This Side of Providence

by Rachel M. Harper

  His head is wrapped in gauze, like a mummy from an old movie, and the tubes coming from his nose and mouth are taped down to his cheek so they won’t move. His right eye is covered with a bandage the size of my hand. The left one is bare and it keeps twitching every few seconds like he’s about to wake up. I’ve watched cats sleep and they do the same thing when they dream.

  Miss Valentín leans down to whisper in my ear.

  “You can talk to him if you want.”

  “No. That’s okay.”

  She smiles. “The doctors think it might help. For him to hear familiar voices.”

  I try to think of something to say to him, about how hot it is outside or about the nurse whose fingernails have miniature American flags painted on them, or the fact that it’s my birthday tomorrow and I’m finally going to be double digits, but none of it seems very important.

  Instead, I turn to Miss Valentín and say, “Look at his eyes. They twitch like a cat who’s dreaming.”

  “That’s a good sign,” she says. “It means he’s healing.” She squeezes my shoulder in a half-hug. “Trust me, Luz. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe her. The weight of her hand feels good, like a heavy blanket. She smiles down at me, but I turn away. I’m trying to remember the last time a grownup touched me.

  A few minutes later, Cristo finally comes into the room. He sits in the chair next to César’s bed and buries his face in his baseball hat. He cries without making a sound. I feel bad but I know I can’t comfort him. He’s the type of kid who can’t even comfort himself. Instead, I grab my book and leave him alone in the room. Even when the cops took my mother away he didn’t cry like this. Maybe it’s different when it’s someone your own age, or someone who might never come home again.

  At eight o’clock the nurse goes in and tells him visiting hours are over. She tries to grab his hand, but Cristo jerks away and tells her to leave him alone. Miss Valentín is on the pay phone in the hallway, but as soon as she hears his voice she hangs up. I pretend to keep reading my book, but I’m listening to every word. The nurse tells him to calm down, that she’s sure César’s going to be all right.

  “It’s Say-zar, not See-sir,” Cristo says, loudly. “How do you expect him to wake up if you’re not even calling him the right name?”

  The nurse doesn’t say anything else. She looks at César’s chart, and writes something down before leaving. Miss Valentín thanks her and tells Cristo to get his things. He starts to complain but she gives him a look like my mother used to give us when we said we didn’t want to eat rice and beans again for dinner. She takes both our hands and walks us out of the hospital before Cristo can insult anyone else. I can tell from the looks we get that people think she’s our mother. It makes me smile, to imagine I have a family that’s all together in one place.

  That night, after he turns out the lights, I think I can hear Cristo praying. At first I think he’s talking to me so I peek over the side of the bunk bed to look down at him. He sleeps on the bottom bunk, mostly because he’s afraid of heights and won’t admit it. His eyes are closed and he’s lying completely still. He’s always saying he doesn’t believe in God, but under the covers it looks like his hands are clasped together. I watch his lips move in the darkness.

  On the street I can hear a man yelling something I don’t understand. I lie back in my bed and look at the ceiling. It looks close, but when I reach out my hand to touch it I don’t feel anything but air. Cristo’s voice startles me.

  “I had a dream about César last night. A nightmare.”

  “What happened?”

  “A long time went by and he never woke up.”

  “How long?”

  “A couple of months.”

  “Did he die?” I turn over in my bed. The mattress is thin and I can feel the coiled-up springs pushing against my backside.

  “I just told you, he never woke up.”

  “Oh,” I say. “That’s sad.”

  I look around the tiny room, wondering why it looks so much smaller in the dark. Cristo is quiet for a while so I think he must be asleep. I watch Trini’s chest move up and down under the sheet. Her feet poke through the bars of the crib, almost touching Cristo’s bed. In a few months she’ll be tall enough to reach him.

  Suddenly Cristo speaks again.

  “But that’s not the horrible part.”

  “It’s not?” I lean over the edge to look at him. His eyes are still closed. “What else happened?”

  “When they unwrapped the bandages, it was my face. It was me lying dead in that hospital bed.” His voice cracks and I hear him take a deep breath. I can feel the bed shaking beneath me.

