Let Their Spirits Dance

  “Help you?” asks a chunky man at the entrance. He’s standing behind the bar setting up some bottles of beer. My eyes are still adjusting to the dim light, after the harsh sunlight of early June. There’s music blaring from the jukebox, Janet Jackson. His eyes roam over my body and he smiles. “You’ll need some help around here!”

  “Yeah, I think you can.” I offer him my hand. “I’m Teresa Ramirez, you remember my brothers, Paul and Jesse Ramirez?”

  “Oh, hey, yeah! I’m Scotty. We lived over on the other side of Wong’s. Sure do remember y’all! Your brother Paul out of prison?”

  “Yeah, he’s out. Trying to straighten up his life. I hope he does it this time.”

  “I seen him in there, over at Florence. Miserable in there, that’s what he was. Me, I jest take it one day at a time. Say, you the ones who got all that money from the government? Didn’t your mom get back a million or something?”

  “No, not a million! A lot, though…about ninety thousand.”

  “Honey, throw some my way! How come you ain’t dressed in diamonds? Lord knows you look like a movie star!”

  “It’s my mom’s money, besides, you know how it is with money, it slips through your fingers, but listen, Scotty, maybe you can help me. Have you, by any chance, seen Gates around here? You know, Blanche’s son?”

  “That who you look’n for?” He throws back his head and roars with laughter. “You come at the right time, Teresa. Any later and that man be wasted. He’s out back by the pool table.”

  I walk by a few men sitting at small, round tables looking at a baseball game on a TV monitor. They stare at me, turning their heads, measuring my steps. “Aren’t you the daughter of that millionaire what got all that money?”

  “I’m the daughter, but we’re not millionaires.” One of them smiles and winks. I smile at all of them. My heart is pounding, and I’m wondering what else will happen, as I see two other men walk into the place with a woman. She’s dressed in a tight-fitting dress, fluorescent blue. She stares at me, then swishes her head to look at Scotty.

  “Didn’t know we were gettin’ multicultural in here. I would have worn my sombrero.”

  “Shut up, Bea!”

  The back room isn’t as dark as the front, or maybe my eyes are adjusting. Everything I’ve ever heard about pool rooms is in front of me. A greasy orange lamp hangs over the center of the pool table. The room reeks with the odor of stale beer, cigarettes, and old wood. A smoky haze floats up over the lamp and trails toward the half-open back door. I catch a whiff of Pine-Sol from the bathroom nearby.

  “Gates?” I haven’t seen him in years and wonder if the man I’m looking at is Gates. He’s sitting close to a young woman who has one of her legs curled around one of his. She’s pretty, her hair pulled back, huge black eyes and a body that looks like it belongs to a model on the cover of Vogue. I watch as they both stand up, curious to see what they look like. She’s wearing a midriff blouse and a pair of shorts so short they almost look like underwear. Her legs are shapely, the calves sheathed almost to the knees in sandaled leather straps. Gates is tall and stocky, hair graying at the temples, probably six-four. He lives up to his name, always has. He towers over her in a pair of worn-out black Levi’s and a blue Chicago Bulls T-shirt. His light skin contrasts with her darker skin. Still handsome, he’s lost weight, his face sags around his jaw and chin. His eyes are bloodshot.

  “Hey, look what we have here! Is that you, Teresa? What you doing here?” He walks toward me unsteadily. “I knew you’d come lookin’ for me someday, baby. Didn’t I tell you, Kamika, I said, Teresa Ramirez is gonna come lookin’ for a Black brother someday and there I’ll be, good ol’ Gates!” He gives me a big hug and Kamika glares at me.

  “It’s not really that way!” I say to her, “he’s only kidding.”

  “Yeah, he’s a big kidder all right!”

  “Gates, did you hear about the money my mom got?”

  “Yeah, my mom told me something about it. Man you guys hit the jackpot!” He motions me to sit down at one of the tables with him. “Kamika, go get us something to drink, darling. What you want, Teresa?”

  “Just a Seven-Up. I gotta keep my wits about me.”

  “With all that money, you bet! Hey, baby, can you slap some here?” He extends his hand palm up, then laughs. “It’s so good to see you!”

  Scotty yells into the room, “Hey, Gates…your ol’ lady’s been calling! I don’t want no trouble. That woman fights like a man!”

