The Crossroads

by Alexandra Diaz

  “Don Vicente always help people, says all people his family. Here, Don Vicente make arnés—”

  The interpreter immediately responded with the similar word in English. “Harness.”

  “Yes. He make harness and put televisión on horse. Take tele to sick friend. Sixty years, friend still have tele.”

  A chuckle came from the back of the room. Meester George shook his head in disbelief as he suddenly realized what happened to the wedding present his parents had given the old man.

  The judge herself smiled as she continued to thumb through the other drawings and testimonies. When she came to the end, she handed the book back to Jaime. “You drew all of these?”

  “Yes, judge,” he nodded.

  “You’re very good at depicting events through your art.”

  “Tank you. I want show Don Vicente good man. Important man.”

  The judge leaned forward slightly and pushed her reading glasses up her nose as she looked at him. “And why do you call him ‘Don Vicente’?”

  Jaime didn’t blink. “In Spanish, ‘don’ eez for ‘respect,’ ‘doña’ is respect for woman. Everyone respect and love Don Vicente.”

  The judge nodded. “You may return to your seat.”

  Jaime stood and extended his hand like he did with Meesus at school. “Tank you, Doña Judge.”

  She tilted her head in surprise before accepting his handshake. Walking back to his chair, Meester George mimed clapping while Tomás tried to hide his embarrassment with his hand.

  “You’re lucky you’re a cute kid,” Tomás mumbled.

  “I was just being polite—” he whispered back.

  The judge glanced through the papers in front of her one last time before looking up to address the whole room. “After reviewing this case, reading the character references, and experiencing such captivating drawings, it is my decision to release Vicente Delgado on the proposed four thousand dollars bond.”

  A cheer exploded in the courtroom. The inmates who understood English clapped Don Vicente on the back. The old man stood, shook Señora Mariño’s hand, and left the courtroom with a guard.

  “Wait, where is he going?” Jaime asked.

  “He’s changing back into his regular clothes.” Tomás put his arm around Jaime in his rough, teasing way. “You didn’t think they’d let him keep the orange jumpsuit, did you?”

  Señora Mariño gathered her files and with a proud smile started heading toward them. Every inmate in the room extended a hand to her. She passed out her business card to each one while the other lawyer hid her sulking by hiding in her disorganized avalanche of files.

  They exited the same way they came—through the white lockdown room, and bypassed the metal detectors to the waiting area by the front doors. There stood an office with a window where Meester George handed over the bank-issued check he had gotten the day before and signed the papers presented to him.

  “You were great, Jaime,” Señora Mariño said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll see each other soon as we start preparing your application for the Special Immigrant Juvenile Visa.”

  Jaime opened his mouth to say something and then shut it. Señora Mariño must have read his mind, because she whispered, “Tomás told me you don’t know if you want to stay here.” Jaime shifted from one foot to the other. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful for everything his family and Meester George had done, but . . .

  Señora Mariño looked Jaime in the eye and said, “Just because we get you papers doesn’t mean you have to stay here forever. Maybe things in Guatemala will change and it’ll be safe for you to return or even just visit your parents.”

  “¿De verdad puedo visitar a mis padres?” he repeated her words in awe.

  “Claro,” she reassured. “Once your papers are in order you can leave and return to the United States whenever you like. You can even choose not to return if you don’t want to, but at least then that will be your choice, instead of the choice being made for you.”

  The possibility of visiting his parents changed everything. To be able to see them again, and still return to live safely with Tomás if he wanted. He thought that could only happen in his imagination.

  “Do I need to worry about qualifying for this Juvenile Visa thing?” Jaime asked.

  “Do you trust me?” she asked back.

  “Yes, definitely.”

  She winked. “Then you don’t have to worry, mi’jo. We’re going to make sure you get to stay as long as you like.”

  She said good-bye to Meester George and Tomás and left.

