Mexican WhiteBoy

by Matt De La Peña

  Uno looks down at his plate, works his fork, lost in thought. Danny picks up the barbecue sauce, pours a little more on his ribs, looks up at Senior.

  “I took hold of the kid’s face,” Senior says. “Made him look into my eyes. And I told him: ‘I forgive you, son. You hear what I’m tellin’ you? My whole family, my wife, my baby and me, we forgive you. You hear me? We forgive you.’ Then I reached for my wallet and pulled out all the cash I had. Fifty-somethin’ bones. I told my wife to get her purse and do the same. She had a little over twenty. I handed a wad of bills to this kid and told him a famous quote: ‘“Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.”’ Told him: ‘That’s Edgar Allan Poe who wrote that, son, and he wasn’t lyin’ when he said it. Edgar Allan Poe was a world-famous poet, and he told it to me in one of his books. Now I’m tellin’ it to you.’”

  Uno and Danny both nod as they eat and listen to Senior.

  “The boy cried and cried when I told him that, see. And then he leaped up and off the couch and shook hands with me and apologized, over and over and over, for tryin’ to break in the house. He hugged my wife and touched one of my baby’s little socks and shook my hand again and then he jogged out the house and kept on joggin’ till he was completely out of sight.”

  “Wait, Pop,” Uno said, dropping his fork and wiping his face with a napkin. “I don’t get it. The guy tries to rob you, and you give ’im all your money? It ain’t like you got a bunch of extra cash to be throwin’ around, right?”

  Senior laughs a little and shakes his head. “Money ain’t nothin’ but a rabbit in a hat, Uno. It’s an illusion. A trick up Uncle Sam’s sleeve. Advertisers make it out to be this big thing in America so we’ll buy their fancy cars and their big-ass sailboats and their high-end radio equipment, but it’s just paper. No different than the napkin you holdin’ in your hand, Uno. You see what I’m sayin’?”

  Uno puts down his napkin. “But people need money to live, Pop.”

  “Do they? They need food and water and shelter, sure. And they work a job for those things. But do they really need the money in they pockets?”

  Uno looks hard at Senior, then turns to Danny. “You the fancy private-school cat, D. Wha’chu think?”

  Danny looks at Uno, goes back to Senior. He’s not sure what’s expected of him and he quickly cuts back to Uno.

  Senior smiles. “That’s all right, Danny,” he says. “You ain’t gotta say nothin’ ’bout this. You just listenin’, right? Maybe this is the part of your life where you supposed to be listenin’. To the world. To grown folks. To biographies and good movies, even the winds. Nature. The talkin’ part, man, that shit can come later on. Too many people rush into that part. They talk before they know what they wanna say.”

  Danny looks down at his food, trying to process what he’s hearing. Either Uno’s dad is some kind of modern-day philosopher or he’s totally nuts. He can’t tell which it is. But just in case, he’s trying to make meaning out of what he’s hearing. He picks up his fork, moves his beans around.

  Senior turns back to Uno. “When I looked into that young man’s eyes, son, you know what I saw? I saw a little piece of God. It was hidden, all right. Buried under a lifetime of hurt. But it was there. That’s who I gave the money to.”

  Uno shakes his head. He picks up a rib but doesn’t make a move to eat. Danny watches Uno out of the corner of his eye.

  “A little piece of God,” Senior repeats, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Just like I got a little piece. And you got a little piece, Uno. And you, too, Danny. Listen, I can see in your eyes somethin’ be botherin’ you. Somethin’ confusin’ inside, right? Real deep. I see it.”

  Danny looks back at Senior straight-faced, nodding. But inside everything’s all jumbled up. More than ever. How does this guy know? How can he tell that Danny never stops thinking about his dad? Where he is. What he’s doing out there. Why he doesn’t answer his letters or call on the phone. And is he ever coming back?

  “It don’t matter, though,” Senior says. He glances at Uno, who’s sitting completely still, watching, untouched rib still in his right hand. Senior turns back to Danny, points a finger directly at his chest. “You got a piece of God in you, too, son. I can feel it. Matter a fact, you got the biggest piece I seen in forever. I’m tellin’ you.”

