The Crossroads

by Alexandra Diaz

  “Hi, Sean.” Except Jaime said it with a wave and finger spelling S-E-A-N. Sean’s eyes widened and his mouth opened into a grin so huge he could have been an anime character. A second later Sean’s right hand flashed in a series of signs. This time Jaime’s eyes widened and mouth dropped. Too fast, too new. His brain raced as he tried to figure out what Sean had said. No clue.

  Sean’s smile turned into a kind and understanding one as he repeated his spelling signs slow enough for a turtle to get it. H-O-L-A, J-A-I-M-E.

  Jaime’s dropped mouth turned to a smile. His friend “spoke” Spanish! Or at least he knew how to spell “hola” correctly. Jaime dug into his backpack for his sketchbook and drew the two of them—Sean with blond hair and lots of freckles and himself with black hair and no freckles. Underneath he wrote “amigos” because “friends” was too hard to spell. Sean pointed to the word and then linked his pointer fingers one on top of the other, and then switched which finger was on top to do it again. Then he pointed to Jaime before tapping his own chest and did the finger linking sign again. Jaime nodded and repeated Sean’s sign. Yes, we’re friends.

  With nothing left to say, Sean eagerly tapped the back of the sketchbook. Maybe it was time to introduce a new character in The Adventures of Seme.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Legs stuck out from under the table when Jaime entered the trailer after school.

  “Good, you’re home,” Tomás’s legs said while the rest of his body seemed to be swallowed by the table. “Hold the table up so I can fix this.”

  Jaime dropped his bag and braced the table, glad that after a week of eating on their laps, Tomás finally had the mechanism to fix it. He wanted to tell Tomás about Sean “speaking” sign language. How even though they didn’t talk, they understood each other perfectly. And how he wished other people would be so easy to understand. Diego. Immigration officers.

  Ángela.

  “I have potential good news and potential bad news,” Tomás said before Jaime could tell him about his day. Jaime took a deep breath. Nothing good ever came from such a line.

  “Don Vicente stole a horse and escaped out of the detention center?” he asked in an attempt to keep the tone light.

  It worked.

  “You’re like me. You watch too much tele,” Tomás said, laughing.

  Jaime wanted to say it wasn’t televisión, it’s what happened in an episode of The Adventures of Seme. Except Seme still couldn’t ride on a horse with his tank wheels so he’d held onto the horse’s tail while making a rattler noise to scare the horse into running off.

  “But it does have to do with Don Vicente,” Tomás continued.

  Jaime grasped the table extra tight to make sure it didn’t pinch his brother’s fingers. “Okay.”

  “So, I misunderstood. The lawyer has set up a trial, which is good, but it’s only to get him out of jail. It doesn’t mean that he won’t still get deported later on. It’s called a bail bond hearing.” Tomás pressed against the table to tighten a screw.

  “Basically,” Tomás continued, “if the judge thinks Don Vicente is an honorable man and won’t disappear, they will release him from the detention center and he can come back to the ranch until he gets summoned for another trial, and then they will decide whether he gets to stay permanently or not. Chances are not good that he’ll get to stay, but they’re so backed up, and deporting actual criminals is much more important, so it could be a couple of years before the deportation trial takes place.”

  Tomás was right. Definite potential for things to go in many ways. Don Vicente might still get deported, but in years. Years. Jaime’s own life had changed the moment Miguel had been murdered. So much could change in years. “But he gets to come home in the meantime?”

  “If the judge thinks he’s trustworthy,” Tomás repeated. “If not, then he stays in jail, but would most likely be moved to a different facility, maybe thousands of miles away, where they have more space.”

  We can’t let that happen. But how do you prove someone is trustworthy? Jaime wondered. It wasn’t like Don Vicente went around with a camera recording his every move like in reality shows (and everyone knew those weren’t “real” anyway). Still, there had to be a way. “So he’ll only get moved if this hearing doesn’t go well. That means we just have to convince the judge to let him go.”

  “And then a lot of money has to be paid to make sure Don Vicente attends his deportation trial. See if the table holds.”

