The Crossroads

by Alexandra Diaz

Jaime stared after Meesus, unable to believe it. How could she? Just after he’d been reunited with his friend. He focused on all the things he wanted to say, things he wanted to tell his friend, things he wanted to ask. Then he thought about Xavi. He didn’t want to be the one to tell her that Vida had returned without him.

  • • •

  The final bell rang and Meesus stood in her usual spot by the door to shake everyone’s hands as they left. When Jaime got to her, she pulled his phone out of her cardigan pocket and waved it as a warning.

  “Tomorrow, do not use your phone during class.”

  “Yes, Meesus.”

  She placed it in his hand then her face softened from the usual stern glare. “I’m glad your friend is alive. It gives me hope for other immigrants and refugees.”

  “Yes, Meesus.” Jaime nodded. It gave him hope too.

  Jaime buried his nose in the phone and almost crashed into other kids a few times as he walked to the bus. There were more emails from Joaquín.

  What is your number? Here’s mine. Or do you have Skype on your phone?

  I forgot I have swimming lessons after school. Dinnertime?

  I’m so glad you contacted me! Can’t wait to talk to you!

  Once on the bus, Jaime asked Sean to wait while he replied.

  The teacher took my phone. I don’t know if I have Skype, I’ll have to ask Tomás. Call me when you’re free. The reception where I live is not always good but keep trying. See you then!

  It was only once he’d sent the e-mail that he realized Ángela still hadn’t replied to his text.

  Fine, she could ignore him, but to take it out on sweet Joaquín? Not cool. He sent her another text in case she never received the first one.

  Joaquín has been emailing me all day. We’re going to talk at dinnertime. Try to be home by then! Por fa.

  He included the plea Ángela often used when she was desperate for something. While it always worked on Jaime, his begging didn’t have the same effect on her.

  • • •

  Ángela didn’t reply and she didn’t come home on time.

  Tomás set Jaime up with his own Skype account on Jaime’s phone, but reminded him that without Wi-Fi they had limited data usage per month, so to keep the call to fifteen minutes or less.

  “We don’t want to miss out on a Skype call to our parents whenever they can afford it,” Tomás reminded him. His own phone beeped with a message. He opened it with a smile and quickly responded before putting the phone back in his pocket.

  Jaime shifted himself at the table, checked the volume on the phone, and then made sure it had reception. Two bars. Tomás said that was as good as it got.

  “When do you think Joaquín will call?” Jaime’s friend had just said dinnertime, and when he sent the information about his Skype address, Jaime hadn’t gotten a reply back.

  Tomás checked his phone again and sent another quick text before answering. “You said you think Joaquín is in San Diego. If that’s the case, they’re an hour behind.”

  So he’d have to wait even longer? Jaime didn’t know if he could bear it.

  Tomás’s phone buzzed a third time. Jaime checked his own phone. Bars still present, but no incoming Skype calls.

  “Who keeps texting you?” Jaime asked.

  “Gen.”

  “Meez Macálista? But I didn’t do anything wrong.” Had Meesus mentioned the phone in class at a teachers’ meeting? Or that he had ignored her when she wanted him to sit back down during Joaquín’s video?

  “It’s all good, hermanito.” And Tomás took his phone and Vida outside with him. Weird.

  Jaime pulled out his new sketchbook that Sean had given him so they could continue their comic. He erased Seme’s tank wheels from the last drawing he’d made on the bus, only to draw them again in the exact same place they had been. He did that in a few more places, making only the slightest changes, when at last his phone chimed with an incoming Skype call. He dropped the pencil on the table and tapped the video icon on the phone the way Tomás had showed him, careful not to move from the one spot he knew they had good reception.

  And then there he—she was. Not quite flesh and blood, but in real-time screen and technology. Black short hair—that no longer looked like it had been cut in the dark—fastened by a pink clip, probably to look more girlish. Wide, half scared eyes that had looked at Ángela like a long lost mother.

  “¡Hola!”