  Uno’s dad continues staring at him, and Danny keeps nodding respectfully, but inside he feels overwhelmed. Inside he’s battling a giant lump that’s quietly climbed into his throat. The weightlessness that’s taken over his stomach. How can this older black man from Oxnard, a person he doesn’t even know, his best friend’s dad, how can he be the first person he’s ever met who understands that Danny’s heart is broken?

  Uno’s Own Vision of a Future

  1

  Uno winces as he takes in another warm-up fastball from Danny, another shot of pain that shoots up his arm. Lately it seems like Danny’s throwing harder than ever. His numbers would be off the charts on that speed gun they use at the fair. Which is great. Except it’s killing his hand.

  He leans forward onto his knees and tosses the ball back. Watches Carmelo tighten both his batting gloves, one at a time. Pick up his bat and flex his fingers around the grip. Uno smiles behind his borrowed face mask, thinks: This cat ain’t got no idea. He facin’ a different Danny this time.

  On the bus ride over to Morse High, Uno tried to explain the art of double or nothing to Danny. Again. “Dude’s gotta think he has a legit chance,” he said. “Even as he’s striking out. It’s just like Vegas, man. They let fools feel just good enough so they keep throwin’ down paper. Get it?”

  Danny nodded, but Uno knew it wasn’t sinking in.

  Since the last Carmelo hustle—the only time they’ve actually lost money in eight hustles—Danny’s been lights out. Sometimes Uno can’t believe the talent he’s witnessing. It’s like playing a video game when you know all the cheat codes. He lays down the sign for fastball, sets his target and the ball pops his mitt perfect. Doesn’t have to move a muscle. Lays down the sign for a curve and preps for something freakish. A pitch that drops right out of the air. Like gravity gives it a sec to play around in the air before sucking it back down to the dirt. But Uno’s favorite is when he calls for a change-up after two straight fastballs. The batter will be so far in front on his swing he’ll stumble across the plate, fall flat on his face. Sometimes it makes Uno laugh so hard he can hardly toss the ball back out to the mound.

  Uno knows he’s lucky. Being this close to greatness. Being an actual part of it. He knows Danny’s gonna go off and do amazing things in the future. Get written up in all the papers, all the magazines. Get drafted by a big-league squad and sign a sick contract. And when they show a close-up of him on TV, Uno will be able to point at him and shout: “Yo, that’s my boy, right there! Nah, for real! I used to be his catcher back when we was kids!”

  At the same time, Danny can’t just destroy a guy on three straight strikes and expect him to go double or nothing. As the bus pulled up to their stop, Uno tried to put it another way. “Think about it, D. The art of hustlin’ is preservin’ a sucker’s hope. Throw a couple in the dirt. Let him foul off a couple high ones. You ain’t gotta use your best stuff to get these punks out. Right?”

  Danny nodded again, but Uno could see there was still a disconnect.

  2

  After Uno tosses the last warm-up baseball back to Danny, Carmelo steps to the plate. “Can’t believe you guys wanna give me more money,” he says, digging his right toe into the dirt and tapping the plate with his bat. His boys in foul territory are hardly even paying attention this time. It’s a foregone conclusion to them. One kid has JJ in a headlock. The other two are trying to throw pieces of concrete from the dugout over the left-field fence and into the street.

  “It’s all right there in my hat,” Uno says. “Forty more bones for you. Too bad you ’bout to get got.”

  Carmelo laughs, spits over the plate. “You’re a comedian, dude.�
�

  “We’ll see who laughin’ in a couple minutes.”

  “Whatever, dude.”

  Uno points at Danny, lays down the sign for fastball.

  Danny goes right into his windup, fires a heater past a late-swinging Carmelo that nearly rips Uno’s catcher’s mitt off. Uno cringes as another dose of pain shoots up from his left hand into his shoulder. “Strike one,” he shouts, pulling the ball out and tossing it back to Danny. He reminds himself to catch it in the web, not on the hand. He can’t take too many more fastballs on the hand like that.

