The Memory of Light

by Francisco X. Stork

  I walk slowly to E.M.’s car and open the passenger door. I glance at my father one last time as lovingly as I can. “Dad,” I say softly, “I’m going to go see my friend. You have to trust that I can pick good friends, friends who are good for me. I need to do this to be who I am. I’m going to try real hard at Reynard and at home, and I’ll even work on the website when I can, but there are some things that are up to me to decide. Who my friends are is one of them. Who I see for medical help is another.” Then I get in and shut the door.

  “You drive off with my daughter and I’m calling the police,” my father says to E.M.

  “I’m cool with that,” E.M. answers. “Meantime, I’ll take good care of her.”

  He gets in the car, and it starts with a roar. I put my seat belt on as E.M. maneuvers back and forth to clear my father’s car. Then he moves slowly and noisily to the parking lot’s exit. I don’t look back, but I feel my father’s eyes follow us out.

  “Sorry about that back there,” I say when we are a block away. “He won’t call the police … I don’t think.”

  “So I go to jail.” He shrugs. “Long as I get you to Lakeview before they catch me.”

  “How bad is Gabriel?” I ask.

  “Bad. The voices are bad. I went to the hospital this morning to pick up some papers from Dr. Desai, and she let me see him.”

  “And how did he look?”

  “You talk to him and he sounds normal one second and then poof. He wants to find Mona. He’s got it into his head that her life’s in danger and he needs to save her.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I just played along with him. Kinda like the way he played along with that lady in the purple robe, ’member?”

  “Gwendolyn.”

  “Yeah. It doesn’t do any good to argue with them when they’re like that. I told him I was going down to the cafeteria to see if I could get Rudy’s address from his boss. That’s when I came to get you. Should I take the highway?”

  “Yeah, take the highway.”

  “Why does he want to find Mona so bad?”

  “The voice Gabriel hears told him he needed to give up his life so that another person may live.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “He thinks he has to die, and he thinks it’s Mona’s life he has to save.”

  “Man, that’s so loco.” E.M. shakes his head and grins. “You can’t make this stuff up. I never met a group of people that was so full of doom and gloom as you Lakeview guys. If it wasn’t so serious, it’d be, like, hilarious. What the hell’s the matter with all of you anyway? Why is everyone so ready to die?”

  I wonder if that is still true for me. Am I so ready to die?

  “Hey!” E.M. elbows me. “You still thinking about it?”

  “I haven’t thought about it lately,” I lie. Then, “That’s not true. I thought of dying a couple of times the past two days … when I was home.”

  “Listen. Don’t worry about those thoughts. You can’t control them. What you can control is what you say to yourself when those thoughts come.”

  “Yes,” I say, remembering Dr. Desai’s words. You are the sun.

  “I never understood all this crap about suicidal thoughts. I get tons of thoughts every day, doesn’t mean I follow them. I’m walking down the street, I see a hot girl, ping, ping, ping, I get these thoughts to do this, do that. But I’m not like a dog who can’t control himself, know what I’m saying? You’re in control, not your thoughts. A bad thought comes, know what I do? I say something good. I push out the bad thought with good words. Something sad comes, bang, I talk to Huitzilopochtli. That’s what you gotta do. Make up your mind and say, ‘I ain’t never gonna try to kill myself no matter what, no matter what thoughts I get, no matter how sad I feel.’ You think Huitzilopochtli said, ‘Oh, I can’t fight the nighttime and shine another day ’cause I’m down in the dumps’?”

  “All right, all right!” It’s hard not to laugh. Who would have thought E.M. was so funny and smart?

  “How long we keep on this road?”

  “I’m going to give you directions back to where I live, and then from there I can get us to the hospital. It’s not the fastest way, but —”

  “How can you convince Gabriel to wanna live if you don’t believe it?”

  “Next stoplight, turn left,” I say. “I live over on those hills. This road will take us to the hospital.”

  “Have you found your bamboo stick yet?”

  “What?”

  “Lady Charlie’s bamboo stick. To hold on to. The picture of who you want to be.”

  “I might,” I say. “Maybe I have.” I think of that strange peace I felt when I was at the offices of The Quill, surrounded by books of poetry. It was a solid feeling. More a determination than a feeling, even — that I could spend my life learning the craft of writing. Can I hold on to that? And my mother’s strength. My bamboo sticks.

  We drive a few blocks in silence, and I say, “Do you really think he’ll listen to me?”

  “If he listens to anyone here on earth, it’ll be you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he trusts you.”

  “He trusts you and Mona too. We all trust each other.”

  “But you have words to reach him that we don’t have. Both of you like to mess with words.”

  “We do? How do you know?”

  E.M. gives me a Don’t ask stupid questions look. Then: “What about Princess Psycho?” he asks. “You heard from her?”

  “I haven’t been able to get in touch with her. All I have is the number of that phone she borrowed. I’m worried about her. I hope she’s not doing something illegal.”

  “She’s doing something illegal or insane, count on it. I know my people. She’s weak.”

  “There’s got to be a way to reach her.”

  “Rudy’s boss was due in later this morning. Like I told Gabriel, I can find out from him where Rudy lives.”

  “What if he doesn’t want to tell you?”

  “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

  We drive in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. I want to see Gabriel, but I am also anxious about it. Vicky Cruz versus God’s voice. It doesn’t seem like a fair contest. What can I say to Gabriel? E.M. is right. I have to believe with all my heart that life is worth living. Life is worth living at any cost. “There’s the entrance to the hospital,” I say.

  “Like I can’t read the sign.” E.M. parks the car, turns off the engine, and fixes his eyes on me. “Okay, Huichi, let’s get to work.”