  Without saying anything I climb down from the top bunk and join my brother on his bed. He turns onto his stomach and buries his face in the pillow. I rub his back through the sheet, like I’ve watched my mother do a hundred times. He doesn’t move or say anything. After a while his breathing evens out and I know he’s asleep, but I still keep rubbing his back until my hand is numb and I can’t feel the difference between his body and mine.

  I wake up on my birthday to a shopping bag sitting at the end of my bed. Feliz Cumpleaños is written on the side of the bag in purple magic marker, my favorite color. Inside I find a new pair of sneakers, a package of tube socks with pink stripes, and a key chain with the Puerto Rican flag on it.

  Cristo peeks over the railing, standing halfway up the ladder. “Happy birthday,” he whispers. A crooked smile splits his face.

  “Thanks.”

  Trini jumps up and down in her crib, singing a made-up song about birthdays and butterflies that seems to have no tune.

  “It’s from Mami,” Cristo says, “before she went away.”

  I smile, even though I know it’s a lie. I don’t bother asking him where he got the money. The sneakers look too big but I try them on anyway. They fit okay with two pairs of socks. Cristo says they’ll be perfect come fall and I nod just to agree with him.

  “Where’s Lucho?” I ask, listening for sounds of her in the other room.

  “Gone already.” Cristo lifts Trini out of the crib. “She’s working a double, remember?”

  “Oh.” I try to hide my disappointment by chewing on one of my braids.

  “But I’m sure she’ll bring you a surprise when she comes back. A cake or something.” He hands Trini a sippy cup with chocolate milk in it.

  “Whatever.” I take off the sneakers and put them in the closet so they don’t get lost. “I don’t need cake.”

  “Everybody needs cake on their birthday,” Cristo says, sitting down to tie his sneakers. “Maybe Scottie will have some for you. He likes cake.”

  “So? He also likes pit bulls and strippers.”

  Cristo laughs. “You’re crazy, Luz.”

  I blush, and feel a tickle of pride in my stomach. It’s been a long time since I made my brother smile.

  “I gotta go call Marco. We’re trying to get his tio to give us a ride to the hospital.” He checks his watch. “Scottie should be here soon, okay?” He kisses Trini on the top of her head. “Adios, chiquita. Have fun.” She’s still blowing him kisses when he walks out the door.

  Trini wants frozen waffles for breakfast but since we don’t have any I give her the last piece of bread, toasted and covered with cinnamon and sugar. When she asks what it is I tell her it’s a Belgian waffle, something I read about in a magazine at the teacher’s lounge at school. I find some Cream of Wheat for myself and make it with warm water from the tap.

  “When’s Scottie coming?” Trini asks later, licking the sugar off the plate like a cat. I think it’s weird to call your father by his first name, but what do I know? I don’t call my father anything.

  I tell her noon, which is the same time he comes every Saturday. It hasn’t changed since he moved out. When Scottie lived here he treated us like we were his own. He yelled a lot, but he also gave good piggyback rides and Christmas presents, and would always
let me keep the money I found in his pockets. Now he doesn’t do any of that stuff anymore. He usually doesn’t even come inside, he just pulls his car into the driveway and honks till we bring Trini out to him. If I didn’t put the car seat in myself he wouldn’t even use one. Which is scary because even when he’s not drunk he’s a bad driver. He once got a ticket for going sixty-five in a school zone and was crazy enough to say the cop was racist. Which doesn’t even make sense because Scottie doesn’t look like anything. Nothing bad anyway. He doesn’t look black or Puerto Rican or even Mexican. He looks like he could be from anywhere.

  After we eat I get Trini ready early. I braid her hair and put her in a new dress our neighbor gave us after her daughter outgrew it. It’s a little long because Trini’s so tiny, but it makes her look cute, just like a doll. Then I put her in the crib so she won’t run around and get dirty. I braid my hair, too, and put on the only nice outfit I own, a light pink Easter dress with matching pumps that my mother bought at the Salvation Army. It’s long-sleeved, too hot for this weather, but when I look in the mirror I know it’s just right. I look pretty, like one of those models in a fashion magazine, and almost like a grownup. I am ten after all, as of this morning. Double digits. All the fingers on my hands.