  “¡Hola!”

  For a few seconds they just stared, smiled, and waved.

  Finally Jaime broke the silence. “So, uh, how are you?”

  “Good, how are you?”

  “Good.”

  More silence. Jaime looked at the time. They’d already wasted three minutes saying nothing. He had to say something. “In the video, you said your name is Jessica. But to me you’re Joaquín.”

  She had a shy, pretty smile. A smile he only remembered seeing after Vida had found him and Ángela sleeping under an abandoned car. In their short time together, there had been little to smile about. “Both are right. My full name is Jessica Joaquín Morales Ortega, after my father who died before I was born. You can call still me Joaquín if you’d like.”

  She fiddled with the pink hair clip and a question came out of Jaime’s mouth before he realized it.

  “So, are you really a girl or are you a boy or . . . I mean, it doesn’t matter, I just—” He stopped before he continued to shove his foot farther into his mouth. Some people, he knew, were different genders than the one they were assigned to at birth and preferred going by “he” instead of “she,” or vice versa. That was fine. He could call someone whatever they wanted and it wasn’t his business to know the details. Joaquín was his friend, and that’s all that mattered.

  His friend once again smiled shyly. “It’s okay. Yes, I am a girl. I pretended to be a boy to stay safe on the journey after my mamá died. When you’re a boy, people have more confidence in your abilities, they don’t question you as much. As a girl, some people are nicer, but others think they can take advantage of you. I don’t like how people treat me differently. Whether I’m a boy or girl, I’m still me.”

  What she said made sense. Hadn’t he automatically assumed that Mel, as a woman, would work in the kitchen and not as a cowgirl?

  “How’s Ángela?” Joaquin asked.

  Jaime rolled his eyes and explained how Ángela ignored him and had all these new friends and was always showing off with them.

  “And Xavi and Vida? Are they still with you?”

  Jaime looked out the window. The dog was nowhere in sight but that didn’t mean she was gone. Was there any chance the same could be said about Xavi? He took a deep breath.

  “We got attacked and separated. Vida came back. She’s with us, learning how to herd cows, and sleeps with Ángela every night. She’s outside with Tomás right now. But Xavi . . .” Jaime just shook his head, unable to say more. Even after so many weeks, he didn’t want to think about what happened to their friend.

  “Do you think it would have been different if Xavi had come with me?” The voice was quiet and more like the Joaquín Jaime remembered.

  “I don’t know,” Jaime said. “But I miss him.”

  “Me too.”

  “Ángela doesn’t though.”

  “I’m sure she does.”

  “No. She never wants to talk about him or—” Jaime was about to add that she never wanted to talk about anyone from their journey, but didn’t want to hurt Joaquín’s feelings. “She has a new boyfriend. She sat on his lap the other day on a bus. In my family, you only do that with a boyfriend. And even then, only if you’re old, like twenty, and engaged.”

  “Maybe it’s easier for her to forget everything that’s happened.”

  Jaime shook his head. “I can’t forget.”

  “No, me neither.” Joaquín rested her chin on her arms perched on the desk. “But other than that, are you okay?”

  “Sometimes,” Jaime admitted. “And then I remem
ber I’m not home.”

  • • •

  “¡Ángela!” Jaime rushed to the driver’s door with Vida at his heels and tried to pull his cousin out of her friends’ car. “Acabo de hablar con Joaquín.”

  “Who’s Joaquín?” Tristan leaned over from the passenger side.

  Jaime gave him a dirty look. “Ángela, vamos.”

  “I need to say good-bye to my friends,” she replied in English.

  “No,” Jaime insisted, still pulling her arm and talking to her in Spanish. “There’s so much to tell you.”

  “Alright, let go, I’m coming,” she said, still in English. She gathered her things and then made a huge puckering sound at Tristan.

  He blew her a kiss back. “Loves you, babe.”

  Jaime considered reaching into the car to throttle Tristan, but managed to restrain himself.