  Jaime let go of the table. It stayed upright, but that hardly seemed important.

  “I can help raise the money. I’ve sold my art before,” Jaime reminded his brother. Of course that had been to gringo tourists in Ciudad Juárez, and out here in the middle of ranchland, there were no tourists but . . . “And at school we have these things called ‘bake sales’ which all the kids love. I’m sure Doña Cici will make—”

  Tomás slithered out from under the table and put his arm around his little brother, giving him a playful shove. “A bond is usually set at several thousand dollars. That’s a lot of cookies and sketches. But don’t worry about that. Mr. George may be a lot of things I don’t like, but he’s always been fair where money is concerned. He’ll take care of covering the bond.”

  “¡Perfecto!” What was the problem then with all this “potential” business? This sounded fantastic. Sure, there was still the deportation trial, but they had years to figure something out.

  Tomás dropped his arm from around Jaime. “We need to get him out of jail first, and there’s no guarantee they’ll let him go, even with a good lawyer and the money. Especially if he’s been talking to other inmates about riding off into the sunset.”

  “You know about that?”

  “Don Vicente has been saying that for as long as I’ve known him. A guard might interpret that as him running away.”

  Jaime shook his head. He couldn’t blame the old man. Riding into the sunset did seem a better option than being in a detention center.

  Somehow, Jaime would have to prove that Don Vicente wasn’t riding off anytime soon. That he was an important and valued member of the community, that he loved the ranch and had no reason to leave it. But how could he convince a judge of that? Jaime’s English was no good, and even in Spanish he doubted he could make a compelling case.

  He pulled out his sketchbook and began doodling sketches of Don Vicente on Pimiento to help him think—the old man picking him up at the bus stop so he wouldn’t have to walk back alone and waiting on the ridge while he mourned Abuela. There had to be a way to show the judge what a great person Don Vicente was.

  An idea began to form in his mind, based on stories Don Vicente had told him when they rode home together. But it would require a lot of work.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Meez Macálista kept her promise. After the midmorning break on Monday, there were special guests in Jaime’s classroom.

  “Hi S-E-A-N!” Jaime signed to his friend. “What are you doing?”

  He’d learned that sign almost by accident: It was what Sean had asked that morning when Jaime had passed him on the bus to tell that Tristan jerk to leave Ángela alone because he’d been holding Ángela’s hands in his as if he were about to propose. But Jaime could only tell him off in Spanish and Ángela had told Jaime to mind his own business. In English.

  Jaime supposed the sign could have meant, “Where are you going?” instead, since that could have fit in with the context as well, but Sean didn’t give him a strange look now. Instead, the other boy signed back his greeting but then shrugged like he had a secret and wasn’t going to tell.

  Cool, Jaime could wait. He pulled out his sketchbook from his desk and flipped it to the back side where they were creating The Adventures of Seme. He’d just sketched out Seme when Meesus called the class’s attention. Jaime closed the book, but kept his pencil inside to mark the page.

  “Class, we have two guests with us today.” Meesus stood in front of the room with her arms crossed as if challeng
ing anyone to misbehave and make her look bad. “Some of you might know Sean. He’s in seventh grade and is here with his teacher and sign language interpreter, Mr. Mike.”

  During all of this, the interpreter signed to Sean all the words Meesus said. This Meester Mike, a round man who seemed young even though his dark brown hair was thinning, moved his hands and made facial expressions as if he were acting or dancing. Jaime would much rather watch Meester Mike’s signs than listen to boring Meesus whom he didn’t understand half the time anyway. With sign language at least, it seemed like he didn’t have to know each sign to get the meaning.

  “Because Sean goes to our school,” Meesus continued, alternating between looking at Sean, Meester Mike, and her class, “we thought it would be good for you to know how to communicate with a deaf person.”

  Sean began signing to his interpreter, who in turn spoke to the class as if he were Sean.

