Brothers in Arms

by Paul Langan

  My mom put some candles and a rosary around a picture of him in the corner of her bedroom. It was like having a little church in our home, but it just made me angrier. What good are prayers when your brother is already dead?

  One night Frankie said he had something special for me. We were at this kid Oscar’s house. It was late. There was a bunch of people I knew from my school, Zamora High. Some were older than me, people who dropped out, but there were others I didn’t know. Frankie led me to the backyard. There must have been fifty people standing around. Some girls were dancing while guys were checking them out. Other people sat in groups drinking and laughing. The music was loud.

  “Check this out, homes. He’s joining the family. ”

  As I watched, a kid my age stepped forward and everybody formed a circle around him. Then five other guys jumped him. They punched and kicked the kid, who did little to defend himself except raise his hands to protect his head. He tried to stay on his feet, but a punch caught the kid in the jaw and sent him spinning to the ground in a dusty cloud. The others beat him for a while and then stopped. He rolled on the ground for a few minutes and slowly stood up. The crowd hooted, and a group of guys led the beaten kid to a chair so he could sit. Then they gave him a beer.

  “It’s your turn, Martin. Come on, homes. I know you’re not scared. They’re all waiting. ”

  What was I gonna do? I’d known Frankie for years, and right now he was the closest thing to a brother I had left. And here he was talking about family.

  Next thing I know, I’m standing in the circle, and guys start pounding on me. You know on cartoons how they show stars over your head when you get hit? I never used to believe that, but it’s true. You take a shot in the head hard enough, and you’ll start to see things.

  They roughed me up bad, mostly hitting me in the body. I ain’t gonna lie to you. It hurt, but nothing like the hurt inside. The pain I felt when Huero died was worse than anything this crew could dish out.

  One kid hit me in the jaw, and I snapped and went after him. I was saying something, but I don’t know what it was. I just charged like he was the kid who shot Huero. Maybe for a second I thought he was. I can’t remember. But I do remember what Oscar was saying.

  “Check out Martin! He’s lost it. He’s loco!”

  I was so mad, I couldn’t control the punches I threw. I didn’t care anymore about what happened. Each time I swung, the other guys just hit me harder. They clocked me solid a few times, and I started growling like this angry dog Huero found one day. It had rabies, and white foam was dripping from its mouth before the animal control people killed it. When Frankie finally pulled me away, I was a mess. Bloody spit on my chin, dirt in my hair. My shirt ripped, bruises everywhere. Bruises on top of bruises.

  Three pretty girls watching shook their heads and laughed at me like I was a joke or something. I saw one boy spit out his beer because he was nearly choking, unable to stop himself from cracking up. It was like I was the entertainment, a freak show to amuse them. It just made me angrier seeing their smiles while I was hurting inside for Huero.

  “Whatcha lookin’ at?” I hissed.

  “Calm down, homes. You’re one of us, Martin. We always got your back now,” Frankie said when he pulled me out of the circle. He almost seemed proud, like I was some kind of trophy for him. Some guys cheered when Frankie took me away. Someone even poured beer on me.

  “Chill, dude,” the kid said. The beer stung the cuts on my face. I should have pounded him.

  Frankie dropped me home after midnight. But Mom was awake when I got there. Her face turned white when she saw me, like she was about to throw up.

  “Mijo!” she cried hesitantly, throwing her arms around me. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothin’, Ma. I’m fine. ” I said, shrugging her off and heading to my bedroom. Just looking at her made me feel guilty.

  The next morning, a police officer, Nelson Ramirez, came over to our house. He was a friend of my mother’s who patrolled outside the Wal-Mart where she worked. He and my mom had dated for a while, but now they are just friends. My mom always seemed to have him over when she thought I needed one of those “man-to-man talks. ” Like I’m supposed to let this man be my dad or something just ’cause he has a badge. Every time he visited, I had to roll my eyes ’cause he always acted like he knew everything. He’s one of those people who tells you what you think.