  Carmelo backs out of the box, looks at Uno. “Okay,” he says, nodding. “He’s got a little more juice this time. That’s cool. I like when suckers make me earn my money.”

  “How ’bout suckers who take your money?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “You buyin’ my meal this time. Me and D.”

  Carmelo shakes his head and looks out at Danny. He takes another practice swing, steps back in the box.

  Uno puts down the sign for curveball. But he taps his right thigh this time, hoping Danny will figure out he wants it outside the strike zone.

  Danny goes into his windup, throws a wild curve that skips past Uno and rolls all the way to the backstop. Uno gives chase, a smile behind his mask. He gathers the ball, throws it back to Danny, watches him walk around the mound like he’s confused. He can’t believe it. They’re on the same page.

  “That’s why he’ll never make a team,” Carmelo says when Uno squats behind the plate again. “He can wing it, I’ll give you that. But he’s too wild. He’ll always be right here, with you, pitching on the street.”

  “Better hope one of them wild ones don’t get you in the neck,” Uno says. “Could make it hard to breathe.”

  “What?” Carmelo says, turning around.

  “Nothin’.” Uno sets up in a squat again, gives the sign for another curve. No thigh tap.

  Danny goes into his windup, delivers a spinning pitch headed right down the pipe, but at the last second it cuts down and away from a wild-swinging Carmelo.

  Uno gathers the pitch off a one-hop and stands up. “Strike two!” he shouts in Carmelo’s ear, tosses the ball back to Danny.

  “I can’t believe I swung at that,” Carmelo says.

  “Thought you was better than that,” Uno says. “Paper said you supposed to make all-league this year. Gotta know when to swing if you gonna make all-league, right?”

  Carmelo doesn’t answer. He balances the bat between his knees, tightens his batting glove again. His boys grow a little more attentive in foul territory, get a little louder with their encouragement. Carmelo doesn’t look at them. He’s too busy watching Danny dig at the dirt around the mound.

  Uno grins behind his mask. He can tell by Carmelo’s posture that Danny’s got him whipped. When the guy steps back into the box, Uno lays down another curve. This one’s payback.

  Danny winds up and spins a wicked pitch. The ball barrels right in on Carmelo’s fists, but as he bails out of the box the pitch spins back over the plate. Carmelo takes an awkward half swing. Misses badly. Slams his bat into the ground.

  “Strike three!” Uno shouts, rising out of his crouch. He rolls the ball back to Danny. “See! What I tell you about keepin’ it down, D?” He turns toward his hat, walks over and pulls out the two twenties, goes to stick them both in his pocket.

  “Hold up a sec,” Carmelo calls out, reaching down for his bat. “Just…hold on.” He turns to his boy JJ again. “You got any more cash, man? We gotta go double or nothin’ with these punks. I’m not goin’ out like that.”

  JJ reaches for his wallet and looks inside, pulls out a folded bill. “I only got one more twenty.”

  Carmelo turns to the rest of his teammates, pleads for financial backing. Two guys hesitantly hold out tens.

  “You sure?” one of them says.

  “Hell yeah, I’m sure,” he shoots back. “I’m about to destroy this street vato.” He turns to Uno, holding out the cash.

  “Here, dude. Okay? Your boy’s going down this time.”

  “Cool,” Uno says, stuffing a fresh forty bucks into his hat.

  “All you gotta do is put one in play, dawg. A little dribbler down the third-base line. Anything.”

  Before Uno gets back into his crouch, he glances toward the bleachers. They’re totally empty. Not even that scout dude who’s always around. Too bad, he thinks. Somebody should be here to see this. People would have to see Danny pitch to believe it.

  3

  Carmelo steps into the box, a look of pure concentration on his face. He means business now. No more messing around. His teammates slink back toward the dugout to watch.

  “Let’s roll, D,” Uno says, crouching behind home plate. He points to the mound, lays down the sign for fastball. No more messing around on their end either, he thinks. Time to go with all fastballs.

