by Paul Langan
“It was fine, Ma,” I said, flipping channels on the TV.
“Did you meet anyone new? Tell me about your classes. ”
“What do you want me to say?” I just wasn’t in the mood.
“Martin!”
“Do you want the truth, Ma? Here goes. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. I came late to every class, and I almost started a fight with some big dude. That was my day. ”
“Don’t do this to me,” she said, slumping into a living room chair.
I couldn’t help it. If you ask me when I am calm, I can say I never want to hurt my mother. But since Huero died, there was almost no calm.
“You did this to me, Ma! Now you’re acting like everything is supposed to be perfect. Well, it’s not perfect. ” I snapped.
She took a deep breath and looked up like she was saying a prayer.
“Martin, I did this for you. ”
“Well, it’s not what I wanted!” My temper was boiling.
“All right, then, what do you want?” she challenged, standing up in front of me. “Martin Luna? Who is he? Oh, I know, I think I have it. The neighborhood punk down at the end of the street? No, no! The teenager who wants to miss class all day? Or I got it. The fool who wants to paint a red target on his chest that says to the world, ‘Here, come get me!’ Is that it, Martin? Did I get it right now?”
I cut the TV off and threw the remote control into the wall. I wanted to punch something.
“I’m sorry this is hard on you, Martin, but if I had done this sooner, maybe Huero wouldn’t have been out on the street looking for you,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I won’t lose another son. ”
My mind caught on her words, like a shirt snagged on a nail.
Maybe Huero wouldn’t have been out on the street looking for you.
She was hinting at something I never allowed myself to say, something I knew haunted my nightmares, fueled my anger, and scared me more than dying itself.
“You think it was my fault, don’t you,” I said. The room was so quiet that even the silence seemed loud. My mother’s eyes widened. The moment is an invisible gash that will never heal.
“Don’t do this, Martin. ”
“Tell me the truth, Ma. You think it’s my fault. You’re trying to punish me. ”
“Martin! ” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder.
I pushed her aside and stormed out of the house.
“Where are you going?” she called, but I ignored her.
I had to get out. Away from her eyes that told me I was guilty. Away from everyone that could see me and know what I had done.
But no matter where I walked that night, no place on earth was dark enough for me, the big brother who failed.
I felt like a ghost the next day as I walked to school. Though I crept back in around 3:00 a.m. , I didn’t sleep at all, and when I got to Mr. Mitchell’s class, I was late again. I hadn’t done my homework either.
I opened the door quietly and moved quickly to my chair in the back. I saw Steve, but I couldn’t be bothered with him.
“Mr. Luna. ” I heard Mr. Mitchell’s voice as I sat down. I recognized his tone. It was the one that meant you were in trouble.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let me guess. I’m busted ’cause I’m late, right?” I wasn’t going to play around; I knew what was coming.
“Is there a reason you’re late?” he asked, ignoring my comment.
Steve turned in his seat and stared at me. He had that satisfied grin on his face that told me he was enjoying me getting into trouble. Vicky looked back at me too, but then she turned away.
“No. I’m just late again,” I said. Several students looked puzzled, as if what I said was not in English.
“I see,” said Mr. Mitchell quickly. “Let’s discuss this after school. I’ve got an appointment today, so it’ll have to be tomorrow at 3:00. I’ll be looking for you. ”
“What for?” I challenged, standing up at my desk. I knew I should calm down, but I couldn’t.
The class got quiet, and I could feel everyone’s eyes crawling across me in my black shirt and jeans.
“You’re sure his name ain’t Martin Looney? He’s psycho,” Steve mumbled.
“Sit down, Martin. We can talk about this after class,” Mr. Mitchell said.
I wanted to throw my desk and hit Steve with my chair. I could almost see the look on his face as the chair crashed down on him. And yet, I knew Steve hadn’t done anything serious to me. Just words. That ain’t nothing. I was losing it. I don’t know how long I stood there, maybe five or ten seconds, before I sat back down in my seat.
Mr. Mitchell seemed relieved and instantly began his lesson. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, picked up my notebook and a pen and started acting like I was a student.
But I only wrote one word in my notebook: H U E R O.
Beneath the word, I drew eyes, my brother’s gentle bright eyes. The ones that I see every night staring at me from that bike.
After class, Mr. Mitchell called me to his desk.
“Are you okay, Martin?” he asked. He gave me this look like he was serious, but I wasn’t about to share my business with him.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just got a lot on my mind, that’s all. ”
“I know it’s not easy switching schools. How are you doing with everything here at Bluford?”
I felt like I was on one of those dumb news shows where the reporter walks up to someone whose house just burned down and says, ‘So how do you feel now that you have no place to live?’ I had to get away from this guy and his purple tie. This time with Bugs Bunny.
“School’s just perfect, Mr. Mitchell. Everything’s fine. I wouldn’t change a thing. ” I said it as sarcastically as possible, hoping he would take the hint and let me go. “I’m gonna be late for my next class,” I reminded him.