  “No trouble…no trouble,” says Gates. He looks over his shoulder at the back door. “Let’s move, baby, where I can have a good look-see.” He moves toward a corner where he’s facing the entrance and the back door.

  “Your mom told me to warn you that Erica’s on your trail.”

  “Yep, that’s the one Scotty’s talking about.”

  My nerves are standing on end as I think of what will happen if Erica comes in fighting like a man while I’m talking to Gates or Kamika is wrapping her leg around his leg.

  “Listen, Gates, did your mother tell you we’re going to the Wall?”

  “What wall?” He glances at the front door, then the back door.

  “What do you mean ‘what wall?’ The Vietnam Wall! With the money we got, Mom’s making the trip to D.C. I don’t know how she’ll make it, she’s been so sick, but you know Mom, she believes God wants her to go there to touch Jesse’s name before she dies, and there’s nobody who can talk her out of it. She’s made a promise, Gates, we call it a manda in Spanish, and she’s inviting you to go with us, ’cause she remembers how you and Jesse were friends.”

  I hear Percy Sledge on the jukebox, “When a Man Loves a Woman,” and wonder if Kamika put in the money to hear the song.

  “I haven’t heard a jukebox in years,” I tell him. “All I ever hear are tapes. Well, what do you think?”

  Gates lowers his head. His face has changed from smiling to somber. He is frozen in place.

  “Gates?” I put my hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “Look at me, Teresa. Do you think I want to get to that Wall? I got brothers on that Wall, Black, Brown, and White! God, girl, look at me, I’m a fuck-up! I never got it together, Teresa. I can’t let them see me like this.” He shudders.

  “Gates, they’re not gonna see you! They’re names on the Wall. They don’t have eyes. You got as much right to be here as anybody else. Jesse would tell you that.” Gates has his head in his hands and is shaking it from side to side.

  “I can’t go, Teresa! I just can’t. All the medals and shit they gave us, for what? Last of all they built the Wall, like they were saying, There, now shut up! I saw my buddies shot over there like dogs. White guys made the plans on paper, but the blood was real, and they didn’t give a shit about us. Body count…that’s all they cared about, body count, body count, like they were counting toy soldiers and not men. Then at the airport when we got back to the world, people were crazier than we were—throwing shit at us, calling us baby killers!”

  “Gates…Mom wants you to go with us. It means a lot to her. It’ll be OK.”

  Gates looks at me, his eyes pleading. “Think about your brother, Teresa. He was the best ever. Now explain to me why he’s dead and I’m alive? Can you give me a reason?”

  “Me, give you a reason? I couldn’t even figure out how we were gonna get to the Wall, but we’re on our way! Life and death are all a big mystery to me, Gates. I don’t know why things are happening the way they are. Nobody has the answers. Maybe earth is a place for questions, not answers.”

  Kamika is back with the drinks, a Seven-Up and two beers. She looks at Gates. “What’s wrong? You look like you at a funeral.”

  “I am,” he says.

  “Somebody die?” she asks me.

  “Kind of.”

  “What you mean ‘kind of.’ Either somebody died or didn’t.”

  “Yes, somebody died.” I take a drink of the Seven-Up. “Think about it, Gates.” I put my hand on his shoulder
. He keeps his head in his hands.

  “I have. I’m not going.”

  “Going where?” asks Kamika.

  I walk out the back door. It’s easier than going all the way to the front, past the men at the tables, Bea and Scotty. The sun is sinking, outlining a pale edge of violet orange in the sky. What am I going to tell Mom? She’s so crazy these days she’ll come looking for Gates herself. While I’m trying to figure out what to tell Mom, a gray, rusty Monte Carlo screeches to a stop in the parking lot. As I open my car door, a woman jumps out of the Monte Carlo in a pair of faded Levi’s, a tank top, and thongs. She’s taller than Kamika, thick-boned with wide shoulders. She slams the car door shut and runs toward the back entrance. A piece of gravel gets stuck in her thong and she yanks off the shoe and shakes off the pebble without slowing down. I hear Scotty yelling for Gates, and I know I’ve just missed Erica. A glimmer of hope crosses my mind as I drive away. Maybe Erica will make things so miserable for Gates, he’ll want to go to the Wall. I look through my rearview mirror and see a blur of fluorescent blue, short shorts, and faded Levi’s as Kamika and Bea charge at Erica like two bulldogs protecting their territory. The whole thing looks hopeful for Gates slipping out of town.