  Danny fires the first one right down the middle, past a late-swinging Carmelo. It pops Uno’s mitt. “Strike one!”

  Danny fires the second pitch right down the middle, as Carmelo swings wildly. Pops Uno’s mitt. “Strike two!”

  Danny delivers his third fastball with such crazy velocity that Uno, who doesn’t even have time to shift his weight to the balls of his feet, is literally lifted off the ground and onto his ass. He pulls the ball out of his mitt, on his back, laughing. He holds it up and shouts: “Strike three!”

  Uno springs to his feet and goes for the money hat, shoves all the wrinkled bills into his pocket. He spins around half expecting trouble from Carmelo’s camp, but all he finds is Carmelo arguing with JJ.

  Carmelo turns to Uno, says: “Dude, we aren’t done. JJ’s going to the ATM for more money. We’re going again.”

  Uno looks out at the mound—Danny shrugs at him. He turns back to Carmelo. “Long as you got funds, yo. We’ll stay out here all day.”

  “Go!” Carmelo shouts at JJ, and JJ takes off running out of the gate, toward the bank across the street. Carmelo picks up his bat and takes a few practice swings by himself. He’s gone quiet. His three teammates squat near the dugout, talking to each other in low voices, occasionally looking up at Danny.

  Uno doesn’t like the way things look.

  4

  When JJ comes running back, holding the money in his hand, he goes right up to Uno. “Here you go, dude. Eighty bucks. Now pull out yours.”

  Uno takes the money from JJ, counts it out again. Eighty. He pulls out the wad in his pocket, counts all the bills together. One-sixty. Shoves the money in his hat and turns to Carmelo. “You sure you up to this, money? Lot of paper on the line.”

  “Get your ass behind the plate, dude.”

  Uno walks out to the mound first, stops in front of Danny. “Listen,” he says, “there’s gonna be a little friction after you strike ’im out this time.”

  Danny looks back at Uno, confused.

  “After the last strike, I’m goin’ straight for the money. You take off for the bus stop and I’ll meet you there.”

  “But what if—”

  “I’ll handle it. Trust me. You just concentrate on these three pitches. Then hop the centerfield fence and get to the bus stop.” Uno gives Danny a quick pound and makes for the plate. But he stops suddenly, turns back around. “You promise you’re gonna do what I said, right? Head for the bus stop? I’m gonna be pissed off if you hang around here.”

  Danny nods.

  Uno stares at him for a couple seconds, then heads for the plate.

  Carmelo is oddly silent as he steps back into the batter’s box. Uno glances over at the guy’s teammates. They’re all squatting by the dugout still. JJ is standing between them and the money hat, his arms crossed.

  Uno lays down the first sign: fastball.

  Danny goes into his windup, fires the first pitch right past a hard-swinging Carmelo. “Strike one.”

  Uno watches Carmelo step out of the box and slam his bat into the dirt. He looks at Carmelo’s teammates again. Still squatting togethe
r, but they’re no longer talking. Just watching.

  Uno lays down the second sign: fastball.

  Danny kicks and delivers his hardest fastball of the day. The ball rips right past Carmelo again, pops Uno’s mitt. Uno cringes as the pain from catching it on the heel of his hand runs up his shoulder again, into his neck. He tosses the ball back to Danny, takes off his mitt and shakes out his hand. Looks at Carmelo’s teammates.

  Carmelo squats outside of the box, looks out at Danny. He takes a couple deep breaths and glances at JJ. Then he steps back into the box.

  Uno checks out JJ, too. He’s a couple feet closer to the money hat now. Uno stands up and shouts, “Yo, back away from that shit, dawg!”

  JJ holds his hands out, acts like he doesn’t know what Uno’s talking about. He takes a couple steps back, looks at the other guys. Looks at Carmelo.

  Uno crouches again, lays down his sign: change-up. He glances back at JJ, the other three guys. Turns back to the mound.

  Danny goes into his windup, delivers the pitch with the same exact mechanics as his fastball, but his change-up comes out molasses-slow.