  “Hi everyone, I’m Sean. Next time you pass me in the hall and want to say ‘hi,’ that’d be nice. Just make sure I know you’re there. If I can’t see you, it’s okay to tap my shoulder to get my attention. That’s not rude. Just like I’m not being rude if I do the same to get your attention.” Sean tapped Meesus on the shoulder and preceded to shake her hand in greeting, just like she made everyone in her class do at the beginning and end of every day. Meesus smiled and then gave her class a look that said she wished they were all so polite.

  “I don’t want him touching me. What if deafness is contagious?” Diego mumbled. Jaime gave him a dirty look, but said nothing. Learning comebacks in English had not been on the top of Meesus’s vocabulary list. Besides, something about the acoustics in the room seemed to allow Diego to say things from his desk that Meesus never heard. Jaime wasn’t sure it worked the same from his location by the window.

  “We’re going to show you the alphabet, which is the most basic thing in American Sign Language, and very useful. Even if you don’t know the sign for something, you can spell it out,” Meester Mike continued to translate Sean’s signs.

  “Assuming you know how to spell,” Diego muttered and again Meesus didn’t hear. Though somehow Sean did, or else he just randomly turned to give Diego a well-deserved dirty look.

  “It’s okay if you can’t spell well,” Meester Mike spoke and signed at the same time so everyone would understand. “Even in the deaf community, we often skip letters deliberately to sign faster. Just like some people text words that aren’t spelled correctly.”

  Sean and Meester Mike proceeded to show everyone the alphabet. Jaime paid attention to the first round, just to make sure he remembered the video he’d seen with Meez Macálista, and watched everyone else. He noticed Carla, who had immediately moved on to spelling her name, C-S-R-L-S. Without thinking about it, Jaime went to her desk and showed her a fist with his fingers flat against his palm and thumb up.

  “Letter Ah ees like deez.” He then changed his hand to a fist with his fingers curled in and the thumb across the fingers for an S. “Deez ees letter Eh-seh.”

  “Like this?” Carla showed him her letter A. He moved her thumb a fraction (though he had no idea if it mattered) and then nodded.

  “Perfecto,” he said as if he hadn’t learned the alphabet himself just a few days ago. He waved his hand in the air to get Sean’s attention. Once his friend was looking at him, he pointed at Carla and then raised his eyebrows in question and did a thumbs-up. Carla spelled her name for Sean and got a thumbs-up from the master. As her teacher, Jaime took partial credit for her success.

  “Thanks,” Carla said.

  Jaime tapped his fingers on his chin and extended his hand out in gratitude too before returning to his seat.

  Sean and Meester Mike went around the room helping people with their signs while Meesus tried to print out the American Sign Language alphabet for them to take home. Jaime didn’t need to guess too hard to know she planned on quizzing them on the alphabet tomorrow—she liked her quizzes. He opened up his sketchbook again to finish the panel of Seme cornered by a huge blob-like creature who stared at Seme in stupefied wonder.

  Sean came over, as Jaime knew he would, but before he began to write the comic’s dialogue, he pointed to Carla and then wrote on a small reporter-type notebook he pulled out of his pocket, She’s pretty.

  Jaime blushed and wrote back, Yes.

  She likes you too.

  ¿Yes? He looked over at her. Carla turned her head and signed, Hi J-A-I-M-E, correctly this time. He gave her another thumbs-up and quickly dropped his head back to his sketchbook while Sean nudged him in the ribs.

  Sean tapped him to look up and motioned for the sketchbook. Jaime slid it over for Sean to add the dialogue while peering over his friend’s shoulder. Carla was now signing hi to the girl next to her while Meesus tried to remove the paper jammed in the printer. He returned his eyes to the sketchbook but didn’t get a chance to read what Sean had written.

  “Look, it’s Dumb and Dumber,” Diego said just loud enough so a few kids heard.

  “Cállate,” Jaime said under his breath and gave Diego an evil look. But he couldn’t say any more. He was right about the audio imbalance in the room. Meesus looked up from the printer right at him even though Jaime thought he’d been extra quiet. The printer beeped and the teacher’s attention went back to the job at hand.