  “You okay, Martin?” he asked. “Imelda . . . I mean, your mother says you might have something you want to tell me about. ”

  “I don’t have nothin’ to say to you,” I told him. The cops were supposed to be investigating Huero’s case. But I wasn’t holding my breath for that. Kids are shot every day in the barrio, and I don’t see police, like in the movies, always getting the bad guy. Especially not for people like me who don’t live in the suburbs and drive nice cars.

  “Those boys you hang with are gonna pull you down, Martin. Especially Frankie. He may act like your friend, but he’s no good. ”

  “Why don’t you worry about the dude who shot my brother and leave my friends alone,” I snapped back. “They ain’t the problem. ”

  He shook his head, sighed, and walked away. Then I heard him talking to my mom in the living room. Little did I know how much their conversation would change my life.

  “I can’t lose him, Nelson,” I heard her say. “It would kill me. He’s everything to me. ”

  I should have gone out and told her what she wanted to hear. “You’re not going to lose me, Ma. ” But I couldn’t bring myself to it. I felt guilty, but I didn’t care. It was like I was dead inside, like my heart had turned gray and rotten once Huero passed away.

  All I wanted was the blood of the person who shot my brother.

  Nothing else.

  “We’re moving, mijo,” my mother said a week later. I was about to leave with the whole posse when she told me. “I’m getting you out of here before I lose you. ” She was drying dishes in the kitchen sink, and I was standing at the edge of the doorway.

  “What?”

  “I know what you do. You, Frankie, and the whole bunch of you are looking for the person who shot Huero. If you find him, you’re gonna throw your life away or get killed. I can’t let you do it. ”

  “I ain’t movin’,” I said. “I’m staying right here. ”

  The glass in her hand dropped into the sink and shattered, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were wild and stormy-looking.

  “No! You are coming with me, so I can save you, mijo. Mr. Ramirez helped me find another apartment that I can afford. You’ll be going to Bluford High School. It’s safer, and you’ll be away from Frankie and all this. ” She waved her hand in a circle as if our whole world was poisoned.

  “Bluford?” I had heard of the school only a few times. I knew it was in a different section of the city, one with more blacks. My school was mostly Chicanos with some blacks, and a few whites. “I ain’t goin’ there,” I said.

  “You will go there!” she screamed, coming at me as if she wanted to hit me. “You will or you’ll kill me, mijo. Do you understand?! You’re my only son. My last baby. You’re all I have in this world, and this world is trying to take you from me. I see it in your eyes,” she said, putting her hands to my face. Her touch almost burned me inside. I could see her tears again too. For a second, I felt my eyes sting, but then I shook it away.

  Outside, I heard the rumble of Frankie’s car. For once, he had good timing. I had to get away from my mother. She made me hurt. “I gotta go,” I said, and I walked out.

  “Martin!” she yelled, but I closed the door.

  I could still hear her voice when I got to Frankie’s car. She screamed the same way she did when she learned that Huero was dead. It was like I was gone already, the walking dead.

  “What’s your problem, homes? You’re all quiet,” Frankie asked me when I sat in the passenger seat.

  I told Frankie and the boys my mom’s plan.

  “Bluford?”
Chago said. “Man, what’s your mom gonna do that for? I don’t know anybody who goes to that school. It’s like another country from what I hear. ”

  “My friend had a cousin who went there,” Jesus said. “She went off to college a few years ago. ”

  “College,” Junie said. “Ain’t no one from my family gone to college. ”

  Everyone was quiet. We all knew that Junie’s dad worked as a TV repairman, and his mom was a house cleaner. It was no big deal. All of our parents had jobs like that. My mom was a cashier.

  “Why she want you to go to Bluford?” Chago asked.

  “She says she wants to save me,” I said.

  “How’s taking you away from your family gonna save you?” Frankie said, taking a puff of his cigarette.

  I looked at him, and he hit the accelerator. The Le Mans grumbled and lurched forward, and I opened the window to get rid of Frankie’s smoke and clear my own head.