  • • •

  Prison had not done Don Vicente any favors. Even with his cowboy hat back on, he seemed too old, too weak. Nothing like the man who spent all day on a horse, and all night with birthing cows. His chest sunk in like a hollow crevice and yet he seemed to have finally gained weight and developed a belly; his beaded belt that Sani had made for him was two notches looser. Again Jaime noticed how he didn’t hold himself as straight as he used to, making him smaller and frailer than he had been.

  Meester George greeted him first with a handshake and a pat on the shoulder. “We’ve missed you, Cente.”

  “Gracias, hijo Por todo.”

  They stood like that for a few seconds until Meester George nodded and released his hand.

  Then Tomás grabbed the old man in a tight hug and didn’t hide his tears. “You know how crazy it’s been without you? Don’t ever leave me again, me oyes?”

  “Next time, listen to me when I say Manuel Vega’s herd ain’t worth their salt.”

  Tomás buried his face in the old man’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have taken that road. I didn’t mean . . .”

  “I don’t blame you.” Don Vicente patted his back like he did to his horse Pimiento. “Who knew they would be there? I was so grumpy, I know you were just trying to get me home sooner.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “There’s nothing to make up. We’re going home now. That’s all that matters.”

  Tomás let him go and blinked like he was agreeing, but Jaime knew his brother better than that. Knew that Tomás would do things, even if they were little things, to make sure the old man knew how much he cared.

  Jaime walked slowly to Don Vicente and wrapped his arms around the old man. His shoulder blades and spine poked Jaime’s hands. Don Vicente rubbed Jaime’s back as if it were Jaime who needed the comforting.

  “It was very brave of you to come here. The judge liked you,” the old cowboy said.

  Jaime smiled. “I wanted to make a difference. I had to try.”

  “And you succeeded. Your art is very moving.” Don Vicente reached into his pocket and pulled out not only the two drawings Jaime had sent him, but the sketch Jaime had done quickly before they went to look at the bull calf. The sketch of Don Vicente on Pimiento.

  “You kept it!”

  “It’s what made me wake up every day and not aim for the sunset.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  They stopped for some food on the way back (hamburgers for Don Vicente and Meester George and pizza for Tomás and Jaime. Pizza!) and then continued on to the ranch. They let Don Vicente ride shotgun with Meester George while Jaime and Tomás shared the cramped back seat. Meester George talked endlessly in English about his new grandchild while Don Vicente replied in Spanish. Both understanding each other perfectly, but refusing to break into the other’s language. Stubborn old men.

  Jaime snapped awake as the truck slowed down and Meester George called out in his loud, booming voice.

  “Well, what have we got here?”

  Jaime leaned forward. They turned onto the ranch road and Meester George pulled the truck to a complete stop. There stood Ángela with Vida, looking a bit hesitant as she held the bridles of Pimiento and Picasso.

  “Oh mercy, there is a God.” Don Vicente used the handlebar above the door to ease himself out of the tall truck. The spotted gray gelding let out a neigh from deep in his
belly. The reins slipped from Ángela’s hands and the Appaloosa trotted over to his human friend. Don Vicente collapsed against Pimiento’s neck and hugged him tight.

  Jaime followed behind and gave his cousin, who still held Picasso’s reins, a big hug. “You’re amazing. I wish I’d thought of this.”

  Ángela shrugged, though she seemed pretty pleased with herself. “I ditched school and texted Tomás to see when you were on your way. Mel tacked them up.”

  “You ditched school?”

  “Today, family seemed more important.” She smiled.

  Don Vicente detached himself from Pimiento’s neck and gave Ángela a hug too. Then, without even using a stirrup, he grabbed the saddle horn and swung his leg around with the grace of a dancer, landing perfectly centered in the saddle. “Now I’m home.”

  He took two deep breaths and then turned to Jaime in his old, gruff way. “Well, are you just going to stand there looking at Picasso?”

  Jaime smiled and mounted the horse—with a stirrup. Baby steps. “Ven, Ángela, you can sit behind me.”

  “You know I’ve never ridden a horse,” she said, half scared, half surprised.