  When Jaime tried to read the comic for a second time, Sean had his notebook on top of the drawing with different words instead. What did he say?

  Jaime shook his head. He didn’t want to exclude Sean, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings either. Besides, he didn’t know how to spell it. Instead he wrote, It bad. He bad boy.

  Sean stood and leaned over his notebook to scribble his message before walking away with it in hand. Don’t look, it had said.

  Which of course meant Jaime had to watch. Sean headed over to Diego all smiles, pointed at Diego, snapped his fingers, and then touched his chin with one hand before lowering it face down. Diego’s eyes shifted uneasily around the room, not knowing if he was being told off or complimented. Sean smiled wider and repeated his signs before writing the meaning in his notebook.

  Diego read it out loud, “ ‘You’re good with signs.’  Yeah, I guess I am.” He repeated the signs Sean had done a few times, but changed “you’re” to “I’m” by tapping his chest so that his signs became “I’m good with signs.”

  Except all the finger snapping caught Meester Mike’s attention and he waved his arms to stop. “Careful, you’re signing that you’re a bad dog. What were you trying to say?”

  Jaime drew his attention back to his sketchbook and pretended to add a shadow under Seme’s wheels. His skin prickled with the glare Diego sent him, as if it had been his idea for Sean to call him a bad dog.

  “Nothing,” Diego said to Meester Mike. “I was just repeating something I saw on TV.”

  The hairs on Jaime’s neck rose as he felt Diego stare at him again.

  Twenty-four copies of the American Sign Language alphabet finally in hand, Meesus passed out the sheets and told them there’d be a quiz tomorrow. Yup, Jaime knew it.

  “Now class, when you pass Sean at school or even around town, you can say hi. Does anyone have any questions for Sean before he returns to his class?”

  “How old are you?” asked this girl Autumn who Jaime never spoke to but seemed nice enough.

  Meester Mike signed the question to Sean and then again spoke Sean’s response as if he were the boy. “I’m twelve. My birthday is at the end of the summer.”

  Freddie then raised his hand and waited for Sean to point to him. “How long did it take you to learn ASL?”

  “I knew basic signs before most people learn to speak. Things like ‘milk,’ ‘more,’ and ‘all done.’ My parents are hearing people and we all learned together. When Mr. Mike started teaching me, I learned more. But just like you don’t know all the words in English, I don’t know all the signs in ASL.”

  Without waiting to be called on, Diego leaned back with hi
s arms across his chest. “What’s it like not being able to hear anything?”

  Of course he would ask that.

  Sean made some kind of sign that involved putting his hand to his head. Meester Mike signed something back with a slight shake of his head, like he didn’t want to verbalize what Sean had expressed. The two had a quick debate, hands flying in every direction and Sean frowning until the boy sighed and signed something else.

  “Sorry, I got confused with a sign that looks similar but means something completely different,” Meester Mike covered up and then returned to interpreting. “Now talking for Sean, I’ve never been able to hear so I don’t know what I’m missing.”

  But that had not been what Sean said the first time; the signs were completely different. Jaime wondered if (or rather hoped) Sean had signed some clever comeback like, “What’s it like not being able to think anything?”

  Perhaps sensing that the questions might get more insensitive, Meesus started to wave both hands by the side of her head, the deaf sign for applause, and encouraged everyone to do the same.

  “Thank you, S-E-A-N,” Meesus spoke and signed at the same time. Sean waved at the class, and Jaime could have sworn he let out a sigh of relief as he left the room.

  Meesus closed the door behind Sean and Meester Mike before beginning a lecture about sensitivity and being respectful to people who are different. Too many words Jaime didn’t understand. Besides, sneaking a look at his sketchbook to finally read Sean’s dialogue for Seme in the land of the bug-eyed blob was more interesting.

  “No sign of evolution, no sign of intelligent life forms.”

  The bell rang for lunch.

  He snapped his sketchbook closed and stashed it in his desk before joining his classmates. He wasn’t sure what “sign” meant in this context, but he had a feeling the comment described Diego perfectly.