Dream Things True

by Marie Marquardt

  * * *

  “So, how long was your dad here alone?”

  It was Friday, and Evan and Alma were back on the “Restraint” bench before school. He had been drilling her with questions for twenty minutes. It wasn’t easy to answer his questions, but it also was an enormous relief. Evan knew about her “status,” and he hadn’t turned away. In fact, he seemed pretty desperate to understand her situation. Of course, it helped that he was still bringing her double cappuccinos. Alma could face any challenge as long as she had a good, strong cup of coffee.

  “Five years. I was born down there. When I was about two and Raúl had just turned five, my mom and dad decided we should all move to Gilberton.”

  “Man! I can’t believe it took him five years to bring y’all up. He must have been so lonely.”

  “He was, I think. It was my mom’s decision. Her sister was sick with cancer, and treatment was too expensive. She knew it would be easy to get a job here, and she wanted to make money to help her sister.”

  “Wow.” Evan sat back down beside her. “Did it work? I mean, did the treatments work? Is her sister OK?”

  Alma stared at the plastic lid on her coffee cup, wanting to prolong the moment a bit longer, wanting to avoid this part of the story. She imagined how Evan would respond. He probably would give her what everyone gave: sad expressions, hollowly sympathetic words, and then a subtle pulling back, an instinct to separate from the pain of tragedy. Alma had seen this instinct in the body language of those few people she had told, and she always sensed it in her cousins, aunts, and uncles. For them, Alma was a constant reminder of the danger and precariousness of life, a well of deep sorrow that they desperately wanted to avoid sinking into.

  Evan’s quiet voice broke into her thoughts: “Alma? Are you with me?”

  “Sorry,” she replied. And she was sorry—sorry that she had to tell him all of this, but knowing that it needed to happen.

  “No, I mean, my mom couldn’t help her.”

  “It was too late?” Evan asked.

  “My mom died trying to get here, in the Sonoran Desert.”

  “Damn,” Evan replied, drawing out the word in a tone that was not exactly sweet and sympathetic. “Damn,” he repeated, his shoulders slumping.

  Alma wasn’t sure what to do with his reaction, so she kept talking.

  “The coyotes—you know, the guys people pay to guide them through the desert?—they abandoned her and another woman. They had fallen into a ravine. They couldn’t get out. It was summer, which was a stupid time to cross a desert, but my mom wanted Raúl to start kindergarten in August. The other woman survived until the border patrol found her. My mom died of dehydration.”

  Evan stood up without speaking. Alma watched, confused, as he stepped toward her and then past her. She stared again at the lid of her cup, noticing the drops of coffee pooled near the opening. She should have known better than to tell him. It was too much.

  But then she felt his touch, his chest against her back, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her toward him. He sat behind her with his legs swung across the bench, nestling her body between them. And it felt so good inside his arms. The way he held her was so right that she wanted to cry—not from sorrow but from relief, a profound relief that someone finally understood her. Evan knew exactly what she needed when she hadn’t even known it herself.

  After a long silence, he rested his chin on her shoulder and asked, “Where were you? And Raúl?”

  “In Phoenix, waiting in a hotel with my uncle.”

  She took a swig of coffee and allowed her body to rest completely against him.

  “For kids back then, it was easy to cross. We rode through a border checkpoint with a distant cousin. He’s legal, and his kids were born here. We just used their birth certificates.”

  “How old were you?” he asked, almost whispering.

  “Almost three. I don’t remember any of it.”

  “Do you remember her?”

  “Not really. No.”

  She closed her eyes and took a sip of coffee, tasting its soothing bitterness and feeling the subtle movement of Evan’s chest against her back. After a few moments, Alma reached forward to put her cup on the bench. She wanted to say something to make him know that she was OK.

  “Hey, guess what tomorrow is?” she said, brightly. “It’s one month from the day of your party.”

  A broad smile spread across Evan’s face.

  “You mean, no more house arrest?” he asked, leaning in toward her.

  “I’m a free woman,” Alma replied. The words stuck in her throat.