  “Better get started then.” Jaime removed his foot from the stirrup and held the reins tight in his right hand. Ángela looked back toward the truck just as Meester George and Tomás drove away down the track.

  “It’s just like riding a train, right?” she said as she grabbed the back of the saddle and Jaime’s left hand. She accidentally kicked Picasso as she swung her leg around, which caused him to side step. Still, she scampered on until she was upright behind Jaime’s saddle and holding onto his waist.

  “Sorry, Picasso,” she apologized to the piebald for kicking him.

  Don Vicente nodded and then led Pimiento away.  Vida trotted ahead of the horses with her nose to the ground, round belly filling out her ribs, and her tail posed high in the air.

  “Looks like we’re going to need to prepare for some new lives coming soon,” Don Vicente said.

  “Tomás said calving season was over,” Jaime said. It surprised him that Don Vicente wasn’t aware of that already.

  “Ángela knows what I’m talking about.”

  “¡Qué!” Jaime tried to turn and glare at his cousin.

  Ángela laughed and slapped him on the leg. “He’s talking about Vida, bobo. I wasn’t sure, but her belly is getting bigger.”

  “She’s going to have puppies? How did that happen?” Jaime tried to turn around again.

  Ángela sighed. He could even hear her rolling her eyes. “You really need me to explain it to you?”

  “No, I mean, we found her almost dead, with her insides sticking out. I didn’t think she’d be able to have puppies.”

  “Obviously she had a good vet sewing her up.”

  Yes, she did.

  “I’m glad you saved her. I’m glad you’re here with me,” Jaime said in a soft voice.

  “It was a joint effort.” Ángela wrapped her arms tight around his waist and placed her chin on his shoulder. “It’s not too bad here, is it?”

  The horses climbed up a hill. With the scattered bushes and open landscape, they could almost see all the way back home. To both of them.

  “It’s okay, for now,” Jaime said.

  They watched Vida dart this way and that, chasing lizards and following the scents of larger animals. Her one ear cocked and alert, she looked truly happy and full of life.

  EPILOGUE

  “Oh my goodness, I’m so nervous. What if I forget my lines?” Ángela squirmed as she adjusted her habit before her opening scene.

  “You’ll be fine,” Jaime reassured her. After all, she only had two lines and if she forgot them, someone else would probably chime in. Still, he let her grasp his hand, proud that when she started to feel stage fright, she’d sent one of her friends to get him from the audience.

  “You’ll stay in the wings, even if you’re not supposed to be here?” she asked.

  “I’ll watch the whole play from wherever you want me to,” he said.

  She nodded and squeezed his hand tighter. The house lights went down, the orchestra played a few bars, and then the stage lights went on. Unlike the movie, which Ángela made him watch four times that week, the play started with the nuns at the abbey. Jaime thought for sure he’d have to shove his cousin onstage, but as soon as the music changed, she strolled out there with the other nuns, full of more pride and arrogance than any humble nun was supposed to have. And the audience loved it.

  Her facial expressions, her holier-than-thou attitude, her stance, all of it worked perfectly, as if she were playing the lead role instead of Abbey Nun Number Three. When Ángela said her two lines, the audience roared in laughter.

  The scene ended with loud cheers from the audience, and the nuns exited before breaking into silent squeals once off stage.

  “You can go back to Tomás, thank you,” Ángela whispered.

  “That’s it? You’re done?” After all that fuss in the weeks leading up, that had been her two seconds of fame?

  “Shh. Of course not, I’m in loads more scenes. But that’s the only one where I talk. Now go.”

  He didn’t argue. He slipped out the door that led back into the auditorium and found his place again next to Tomás.

  “How is she?” his brother asked.

  Jaime didn’t know what to say. She was Ángela, and apparently that meant something different every minute. But at least she proved that no matter how much she changed, when it came down to it, she knew where to find him. He was happy about that.