  Pilgrims of Aztlán ·

  It’s five o’ clock in the morning when I walk out into the front yard. We’re ready to load up the vehicles we rented, two seven-passenger Chrysler Voyagers, one white and one gray, and a sky-blue Nissan Maxima, all brand new. It’s the first day of June, 1997, and the last week at Jimenez Elementary. Lucky we’re going in June, Irene says it’s the month of the Sacred Heart of Jesus…all that love! We’re bound to get there in one piece. I don’t answer her. I’m learning to sit still and watch. Trying to figure out things hasn’t done me any good lately.

  I tried talking Mom into waiting until next week to leave, but she’s convinced we should be on the road. This business of rushing makes me feel like I’m fighting to get ahead of something. I’m leaving things undone. The divorce is pending, the court date is next week, my kids aren’t out of school, the house is still for sale, and worse still, I had to say good bye to my second-grade class early this year. My attorney, Slick Sam, says he can’t postpone the court date again. I guess he’s not as slick as I thought he was. Sandra postponed it twice, saying she had new evidence. I’ve thought of a plea bargain but that would mean I’d incur guilt. How do I explain all this to my school district? Anything on my record could mean the end of my job, still I won’t call up Sandra to try to reason all this away. I’ve got too much pride, Mom says. Pride that might cost me my job, maybe even a warrant for traveling out of state.

  The smell of orange blossoms is everywhere, heavy, sweet. Then, like perfume behind my ears, I catch the faint scent of a rose bush that leans heavily against the fence. The fence used to be chicken wire, now it’s chain link. The shiftless renters next door never water their lawn, and the yellow rose bush is the only plant that has survived. I remember Ricky Navarro’s mother had flowers everywhere, front and back and in pots on the porch. I walk up to the rose bush and smell the huge yellow roses, carefully outlining the petals with my finger. I miss the tall stamen of the passion flower and its purple starburst middle. Something feels amusing to me and I can’t explain what it is. A big joke in the sky, like God’s got a marching band on hold just for us. I look up at the sky and catch myself smiling even though I tell myself I should be serious. Is it lack of sleep that’s making me giggle, or the fact that soon we’ll be in Albuquerque, and I’ll see Chris Montez again? Is it all the money we have? Magic! Manuel’s already invested some of it in CDs, a trust fund, and savings. He’s got American Express checks and an ATM card for ready cash. Motel rooms have been prepaid all along the route we’re traveling. My mother asks that Manuel give Irene, Willy—and Gates, if he shows up—$500 spending money, and $1,000 each for Paul and Priscilla. I’m wondering what Irene will spend her money on—more medallions? Manuel thinks Mom’s too generous with her money and should be investing in a new house. I told him he’s crazy. Mom will never leave El Cielito.

  I’m trying to trace the source of the happy feeling I’m getting as I stare at the door of the shiftless renters’ house. The door is cracked close to the hinges. The wood around the doorknob is black. It looks like it’s been open and shut by a hundred greasy hands. A sudden longing to see Ricky Navarro comes over me. I’d convince Ricky to go with us if he was here and serve him tea and cappuccino in real china cups all the way to the Wall. We’d toast each other, his green eyes smiling over the lip of the cup.

  I feel like the ballerina in the glass cabinet. I spin in a pirouette. I’ve got on my short black overalls with a white rayon top underneath, white socks, and tennis shoes. Manuel says I still look like the high school cheerleader he remembers. I know he’s exaggerating, but it feels good to hear him say it. The sun is shining on me, already warm, its white light promising another scorcher. I feel good, tingly, like a kid on the first day of school. Something is about to happen that is more than getting to the Wall. My body is telling me, my mind is reacting, and I have no idea what it’s all about.

  I’ve talked with Dr. Mann, and have emergency numbers for physicians and hospitals in every state. He’s concerned about Mom’s heart condition. The left part of her heart doesn’t function well, the artery on that side is hardening. Mom takes Lipitor to keep the blood flowing and her heart vessels clear. She’s got nitroglycerin on hand for chest pains caused by angina. “Not a good idea to take your mother on such a long trip, Teresa. Her high blood pressure could lead to a stroke, or something else.”