  “Loves you too. Bye guys!” Ángela closed the door as the new driver took over. As soon as music could be heard thumping from within the car and it started driving away, Ángela turned to Jaime, her face right in his. In the fading sunlight, her expression shone red.

  “What is your problem? Why are you so determined to make me look bad in front of my friends and ruin the one thing I have going for me?” she shouted at him. In Spanish. At last!

  Jaime stood his ground. “Those kids are not your friends. They’re disrespectful to you and others.”

  “You’re the one being disrespectful.”

  “Me? I tell you that Joaquín, nuestra amiga, is alive and I’ve talked to her and you don’t even ask about her. You’re there all the time kissing Tristan. It’s like you don’t even care any more. Everything we went through on the way here, the people we met, Joaquín, Xavi. No one and nothing matters to you.”

  “How can you say that?” Ángela said low and menacing.

  Jaime threw his hands in the air. “Because it’s the truth. You don’t even talk to me anymore. And when you do, it’s in English.”

  Ángela gave him a look that said he was crazy and stormed into the trailer, slamming the door so hard it bounced and reopened. Vida stayed with him looking from the trailer to him as if she didn’t understand what was happening either.

  Ángela came out a second later with something in her hand. She waved it around in front of his face before slapping it in his hand.

  “What’s this?” Jaime started to ask but stopped short. It was a letter with a Salvadoran stamp. There was only one person they knew from El Salvador.

  His hand shook as he pulled out the letter. It was written in fancy, loopy cursive that took some getting used to before he was able to read what it said.

  Mi querida Ángela,

  I can’t tell you what a pleasure it was to receive your letter. I get very little correspondence and it was only by some miracle that your letter came to me—I have treated the postman for ailments before and therefore he knows where I live. The fact that you made the effort to find me shows what a caring person you are and it’s no wonder you befriended my grandson, Xavier.

  Xavier has always had everyone’s best intentions at heart and is very protective of those he cares about. He left to keep me safe and the fact that he wanted to save the dog doesn’t surprise me at all. The two of you sound like a great pair. I hope that some day I may meet you in person.

  I have not heard from Xavier since the day he left. I know his journey has not been an easy one. But I also know he is not lost to this world. No black birds have circled my house, the sure sign of death in the family. That boy has a strong and long lifeline on his palm and there are a great many things left for him to accomplish. Some day he’ll send word of his safety.

  In the meantime, keep positive and keep in touch. An old lady like me doesn’t get many letters and it would be nice to hear more stories about the time you and my grandson were together.

  Love and blessings,

  Encarnación Alfaro

  Jaime read the letter twice and then read sections a third time. Not lost to this world Strong and long lifeline.

  It took a few more minutes before he found his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Ángela folded the letter carefully and replaced it into the envelope. “Tomás gave it to me yesterday. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

  “Do you think she’s right? That Xavi’s still alive?” Jaime remembered the gang members chasing them in trucks while swinging baseball bats and machetes. He remembered how Xavi had saved Vida’s life and how Vida loved that boy. The dog wouldn’t have come back if Xavi weren’t gone.

  But maybe “gone” meant “taken away” in one of those trucks. . . .

  “I don’t know.” Ángela sighed. “ ‘No black birds have circled my house’? That doesn’t mean anything.”

  Maybe, but maybe not. Who were they to know what anything meant? And hadn’t he seen a black bird take flight when Abuela died? “She’s a curandera. She has powers like a bruja.”

  “So she thinks.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I just know it will be harder to believe her, and then have it turn out she’s wrong.” Tears ran down Ángela’s cheeks.

  Jaime grasped at the first thought to try and cheer her up. “Maybe one day he’ll come riding over the ridge on a white horse and—”

  “Really? A white horse?” Ángela rolled her eyes at him. “Though that would be amazing.” A small smile crept onto her teary face.

  Jaime returned her grin before turning back to the letter. “Tell me everything. How did you find her?”