  We’re standing outside on the porch when a spray-painted black car pulls up in front of the house. A white guy with a buzz cut and tattoos gets out and leans over the roof.

  “Is Celie back yet?”

  I shake my head.

  “How much more time she got?”

  When I don’t answer him right away he shuts the driver’s door and walks around the car. He takes the steps two at a time. He has a tattoo on his neck of a dotted line and the words CUT HERE. The one on his arm is a big S like the Superman symbol.

  “You’re her daughter, right?” he asks with a real sweet voice. I nod, taking a few steps back as he gets close to me. I hold Trini’s hand tight in mine. “I knew it,” he says. “You look just like your mom. Real pretty.”

  Now I know he’s full of it. I don’t look anything like my mother. He pulls on Trini’s braid and smiles down at her.

  “She leave anything for me? Maybe an envelope with my name on it?” He cups his hands around his eyes and looks in through the windows.

  “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Jimmy. We’re old friends, me and your mom.” He sticks out his hand, but I don’t shake it.

  “She never said anything about you.”

  “Damn.” He rubs the stubble on his head. “It was real important, too.”

  “Sorry. We don’t have it.”

  He walks toward the opened door. “You mind if I look around?” he asks, but he’s inside the apartment before I can say anything. Adults always ask a lot of questions, but I never see them stick around to listen to the answers. We follow him into the house and watch him look in the dressers and under the beds. When he doesn’t find anything we get bored and go back to the porch to wait for Scottie.

  Scottie always honks three times when he pulls into the driveway, announcing his arrival to the whole neighborhood. He drives an old Cadillac, white-gray like pigeon shit. I guess it can go fast but he drives it like he’s in a parade. Babies it, like it’s the most valuable thing he’s got. Scottie thinks he’s a big deal because when he was boxing he once knocked out Vinnie Pazienza in the third round. He acts like Muhammad Ali, but really he’s just another punk from the streets with quick hands and an even quicker mouth. My father lives in Puerto Rico, but I’m guessing he could live down the block and he still wouldn’t come get Cristo and me. My mother says he still loves us, but if that was true, wouldn’t he show up himself and say it to my face?

  Scottie’s a few minutes late, and as usual, he doesn’t get out of the car. I stand Trini on the sidewalk while I fix the car seat, fastening the seat belts as tight as I can. Then I buckle her in and smooth out her dress under the straps.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he says.

  I turn around to say thank you, but he’s looking at Trini in the rearview mirror. Then he reaches back to tickle her toes. She laughs and kicks her legs, trying to get away from him. I smile at her and kiss her forehead, harder than I should.

  “Have fun,” I whisper into her ear.

  She smiles back at me. “Have fun,” she says, her little feet still kicking.

  Scottie finally looks over at me.

  “Why you all dressed up?”

  “It’s my birthday,” I say. “I’m ten years old today.”

  “Ten years old?” He lifts his eyebrows like he’s impressed. “That’s pretty goddamn old. You better watch out, you’re almost over the hill.”

  “Cut it out, Scottie. I’m not that old.”

  “Yeah, I guess you got a few good years left.”

  I get out of the car and close the door behind me. He rolls down his window.

  “Hey, what’s the word from your mother?”

  I twist one of my braids around my finger. “She called a few times before the phone got cut off. She hates the food.”

  “How long they keeping her?”

  “Lucho says a while. Till Christmas at least.”

  His face hardens. “She still around?” He bites his fingernail and spits it onto the ground.

  “Yeah, she’s living with us. Officially.”

  He shakes his head. “Christ, that’s fucked up. I only get my kid on Saturdays but that dyke gets to move right in? She’s not even family.” He punches the steering wheel and accidentally honks the horn. Through the window I see Trini’s whole body jump. I make myself smile when her eyes find mine.

  “At least she’s got a job,” I say, tapping my finger on the glass to make Trini laugh.

  “Fuck that. I work.”