  What did it mean to be free, she wondered, when she lived under the rule of her father, and in constant fear that the people she loved would go to jail?

  “Or, at least, I’m not grounded anymore,” she said, forcing a smile.

  “Let’s celebrate,” Evan said, standing. “Tomorrow night. Where should we go?”

  Alma grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the bench. “Evan, hell will freeze over before my dad lets me go on a date with you.”

  “Seriously?” Evan said.

  “Yeah, seriously.”

  Evan looked at her intently and pulled his lower lip between his teeth. She could tell he was thinking—trying to come up with a way around these insane restrictions.

  Watching him think, seeing him like that, Alma realized how tired she was of resisting him. She knew it was time to give in completely. Something inside her told her that she didn’t have any other choice.

  “I have an idea,” she said. She jumped up from the bench and giddy weightlessness spread through her body.

  “Should I be afraid?” Evan asked.

  “Yes, definitely. Have you ever been to a quinceañera?”

  Was she actually doing this? She had imagined it, but she’d never thought she would have the nerve.

  “A what?”

  “A quinceañera—you know, the elaborate coming-of-age parties that people in Latin cultures have for their daughters’ fifteenth birthdays.”

  “Oh, you mean a keeen-say,” Evan said. “Like on MTV.”

  “Something like that,” Alma replied. Apparently, everything Evan knew about quinceañeras came from My Super Sweet 16. She hoped that was about to change.

  “If you want to see me tomorrow night, you need to find your teammate Jonathan and get him to invite you to his sister’s quinceañera.”

  “Come again?”

  Alma stood up and pointed toward the school entrance. “Just go in there and score yourself an invite to Yazmín’s quince.”

  “And you promise you’ll be there?” Evan asked, standing to face her.

  “Yeah, I have to be there. I’m a dama.”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind. I’ll be there. And don’t worry. I’ll be hard to miss.”

  Evan wrapped his hands around Alma’s waist and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

  “Done.”

  TEN

  Snow White

  When Alma saw Evan crossing the street, her stomach lurched and her heart started to beat fast. His shaggy bangs, which usually hung over his eyes, were sort of haphazardly gelled back, framing his high forehead and bewildered face. He looked adorably preppy, in khaki pants, a navy-blue blazer, a light-blue shirt, and a striped bow tie. He also looked utterly out of place.

  Alma was so busy gawking that it took her a minute to notice Mary Catherine by his side. In a short, strapless red satin dress and high-heeled sandals, she was hard to miss. Her sandy-blond hair was swept into a neat twist, and a short strand of white pearls stood out against the smooth skin of her throat.

  With M.C. looking like that, Alma knew their plan would work.

  She and Mary Catherine had hatched the plan at lunch on Friday: Mary Catherine would come as Evan’s date. When Evan protested, Alma patiently explained that M.C. wasn’t just any date; she was a drop-dead beautiful date. This would keep her dad and all of the nosy tías from thinking, even for a mome
nt, that the country-club boy might be there to see Alma.

  Mary Catherine enfolded Alma in a tight hug. When she stepped back, Alma noticed Evan’s eyes scan her own outfit, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Snow White,” Alma said, trying not to sound as idiotic as she felt.

  Mary Catherine burst into joyous peals of laughter. “You have got to be kidding me! You’re dressed up as Snow White?”

  Alma glanced down at the bright yellow bustier and puffy electric-blue tulle skirt that dropped almost to the floor.

  “Would I kid about this?” She swept her hand along the edge of the skirt. “It’s a princess theme. Disney Princess.”

  “Awesome,” Mary Catherine said, and then she let out one of those crazy bellowing laughs.

  “We each had to pick a different Disney princess. Obviously, I chose last.”

  “You make a pretty sexy Snow White,” Mary Catherine said. “Doesn’t she usually have puffy sleeves? That strapless bustier definitely helps.”

  Mary Catherine turned to Evan, who was trying to look away. “And doesn’t her skin tone look fantastic against the butter yellow?” She took his chin in her hand and forced his eyes to rest on Alma’s chest.

  Alma was surprised to see a splotchy blush cover the edge of Evan’s cheeks. His eyes trailed up to meet hers.