“Okay, Martin, I get it. But let me just say this. If you ever want to talk, or if there is something going on at home or in school that is affecting you, let me know. I’ve seen a few things in my time, and I may be able to help. ”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Mitchell,” I said, giving him my fake smile.
“Good. So I’ll see you on time for class tomorrow and then after school at 3:00, right?” He smiled this time. I nodded just to get him off my back.
“And don’t forget to bring your assignment to class too,” he said.
I left the classroom as soon as I could. The man made me feel like I was under a spotlight, and after everything that happened, all I wanted was to be in the shadows. I hung low the rest of the day, taking a few notes, blending into the back of the room, trying my best to pretend that the conversation with my mother never happened.
At gym class, I ran into Steve again. He was heading out of the locker room when I was going in.
“Hey, Looney,” he said. “That was quite a show you put on in Mr. Mitchell’s class. You gonna do that little stand-up thing in here too?” Before I could answer, he was gone.
I slammed my books in the gym locker. I didn’t want to lose it again.
“That guy is the biggest jerk,” said a voice from behind me. It was the same kid who Steve knocked down the day before.
“You got that right,” I said. “I don’t know how much more of that I can take. ”
“He’s been that way since middle school, but he’s gotten worse now that he’s the starting running back for the football team. We both live on the same block, but everyone treats him like he’s God or something. ”
“I don’t care who he is. If he keeps acting like that, he’s gonna get a surprise from me. ”
“Don’t mess with him. The football team’s kinda like a gang around here. ”
I almost laughed at the word. Gang. This boy didn’t know the meaning of the word.
“What’s your name?” the kid asked.
“Martin. Martin Luna. ”
“Wassup, Martin. I’m Eric,” he said, shaking my hand. “Eric Suarez. ”
I nea
rly fell over. The only other Eric I knew was my brother.
“You all right?” Eric asked.
“Yeah, I’m cool,” I said, pushing the memories back. “Let’s get to class. ”
“Hi, Martin. Did you finish your English assignment yet?”
The question caught me by surprise. It was the end of the day, and I was on the main steps leading out of the school. I turned to see Vicky. She was right behind me, wearing white jeans and a light blue jacket.
Teresa was standing with her. For a split second, she gave me this look. I’d seen it before from snobby girls that looked down at guys like me. I recognized it in her face just as plain as if she wore a shirt that said, “Martin Luna is no good. Stay away from him. ”
But Vicky looked good. Real good. The kind of girl you want to stare at even though you know better.
“No,” I said. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to say. The girls I usually hung out with at parties never talked about homework, and most of the girls at Zamora who were serious students didn’t pay attention to me or my friends.
“Me neither. ” Vicky spoke quickly, like she was nervous. “Everything I write seems cheesy, you know, the whole hero thing. I liked what you said yesterday in class, though. It was . . . real. ”
Her eyes were so intense. I knew she meant what she said. Just seeing her cleared the fog in my head for the first time that day.
“Okay, Vicky, I have to go. Call me later,” Teresa said, giving Vicky the what-are-you-talking-to-him-for look.
“See ya, T,” Vicky said.
I felt kind of dishonest because I hadn’t even thought about our English assignment. Yet Vicky made me want to think about it. Isn’t that weird? Frankie would have teased me if he knew this. You’re getting soft, homes, he’d say. Good thing he wasn’t there.
“I liked what you said too. I bet Steve didn’t like it too much,” I said. I wanted to see what she would do if I mentioned his name.
“Oh, don’t get me started on Steve. All that boy cares about is himself. It’s like everyone else exists just to tell him he’s great. When you stop doing that, he gets mad at you. ”
“Yeah, I seen some of that. He’s in my gym class,” I said as we passed the parking lot down the street from Bluford.
“Too bad for you,” she said with a smile.
“It’s all right. He don’t impress me. So what if he’s an athlete? I know people who would scare him off any football field. ”
Vicky glanced sideways as if something I said bothered her.
“You all right?” I asked.
“What is the problem with you guys?” she said. I could tell it was one of those questions she didn’t expect an answer to. “Everything’s always about winning and losing. Sure, it’s great to win, but then someone else has to lose, get hurt, or whatever. I’m sick of that. ”
She began to walk faster. I could see she was annoyed. There was this fire in her eyes. It actually made her look even prettier, though I knew not to say something like that.
“Are you saying I should buy Steve a flower each time he starts showing off?” I said, trying to make a joke.
“No,” she grumbled, giving me a playful shove. There was a tiny smile trying to break free on her face, but she was fighting it. “I’ll see you tomorrow in class,” she said, turning up the next street.
I watched her walk away, her long hair waving back at me with each step she took.
Chapter 5
I don’t know heroes. There is no Superman in my life. I stopped looking for that when I was a kid. It was better than being let down all the time. Almost two months ago, someone looked to me like I was a hero. He was Huero, my brother, and he’s gone now.
I scribbled the words in my English notebook after dinner and then slammed the book shut. I couldn’t believe I was writing. Who was I kidding? I knew what I wrote wasn’t what Mr. Mitchell wanted. And I’ll be honest with you. I was too scared to keep going. Just those few sentences made my hand shake like it does when I drink too much soda. I couldn’t go any further.