  “Remember how we went to the library the first few days we were here? You and Tomás—”

  “Looked at DVDs,” Jaime remembered. He’d been in awe that the rural library let you borrow up to six DVDs (and endless books), and didn’t ask you to pay anything.

  “Well, I spent the whole time Googling her. I knew she was the curandera and Xavi once mentioned the name of his village. I didn’t find much, not even her name, so I wrote a letter, addressing it to ‘La Curandera,’ and sent it to the village without any street address. I never thought it would get to her, much less that she would write back.” Ángela stroked the envelope.

  “Are you going to write her again?”

  “Yes, but in a while. It’s too hard at the moment.”

  He imagined an old woman with long tangled gray hair clutching Ángela’s letter with a cup of tea while seeing no signs of black birds in the sky. Just that thought comforted him and he hoped it comforted Xavi’s abuela too. “So you do care.”

  “It’s easier to pretend I don’t. To not get my hopes up. I’m so glad Joaquín is alive, but Miguel and Abuela aren’t. And who knows about Xavi? It just seems so unfair.”

  Jaime put his arm around his cousin and she rested her head on his shoulder. He held her for several moments until the sleeve of his school uniform became damp. “Do you think Miguel and Abuela blame us for their deaths? Or Xavi for whatever happened to him?”

  Several minutes passed before Ángela finally shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t think so. Miguel and Abuela fought to protect their family. They wouldn’t have had it any other way. And Xavi looked out for everyone. I don’t think we could have changed any of their minds. So, no. I don’t think they blame us.”

  “They were too stubborn,” Jaime admitted.

  Ángela pushed away from his shoulder. “Abuela was. But Miguel would nag relentlessly until he got his way. Kind of like you, jodón.”

  Jaime grinned. Sure he could be a pain, but if it meant getting Ángela out of her slump, he’d be the biggest pain he could be. He did learn from Miguel, after all.

  “So, what did Joaquín say? Or I guess she has another name?” Ángela asked.

  “Come inside.” Jaime grabbed her hand and hurried them back to the trailer, desperate to show her Joaquin’s YouTube video. “Doña Cici brought over a tray of green chile chicken cheese enchiladas that smell amazing. And don’t you dare say you won’t like it. S
he made sure to use mild green chiles.”

  Ángela stopped resisting. “That does sound good. And for the record, Tristan and I are not together. He likes boys.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Diego stood in the school parking lot with his arms crossed when Jaime’s bus pulled in.

  Sean tugged Jaime’s shirt and pointed, though a shiver had already run down Jaime’s spine.

  “It’s about time you got here,” Diego said in English.

  “I thought you were suspended,” Jaime answered in Spanish.

  “I am.”

  Jaime braced himself for the insults. The snide remarks about no one caring about him and not having a real home. The comments he’d come to realize pinpointed his deepest fears.

  But Diego said none of that now. He glanced at a few teachers standing by the front doors and then at Sean, who stood next to Jaime like a bodyguard.

  “Can you go away?” Diego said to Sean in English and then blushed a deep red when Sean only shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  “What do you want?” Jaime asked in Spanish, feeling braver with his friend at his side.

  Diego twisted his face in a scowl and then held out a notebook. The cover was made of a purple, green, and blue striped cloth instead of thin cardboard. Even without opening it, Jaime could tell the paper was thick and able to hold paints without it seeping through.

  “Para ti.”

  Jaime shook his head. “No lo quiero.”

  “Oh, come on,” Diego switched back to English. “I paid thirty-five dollars for it from my Lego Death Star savings. It’s a real artist’s sketchbook. Not like that three-dollar one you got at Walmart.”

  Jaime stared at him with his mouth slightly open, and not because he hadn’t understood. He got every single word of the so-called apology.

  “You don’t get it,” Jaime said in Spanish. “I can’t replace those drawings. I drew a picture of my abuela on the day she died so I would remember her. Sean and I spent days working on a project together. None of that can come back.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Diego looked down as if he were sorry, but Jaime didn’t expect him to get it. “Did your abuela really die?”