  At the front of the stage and off to the side, a spotlight illuminated Meester Mike as he signed the play with elaborate arm gestures and facial expressions. His dance-like interpretation captivated Jaime just as much as the play. Jaime searched the auditorium for Sean and instead spotted Carla singing along with members of her family. Freddie seemed very intent on watching the play, unlike Diego behind him who made rude comments that kept the woman next to him shushing him every minute. When an usher finally asked them to leave, Jaime gave a silent cheer.

  Seven children marched on stage and Jaime immediately recognized Tristan from the bus as the oldest boy. With his chest held high, he introduced his character with snobbish defiance. A blond boy sitting a few rows in front of Jaime turned around and rolled his eyes once he caught Jaime’s attention. Jaime rolled his eyes back in agreement and waved at Sean. Now that Jaime knew Tristan wasn’t after Ángela, he wasn’t that bad.

  The next time Ángela came out, Sean turned and pointed to Ángela on stage before waving both hands near his face, the sign for cheering. Jaime grinned and applauded back. He was proud of her too.

  Ángela appeared a few times in the play, each time wearing a different costume and a different persona as she played a servant, a high society lady, a Nazi, and then again her original nun.

  As the Von Trapp family pretended to climb over cardboard Alpine mountains, the rest of the cast came on stage to sing the final song, and the lyrics encouraged everyone to keep going until they find their dreams.

  The audience leaped to their feet and cheered. Tomás let out a rancher whistle that could be heard in Guatemala. Jaime had to admit that even though he’d seen the movie too many times that week, they did a great job with the play.

  Flowers in hand, they strolled to the front of the stage to wait for Ángela. On the way, Tomás leaned over the orchestra pit with a small bouquet of pink, yellow, and white carnations, and handed them to the lady playing the alpenhorn. “It’s a good thing I got your autograph before you hit the big time.”

  Meez Macálista laughed. (Maybe by next fall, Jaime would be able to say her name right. On the other hand, he liked the way he said it just fine.)

  “In music, it’s all about timing. Today I’m famous, tomorrow it’s back to grading.”

  “So you better eat while you can,” Tomás said wisely.

  Meez cringed. “Are you cooking again?”

  Tomás look
ed offended. “And make that same mistake twice? No way! Actually, Doña Cici is making a celebratory dinner for Ángela, and she knows how to use a stove.”

  “Will there be enough?”

  Jaime and Tomás laughed. Since Don Vicente’s return, Doña Cici hadn’t made a single meal that hadn’t been large enough to feed all of Nuevo México.

  “You won’t starve,” Jaime reassured her. He noticed Ángela come out from backstage and grabbed the bouquet of pink roses from Tomás’s hand. He swept her up in a big hug, almost lifting her up off her feet. “You were great. Definitely the best Abbey Nun Number Three.”

  “You don’t think I was too obnoxious?”

  Pues . . . “It worked well with the character.”

  Ángela narrowed her eyes at Jaime. She took a big whiff of her roses and sighed at their scent. She motioned toward Tomás, still teasing and laughing with Meez. “So, has he asked her out yet?”

  “Just to join us at the ranch for dinner. Doña Cici cooks so much, he’s just being nice.”

  Ángela shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You’re so clueless. Just keep in mind we might need a bigger house.”

  Jaime shrugged. The trailer was just a container. It wasn’t what made it a home. “That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

  She draped an arm over Jaime, giving him a half squeeze, half pinch. “Not as long as our family’s there.”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  When I started preschool I didn’t speak English, and the only other non-English speakers were twins from India. As the daughter of Cuban refugees, I speak Spanish as my first language Although I learned English quickly, there were moments of frustration and misunderstanding. Like Jaime, I struggled to make the “th” sound in words like “three” and “thank you”; to this day I sometimes say “sanguich” instead of “sandwich.”

  My family moved several times when I was a child. When I started one new school, I used every way I knew to ask to use the bathroom and didn’t understand what the teacher meant when she kept insisting that I “sign out” first. At another school, I received a hate letter for no other reason than being different.