  “I didn’t mean you. I just meant…she takes care of things.”

  “I can take care of things, too. My family and shit. I can do that.” He scratches the stubble on his face. “If she gave me a chance I could do that.”

  I wonder who he means—my mother, Lucho, or the judge that only gave him weekly visitations.

  “This ain’t right,” Scottie says. “I’m gonna have to do something about this.” The muscles in his cheek twitch like a firecracker before it pops. He grabs the steering wheel with both hands, squeezing it till his knuckles turn white and start to swell. When he lets it go I watch his hands turn back to normal.

  Just then Jimmy comes down the steps, taking three at a time.

  “Who the hell is that?” Scottie asks, leaning out the window.

  “A friend of Mami’s.”

  Scottie gets out of the car and slams the door behind him. He walks over to Jimmy. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “Who the hell are you?” Jimmy asks.

  “I’m a royal pain in your ass.” Scottie backs Jimmy into his car. “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Jimmy.” Jimmy sticks out his hand to shake, but Scottie knocks it away. “Hey man, chill. I’m not looking for trouble. I’m just looking for what’s mine.”

  Scottie looks toward the house. “And just what in there you think is yours?”

  “Arcelia owes me some money.” Jimmy looks at me, then back to Scottie. “She was supposed to leave it for me before she got nabbed.”

  “How much?”

  “A couple Gs,” Jimmy says.

  “Bullshit.” Scottie points a finger in Jimmy’s face. “I can see in your face you’re a fucking liar.”

  “I’m not lying, man. She owes me two Gs. But right now I’m just looking for one.”

  Scottie points to his car. “You see that little girl over there? That’s my daughter. She lives here.” He points to the house. “And I don’t ever want to see you over here again, you got that? I don’t want you ever talking to those girls, or looking at them, or asking them any questions.” He opens the door to Jimmy’s car and waits while Jimmy climbs in.

  “You know Sandro’s Gym on Valley?”

  Jimmy shrugs.

  “
Come by and see me. I’ll get you your money.” Scottie slams the door shut, locking Jimmy in. “Do yourself a favor and forget this street even exists.”

  Jimmy nods and turns on his car, blasting a rap song. Scottie shakes his head as he watches the car drive away. He brushes my shoulder as he walks by me, his anger burning my skin.

  “Jesus Christ,” he says, “what is the world coming to?” He checks the time on a digital watch. “Ah, fuck, I gotta go.” He starts his car with a pop and looks over at me. “Take it easy, kid.”

  He turns the AC on full blast, but doesn’t put his seat belt on. I hold onto the car door to keep him from backing up.

  “Hey, where you guys going anyway?”

  “My sister’s making gumbo for dinner. Then to Waterfire if she’s good.” He smiles at Trini in the rearview mirror before looking back at me. “What about you?”

  I look toward the empty house. “They’re taking me out. Dinner. A movie. Cake. You know, regular birthday stuff.” I shrug, hoping he can’t tell that I’m lying.

  “Sounds fun,” he says. “Too bad you can’t come with us.”

  “Well…” I straighten my dress, trying to iron out a wrinkle with my hand. “Maybe I could ask. If you want me to.”

  He scratches the stubble on his face and pretends to think about it. “Maybe next time, okay?” He puts the car in reverse and rolls out of the driveway.

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” He’s been saying next time for over a year now.

  I walk up the driveway, careful to lift the bottom of my dress so it won’t drag on the pavement. I’m not used to walking in pumps and I trip over a box of Dunkin’ Donut Munchkins someone left on the ground. I feel my face get hot as I rush to stand up quickly. I try to walk as if my knees don’t throb from where I hit the sidewalk. Scottie honks the horn, startling me. I look up to see him leaning out the window, while the car rolls steadily forward.

  “Hey Luz, smile already—it’s your birthday!”

  I force myself to wave as he drives away. I see Trini clapping wildly in the backseat, which makes me smile, even though I feel my throat getting tighter and my eyes beginning to water. My body wants to cry but I won’t let it. I blink several times and bite the insides of my cheek to distract myself. I drop my head, wishing I could disappear.