  My family. I didn’t even know what that was anymore.

  That same night, we hit another party, and I got into a fight with some kid for bumping into me. I know I shouldn’t have done it. The kid bumped into me by accident as he turned a corner. Some of his drink, a cherry soda, spilled on my shirt. I moved right into his face. I was just looking for an excuse to start trouble. That’s exactly what he gave me.

  “Sorry, man,” the kid said. He looked nervous. I could see it in his eyes and in the slight waver of his voice, like ripples in a puddle when you hit it with a rock.

  “You better watch where you’re walking or you could get hurt, homes,” I said, giving him a shove.

  He said something, and the next thing I knew I threw him against the wall and hit him. I felt bad even as I did it. He couldn’t handle me. He was weaker and slower. Unprepared.

  My fists slammed into his soft stomach full force. As I hit him, I could feel my eyes burning again, like there was smoke in them. But no one near me was smoking this time. Instead, my homeboys were standing around me, staring at me like I had horns sprouting from the side of my head. Like I had a disease they were afraid to catch.

  The kid put his hands up to defend himself, even as he went down. I even made him flinch once by pretending to swing again. I was ugly and mean, but it felt good to strike back at someone. At anyone. Even this poor dumb kid who didn’t know me and who I didn’t know. Another kid who should have been home safe with his family, not lying in the dirt.

  “He’s done, Martin. Come on. Let’s go,” Frankie said, pulling me back. I stood my ground for a minute longer, hoping the kid would try to get up. But he had more sense than that.

  You are coming with me, so I can save you, mijo.

  My mom’s words kept echoing in my head like one of those songs on the radio that you hate but you just can’t stop hearing in your mind.

  I looked at the kid. He was cowering and scared. He had no idea what happened or why.

  “Can she save this?” I said, turning with my hands outstretched to my homeboys, my new brothers. Sorry replacements for the one I loved most and lost. Again the acid sting in the eyes.

  Frankie looked at me warily. “Let’s go, homes. ”

  I spat in front of the kid and left, wondering what his mom would say when he finally got home.

  Later that night, I crashed at Frankie’s sister Nilsa’s crib. She was in her twenties, had a son, and knew not to ask me or Frankie what we did that night. I knew I wouldn’t sleep much but at least I didn’t have to go home to my mom.

  Still, I couldn’t get comfortable on Nilsa’s couch. A broken spring kept stabbing me, and there were sharp toys wedged between the cushions.

  At one point, I turned over and felt something hard poking me in the back of the head. I reached over and pulled out a toy gun. I was the only one in the room, which was black except for the digits on Nilsa’s VCR clock, but I started laughing out loud.

  The fake gun just set me off. The way it hit me in the head right where Huero was shot. I know it was just a toy, but it’s messed up when toys look exactly like the thing that took out your brother. The world is falling apart when that happens. I ain’t preaching. I played with toy guns too. So did Huero. But you gotta admit, it’s messed up.

  It was about 4:00 in the morning, and I was just lying on the couch thinking about all this and laughing. Not ’cause it was funny. But because, what else can you do? I ain’t like my mom. I’m not gonna cry. Huero’s still gone. All the tears in the world weren’t going to change that. Only me and my boys could do something that mattered.

  But I knew, not far away, my mom was home worrying about me. I could feel it. She was probably kneeling in front of the picture of Huero praying that I would come home safe. In my mind, I could see her face in the red glow of the prayer candles she got from our church, tears rolling down her cheeks, a crumpled tissue in her hand.

  I could have called her to let her know I was all right. Frankie had a cell phone he said I could use. But I didn’t.

  Instead, I let her worry all night long. I was showing her that she wasn’t going to control me. Especially not while me and my boys still had to settle the score for Huero.

  But when I got home the next day, my mom had a surprise for me.

