of the TV. His dad flipping through channels. Their old cat curled up in the corner of the living room, on a square of sunlight. Remembers watching his dad blow out his smoke long and steady. Remembers thinking it looked like a magic carpet. And because he was a little high, too, from the secondhand, he started wondering what it would be like to ride a magic carpet. Where would he go? Who would he take? Would his dad wanna come? But then he got another sharp pain in his ear, and he realized the only place he’d wanna take a magic carpet was away from the smoke.

  Of course, at that point he already knew enough about being high to know not to mess up his dad’s high, so he snuck into the bathroom, flung open the window and took a few deep breaths. Then he slumped down in the tub, wrapped his skinny little arms around his skinny little knees and waited.

  After an hour or so his dad knocked on the door.

  “I’m in here,” Danny said, quickly spinning his head toward the door. “I’m goin’ pee.”

  But his dad walked in anyway, found his boy lying in the tub with all his clothes on. “Why you in the tub?” he said.

  “I don’t know,” Danny said.

  His dad stood there staring at him for a while, a strange look on
his face.

  “I was gonna take a shower,” Danny said, “but I got tired. And then I just sat in here. And my ear started hurting. I liked that old movie we were watching.”

  His dad motioned for Danny to follow him back into the living room, so Danny climbed out of the tub. He cracked open a couple windows and turned on the fan. When they both sat back down on the couch his dad dotted out his joint and put away his smoke box. Then he picked up the remote and tossed it over to Danny. “Go ’head,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

  But Danny only wanted to watch what his dad wanted to watch. So when he picked up the remote and started flipping, he concentrated on his dad’s face. He moved from one channel to the next looking not for the best show but for the best expression on his dad’s face.

  4

  All the girls scream again, pulling Danny out of his head. Carmen pounds the dash.

  The screen goes black for intermission and they grab for each other’s arms. “You saw mi novio get a knife in the back like that?” Bee says, pulling on Sofia’s hair. “I wanted to run in there and save him.”

  “Why’s everybody so dumb in movies?” Sofia says.

  “Yeah, like anybody’d really just walk right in some psycho dude’s barn,” Carmen says.

  “Right?” Angela says, pulling lipstick and a mirror from her bag.

  Sofia opens her phone, reads a text. She looks at Carmen with a big grin and then turns to Danny. “Cuz, if I give you money, will you go get us popcorn? We need somethin’ to keep us calm during the second half.”

  Danny nods. He waits for Sofia to pull a couple crinkled dollars out of her wallet and hand them over.

  “Go to that line, though,” Sofia says, pointing to the far snack stand behind them. “It’s way better.”