  “Ok, Doctor, OK. You tell her. Maybe she’ll listen to you.” The doctor tried, I have to give it to him, he tried. It was the first time my mother looked through him like he was made of glass. She nodded, yes, yes…then when we left the office, she asked me if I had the shopping done for the trip.

  Lilly calls me to the phone. It’s Espi telling me that she and Tommy will be praying for us all the way. “Call me, Teresa, as soon as you get there,” she says in a worried voice I can’t match up with the funny child’s face I keep in my memory. Hearing her voice reminds me how much I miss the crazy things we did as kids. It’s that way every time I’m around Espi. We’re still on the city bus, bringing home paper bags with creased-down sweaty handles filled with items on sale and layaway clothes our mothers paid on for a month. We’re trying not to laugh, holding hands behind the organ as Tommy and Manuel hit the wrong note. Serves them right for standing there sweating under Yolanda’s lamp just to be close to us. Espi is the keeper of my secrets, dark ones I don’t understand that stand on sharp edges like razors in my soul.

  Elsa, Julio, and Marisol are here to say good-bye. Elsa dressed Marisol in a pink summer dress with little sandals. I lift her up to rub my cheek against her dimpled face and kiss her. “Don’t let the dog jump all over her,” I tell Elsa. The baby walks up to Cholo as soon as I put her down. “See, there he is, already jumping on her new dress!” Elsa and Julio will be staying at Mom’s as much as they can. Paul put out the word around the neighborhood that we’re leaving. Everybody knows that means he’s got eyes watching the house. Julio’s from Las Lomitas and he’s not the type that will let anybody from El Cielito sneak up on him. Everybody respects reputation in a barrio, strength and the ability to defend.

  Elsa’s cool with me, aloof. She makes a big fuss over Mom, ignoring me. “Take your medicine, Nana, don’t forget. Tell my mom to call us every day.” She looks at me, but doesn’t say anything.

  “I’ll try to call as much as I can. Don’t leave the house alone for too long. You know how Nana worries over burglars.”

  “I know what to do.”

  “Give your mother a hug,” Mom says.

  “I will, I will,” she says, but she doesn’t.

  The neighborhood is coming alive, on a Sunday morning. Even the Ruiz clan, who hasn’t seen a Sunday morning since they quit going to church twenty years ago, is up. Everybody thinks we’re m
illionaires, and we are compared to everybody else. Irene’s kids come over to see us off. Ray comes over to help the kids load up the cars. I’m glad he’s wearing sunglasses, saves me the effort of having to look into his eyes. He picks up Marisol and turns around once with her in his arms. “Tata’s princess,” he says. He walks into the house with Elsa at his side.

  I lose count of all the boxes of snacks being packed in, corn nuts, fruit roll-ups, Doritos, bean dip, and things that crackle and snap in your mouth, to name a few. We should invite a whole platoon, feeding them would be no problem. Willy and his wife Susie are partly to blame for all the extra snacks. Willy grabbed all he could from the store before the new shipment came in. He wanted his dad to think everything had been bought out.

  “Gotta keep it simple for Dad, Teresa. If I tell him I brought all this stuff, he’ll charge me for it!” Willy says. Susie is standing next to him, a pudgy, half-Filipino, half-Chinese woman. Her ethnic background confuses people all the time. In the summertime she gets dark and looks Hawaiian, in the spring she looks Filipino, and in winter, she looks Chinese. It gets more confusing as you hear her slip from Chinese to Filipino, to Spanish, then back to English!

  I’m surprised Willy’s running his dad’s store. He always said the farther away from his folks, the better, but I guess the Chinese way won out. Xiu and Chong Wong are in their eighties now and live with their daughter, Helen. On holidays they dress up in their Sunday best and sit on two rockers in front of the store. They still talk in Chinese that sounds like they’re arguing with each other and sip tea through toothless gums. General Custer, their dog, died years ago. He was poisoned by a piece of bad meat a thief left in the yard for him. After that, Xiu decided to get a dog that would bring out the Chinese in all of them. She didn’t care about General George Custer and the Battle of Little Big Horn as her husband Chong Wong did. She bought a shar-pei with some of the money they hid in the walk-in refrigerator. They never kept the shar-pei at the store, it was too expensive. They named him Lin Chow, and I heard he’s on his third eye operation to remove wrinkles that settle around his eyes. Without the operations Lin Chow would already be blind. Willy told me Lin Chow has cost his parents more money than all the kids put together.