  It was just after 11:00 a.m. on a Sunday when Frankie dropped me off. I timed it so my mother would still be in church. At least then I wouldn’t have to deal with her as soon as I walked in the door. But I was wrong.

  She was standing in the living room as soon as I entered. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, like she hadn’t slept in a week. Her hair was messy, and she looked exhausted.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  Behind her, I noticed that our small apartment was completely empty. Our old sofa, end tables, and TV were gone. All the family pictures on the wall were missing. Even our small kitchen, which I could see from the front door, was bare. The cheap metal cabinets were open and empty. The air smelled of lemons and bleach, the way it did whenever my mother cleaned.

  “Let’s go, mijo,” she said, her voice heavy and serious.

  “Where’s all our stuff, Ma?”

  “It’s at our new place. I told you we were moving, and that’s what we’re doing. Now. Come on,” she said, trying to lead me toward the door.

  “I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Ma,” I said, refusing to budge.

  “This isn’t your decision, Martin. You’re only sixteen years old. I’m still your mother, and you’re coming with me. Let’s go!” she ordered.

  I stepped back. She’d hadn’t spoken to me like this since I was a little kid. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I walked to my room so I could get away from her and nearly fell over. All my stuff was missing. My bed. My pictures. My whole room. Gone. There were even those marks on the carpet where it had been vacuumed. She cleared me out.

  Huero’s room was empty and clean too. Like he never lived there. How could she?

  “Where’s our stuff?!” I yelled, my temper beginning to swell like your eye after someone punches you. “What did you do, Ma?”

  “We got a new apartment, Martin. I started packing last night when you took off. I called some people from church and they helped me. Everything’s at our new home. Come on,” she said.

  “I ain’t going nowhere. This is my home, and this is where I’m staying!” I said, stepping right into her face like she was just another kid on the street looking for trouble. I was taller than her, and I could feel the veins in my neck pounding. I felt strong with anger, like it was alcohol in my blood.

  But she came right back at me, her voice growing louder, making her seem larger than ever.

  “No, mijo! This is my house! I pay the rent. I pay the bills. And you are my son. I’m taking you, and we are leaving right now. End of story. ” Again she yanked on my arm to take me out.

  I twisted away from her and raised my hand. I was about to pop like a fat blister.

  She flinched for an instant, bracing for a slap from me. But she did not back down.

  “You gonna
hit your own mother now?” she said, a flash of fear in her eyes. “Did I lose you already?”

  I blinked, lowered my hand, and turned away.

  It was like she’d just sent a knife to my heart, like she’d cut my legs off with a machete. There I was, making my mom cringe in fear. There I was, her pride and joy, making her scared the way my Dad used to. I was becoming a monster.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Ma,” I said, unable to look at her. I leaned against the wall at the edge of Huero’s room and started butting my head against the plaster. Somehow, the pain felt good, something that made sense.

  “Come with me, mijo,” she said. “Let’s get out of here. ”

  Like she did when I was a little kid in a crowded parking lot, my mom led me to her car.

  I sat next to her, my head in my hands, as she said a silent prayer, crossed herself, and left our neighborhood for good.

  Chapter 3

  “Just chill for a while, homes. You started losing it the other nightI heard you laughing in your sleep. That’s messed up,” Frankie said.

  You know it’s bad when a guy with a knife-wound in his stomach and a gun in his car tells you to relax.

  “I hate this. It’s like I’m in prison or something,” I said. I was standing at a pay phone down the street from our new apartment. My mom had refused to set up a phone in our place because she wanted to cut me off from my friends. She used a cell phone for all her calls. I was allowed to use it but only in front of her.

  “It’s for your own good. You need to make new friends. The ones you have are only going to lead you to trouble,” Mom had said when she made her decision.

  She made me feel like I was three years old. It didn’t matter, though. She couldn’t stop me from grabbing some change and using a pay phone.

  “Martin, I’m gonna find the person who shot Huero,” Frankie assured me. “When I do, we’ll come for you. Right now, you’re too far away to do anything, so just chill. ”