  “You look beautiful, Alma,” Evan said. “You always look beautiful.”

  She mouthed a silent “thanks.”

  Raúl came toward them, eyebrows arched as he took in Mary Catherine’s body. It was hard to ignore.

  “Hey, Evan,” he said, “why don’t you and your friend come sit with me?”

  Mary Catherine threw a devastating smile in his direction. “It’s great to meet you, Raúl. Alma says you’re going to take care of us?”

  “I’ll take care of you,” he replied, with a wink.

  Alma grabbed Raúl by the elbow. “Behave,” she hissed in his ear. She shot a quick glance at Evan, smiled reassuringly, and turned to join Maritza, who was working a sexy midriff-bearing Jasmine costume.

  Maritza always got her way.

  * * *

  Raúl led them to their table. A DJ was talking in rapid and very animated Spanish on the dance floor. He sounded like one of the guys on the Spanish radio station, where Evan’s dial occasionally paused on the way to some other channel.

  Mary Catherine nudged Raúl in the side. “What’s he saying?”

  “Just welcome and what a special day this is for Yazmín and her parents. He’s about to introduce the court.”

  “The what?” Evan whispered loudly.

  “The court. You know, the damas and chambelanes.” Evan must have looked as clueless as he felt because Raúl continued explaining. “It’s like bridesmaids and groomsmen at a wedding.”

  Scanning the room, Evan saw Alma’s dad sitting with a bunch of men at a table by the dance floor.

  “Do I have time to go say hi to your dad?”

  “Bad idea,” Raúl said. “Trust me.”

  “But—”

  The DJ’s booming voice broke in.

  “Too late,” Raúl called out. “It’s starting.”

  Evan and M.C. watched in awe as the event unfolded. Seven couples processed somberly down the center aisle of the room. All the girls were dressed like Disney princesses. The guys wore electric-blue fedoras and vests with white crosses stitched onto the backs. The crosses looked more like tattoos than church symbols. Evan looked down at his dull khaki pants and wondered if he stood out as much as he thought.

  When the quinceañera entered the room, the couples turned toward each other, raising their arms to create a sort of tunnel. The girl was dressed like Cinderella in a powder blue dress with a huge puffy skirt. Her skirt barely made it through the human tunnel.

  Mary Catherine cut her eyes toward Evan, trying to get his attention. He knew that if he looked at her, they would both start laughing, so he stared ahead, stone-faced.

  The girl walked to a carriage-shaped throne surrounded by hundreds of blue and white balloons. She sat down gingerly, looking more embarrassed than excited. Yazmín’s face looked so young, even caked with makeup and framed with stiff curls. To Evan, she looked like a child playing dress-up, except that she seemed to be having a lot less fun.

  A man and a woman who must have been her parents came toward her. The dad was carrying a shimmering pillow of sorts. Evan shot Raúl a surprised glance.

  “Just watch,” mouthed Raúl.

  Yazmín’s mother lifted the layers of skirt to reveal Yazmín’s white Keds. Her father leaned down to remove one of her socks and shoes, and then lifted a shimmery silver stiletto from the satin pillow and carefully slid it onto her foot. He repeated the ritual with her other foot. Once both stilettos were firmly placed, Yazmín stood, shakily, and her mom and dad both offered a hug and kiss before leaving the dance floor.

  Just then, booming music filled the room. Evan had never heard music like this. The word that came to mind was “polka.” Was that right? There were lots of horns and men singing in harmony. All seven couples did a sort of choreographed dance, swinging around the dance floor, repeating the same simple back-and-forth step. Alma wore a stiff, uncomfortable smile that made Evan wish the whole thing would end soon.

  When the song finally ended, Alma and her friends Magda and Maritza headed toward their table. Evan watched Alma intently, trying not to look as bewildered as he felt.

  Pulling up a chair, Alma leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Weird, huh?”

  Evan just smiled and touched one of the stiff ringlet curls that trailed the side of her face. He let his hand brush her chin for a moment and then dropped it under the table to take her hand. Yeah, it was weird, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to feel her warm hand in his and study the flushed skin of her cheeks and throat.