“It does my heart good to see you doing your homework, Martin,” my mom said, coming up behind me while I was sitting at the table.
She put her hand on my back like she did when I was little. For a second, I felt like I was eight years old again. I didn’t speak, but I didn’t push her hand away.
“It’s gonna be okay here for us, mijo,” she said. “I believe that. ”
I couldn’t talk because my words suddenly felt all knotted in my throat. The world seemed so twisted. I could have argued with my mother, but I didn’t. I don’t know why, but I just let her touch me, never mentioning our last conversation, which still hung in the air like an invisible shadow.
The next day I cut school.
I hadn’t exactly planned to do it. I’d even prepared to show Mr. Mitchell my paragraph, just to get him off my back. But when I got dressed and finally left our apartment, I just couldn’t get myself to go to the school. The closer I got, the harder each step became. Finally, I just turned around, went home, grabbed a few dollars, and headed to the bus station.
A few minutes later, I was sitting on a bus headed back to my old neighborhood. I figured once I got home I’d find Frankie, and we’d hang out. Just like old times, I told myself. But that was a lie. I knew old times ended when we buried Huero. Truth is I just needed to get away from the new apartment, the homework that made me shake, the teacher who got in my face, the pretty girl who challenged me.
I had to get away from Bluford.
After a thirty-minute ride, the bus was so crowded people had to stand in the aisle. Next to me, an elderly white woman carrying a bouquet of flowers struggled to steady herself. I smiled at her, and she turned away without a word, like she was scared of me.
Her look made me feel so low, you know. In her eyes, I was guilty, and she didn’t even know me. I couldn’t take it.
“Excuse me,” I said to her.
A bump shook the bus and she grabbed the edge of my seat. Her fingers looked like old tree roots that grow on top of the ground. But she didn’t acknowledge me.
“Ma’am? Excuse me,” I said again.
This time she turned around slowly. Again, her eyes were nervous.
“Would you like to sit down?” I said. “You can have my seat. ”
The woman hesitated. I knew it would be safer for her to sit, but I could see she felt the opposite. “Really, it’s okay,” I assured her. I needed her to believe me, to believe that I could do something good. Not just scare her.
“Why, yes. That would be nice,” she said finally, watching me carefully.
I got up and moved out of her way so she could sit. I am sure she was glad to have a busload of people around to watch over her.
Outside, the passing streets began to look familiar. I was getting close to home.
“Thank you,” I heard the woman say in a scratchy voice.
“You’re welcome, ma’am,” I said. I tried to act like it was no big deal. Up ahead, I saw the tall bell tower of our church, St. Ignatius. Huero’s grave was just a few blocks away. I hadn’t been there since the funeral.
The woman’s bundle of flowers rubbed against my arm, and I looked down at them.
“They’re for my husband,” she said. “He died three years ago. I was going to visit him last week, but I wasn’t up to it. Not always easy getting around when you get to be my age. You’ll see,” she said with a smile.
“I’m sorry about your husband, ma’am,” I said. I could feel that burning in my eyes again. I don’t know why it happened on the bus like that. Maybe the flowers were giving me allergies or something, I don’t know.
I couldn’t imagine living to be an old person. And I could not deal with the idea of being old without my little brother. I still can’t. I just had to visit him. As soon as the bus neared the cemetery, I pulled the cord signaling the driver to stop. When the door opened, I climbed down and saw the woman following me. She made her way down the
steps slowly, but her face seemed so determined I didn’t know whether I should help her. Still, I tried.
“Thank you for being such a gentleman,” she said politely. “You don’t see that much anymore. ”
“You’re welcome,” I said, looking at the sea of headstones stretching back from the road.
There’s too many dead people, Huero once said when we walked by the cemetery years ago. The comment seemed so funny at the time that I laughed out loud then. Now it just hurts.
“You don’t have to walk me there, son. I can manage it myself,” the lady said to me when she reached the street corner outside the gates. I think she still wasn’t totally sure about me.
“I’m here to see someone too, ma’am. ” I explained. “My little brother. ”
The woman’s face softened instantly, like inside some kind of switch had been flipped. Though I can stare down any dude on the street, I couldn’t look this old lady in the eye. Not then.
“Oh no,” she said, her voice fading off for a second. “No young person should have to go through such pain,” she said, putting her shaky veined hand on my arm. A second later, she reached into her flower bundle and pulled out a red rose. “Here, take this,” she insisted. “Give it to your brother. ”
I took the flower, but I couldn’t speak to thank her.
Together we made our way into the cemetery. The old woman went one way, and I went the other. We were two people who could not have been more different. But that morning I felt closer to the white-haired woman than anyone else I knew.
Ain’t that messed up?
At Huero’s headstone, I sat down on the ground and felt the warm earth under my legs. It was peaceful and quiet.
“I miss you, little brother,” I said out loud. I then told him what had happened since he died. I described the move and the new high school. I even mentioned Vicky just so Bluford wouldn’t sound too depressing.
“Me and Frankie are still tight,” I assured him as if it would be important to Huero. All Frankie ever really did was help me chase Huero away.