  “What was that music?” asked Mary Catherine, not even trying to hide her aversion.

  “Doesn’t it suck?” Maritza replied. “Banda. Uggh.”

  The DJ said something else, and a new song filled the room. Maritza stood, shook her hips rapidly, and said to no one in particular, “Merengue. Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

  A girl emerged from behind the balloon arch, dressed in a skin-tight black micro-miniskirt and a red tube top. Evan saw the long expanse of her bare legs ending with the same silver stilettos Yazmín had been given.

  “What the hell?” he heard himself say. “Is that Yazmín?”

  Alma laughed and leaned in toward him. “Yeah, she changed clothes. This is the ‘surprise dance.’”

  “As in, ‘Surprise! Your sweet Disney Princess is a prostitute’?”

  “Something along those lines.” Alma laughed. “I think it’s meant to show that she’s an adult now.”

  Evan looked around the room in amazement as Yazmín’s parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents, and friends smiled sweetly and watched her bump and grind, in no particular order, with every one of the seven guys in her court. He had to admit, she was a good dancer. But she still didn’t look like she was having any fun.

  “Ev, hon, isn’t this awesome?” Mary Catherine asked, leaning in from the other side. “I was thinking it’s kind of like a wedding or a debutante ball, but whoa!”

  * * *

  Alma stared incredulously at the heaping plate of food in front of Evan.

  “Are you going to eat all of that?”

  “Yeah, probably. Why, do you want some?”

  “Uh, no. That’s just a lot of food.”

  “It looks so good—what are these things?”

  “Tamales.”

  Evan picked one up and brought it toward his lips.

  “Uh, Evan, you have to take off the corn husks on the outside before you eat them.”

  “Aww, damn,” Raúl called out, breaking into their conversation. “You should have let your white boy eat the husks!”

  “Just ignore my stupid brother,” Alma said as she reached over to take the tamale. “I’ll show
you.” She peeled the husk off the tamale and placed it back on his plate, pushing aside a huge pile of enchiladas in green chile sauce. “You should eat it with a fork. If you pick it up, it will fall apart.”

  Evan looked at her sheepishly and picked up his fork. “So, Raúl says you didn’t have one of these?”

  “A quinceañera? Absolutely not. It’s a crazy waste of money. I made my dad start a college savings account for me instead.”

  “Bummer. I would have liked to see footage of your ‘surprise dance.’” Evan laughed and nudged her with his elbow.

  “I don’t think so, Evan. I mean, there’s a reason they made me Snow White tonight.”

  “What? Snow White can’t dance?”

  “No.” Alma leaned in closer and whispered, “You know, I’m, uh, pure as the driven snow.”

  Evan’s eyes sparkled, and he laughed a strong, hearty laugh.

  The entire table turned to look at them.

  “What’s so funny?” Maritza asked.

  Alma looked firmly at Evan, trying to convey that her “Snow White” status was not the business of the entire table.

  “Alma’s trying to teach me how to eat tamales, and I’m making a complete idiot of myself,” Evan replied, grinning.

  Everyone fell back into conversation, and he leaned toward Alma. Pressing his hand gently against the stiff blue tulle just above her knee, he whispered, “There’s nothing wrong with that, Alma.”

  She felt his lips gently graze the soft skin just below her ear, while the warmth of his hand radiated through her body. She closed her eyes and tried not to sigh out loud.

  Maritza’s voice broke her swoon.

  “I’m ready to dance! Who’s with me?”

  Mary Catherine tugged on Evan’s arm. “Come on, y’all, let’s dance.”

  “There’s not a chance you’ll get Alma on the dance floor,” Maritza said. “She’s too sophisticated to dance at a quinceañera.”

  “Quinceañeras are patriarchal,” Magda said, mocking Alma.

  “Silly,” added Maritza.

  “A waste of money and time,” Raúl chimed in.

  Alma stood up. “Are y’all finished yet?” she asked. “Because I’m getting kind of thirsty. Can I be excused from the hazing to get a drink?”