  Help me be brave and strong like you, Mamá, I say again. I wonder if that counts as a prayer.

  We take the elevator to the fifth floor. Margie, the nurse at the nurses’ station, recognizes me.

  “Vicky,” she says, “so good to see you.”

  “Hi, Margie.”

  “Are you here for your prescription? Dr. Desai left it for you.”

  “And to see Gabriel.”

  She picks up a chart and reads. “I don’t see you on the list of people who can see him.”

  “Am I on that list?” E.M. asks.

  “Yes, you know you are. I let you in earlier this morning, didn’t I?” Margie gives E.M. a look that is more flirtatious than severe.

  “If I’m on there, then she should be there too. Dr. Desai just forgot to put her name down,” E.M. says. “People in the group can talk to each other. That’s the way it’s always been.”

  Margie looks at E.M. and then at me. “Okay,” she says, “but only for a few minutes.” She comes out of the nurses’ station, unlocks the door to the secured section, and holds it open for us.

  “I’ll come back in a little while. I’m going to find Rudy’s boss,” E.M. says to me. “Do your work.” He turns and heads for the elevator.

  Margie and I walk together to the third room down the hall. She stops by the open door. “There he is,” she whispers. “He’s been in and out, you know” — she taps her fo
rehead — “since he got here. His outs are getting longer, but I saw him a few minutes ago, so I know he’s in. I’ll come by to get you soon, okay?”

  “Thank you,” I say, and watch her go back to the nurses’ station.

  Gabriel is sitting by the window, staring out. He’s dressed in regular clothes, and I notice the bag where he keeps his things by his side. I enter slowly. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what his reaction will be after he told me he didn’t want to see me, and also that I may not find the right words to convince him to stay here. I walk to the window and stand there in silence. He doesn’t move. I can’t tell whether he’s ignoring me or whether he is totally lost in his thoughts. Finally, I say, “Gabriel.”

  His head jerks up like when you catch yourself falling asleep. “Vicky.” A small worried frown appears on his face, but the sparkle in his eyes tells me he’s glad to see me. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I didn’t want to come,” I say, teasing. “E.M. forced me. He came to get me.”

  “E.M.” There is a confused, scared look on his face, like a child who suddenly realizes he’s lost.

  “He’s downstairs.”

  I bring a chair from the other side of the room and sit facing him. He wrings his hands anxiously for a few moments, and then he says with a sad laugh, “They locked me up with Gwendolyn.”

  “Until you get better,” I say softly.

  “I need to get out,” he says, pleading.

  “Soon.”

  “I have to find Mona.”

  “The voice is telling you to do that?” I ask.

  A flash of terror crosses his face. This is a Gabriel I’ve never seen before. “I’m not crazy. The voice … it is real. God’s voice. Lots of people could hear it if there was less noise.”

  “God told you it was Mona you needed to save?”

  He wrinkles his forehead in thought. “I know she’s in danger. I just know.”

  “So you must die so Mona lives. That’s what you think God wants?”

  “Yes.”

  “Gabriel.” I pause to search for the right words, for any words really. How could E.M. have thought that I would find a way to reach Gabriel with my words? I go on haltingly, “Remember that first day when we met in the cafeteria? You said not wanting to live was an illness? It’s no different with you now. Anything that asks you to die is not healthy. That voice you hear urging you to die cannot come from God. It has to come from an illness.”

  “He wants Mona to live.”

  “And not you? Gabriel, you’re the one who told me I have things to live for, remember? The little things. And life. Green is for life that is all around us. You told me that too. What the voice is asking of you goes against who you are and all that you believe. You got me looking for the small pleasures, the bits of beauty that we run into every day.”

  He covers his ears with his hands. “The voice …”

  “It scares you now, because how can something so painful come from God? But that’s not the God you believe in. The God you believe in is a God who cares for the Gwendolyns of the world, just like I saw you care for her.”

  “Where does the voice come from, then? Why does it say it is from God?”

  “I don’t know. You need to find out. You need to stay here and let Dr. Desai do the tests she wants to do. You can’t leave now, because when you hear the voice, you’re not aware of where you are or what you are doing. You can hurt yourself or others. You need to stay. Take the medication Dr. Desai gives you.”

  “The voice is bad?”

  “To ask someone to die is bad.”

  “It’s bad to want to die?” I see him pulling away again, slowly. I reach over and hold his hands.

  “Yes,” I say. “It’s bad. I believe that now, thanks to you.” I laugh a short, quiet laugh, remembering the words E.M. wanted me to say on the drive to the hospital. “I ain’t never gonna try to kill myself no matter what. There. That’s my promise. Can you say that too — ‘I’m gonna live no matter what’?”

  Gabriel lowers his head. Then he lets go of my hands, covers his face, and sobs quietly. When the sobs subside, I reach out and touch his arm. I wait until he looks at me.

  “Remember how you wanted me to remind you that you are just a regular kid? You’re special but not better? I know it will hurt for you not to be the saint and the martyr and the hero who saves Mona. You’re going to have to settle for being Gabriel. That’s all you need to be. Just plain, regular, special-but-not-better Gabriel, who may be ill like Gwendolyn and your grandmother. Can you do that? Are you brave enough to be ordinary?”

  For the longest time he doesn’t answer. He just leans back in the chair, looking at me with an expression that resembles pride or love, or both. Finally, he says, “If I don’t listen to the voice …”

  “What? What will happen?”

  “It may not come again.”

  “And then what? What will happen?”

  “I’m scared not to hear it. I’ll be depressed like before it came. I’m scared to hear it and to not hear it.”

  “Why? Is it because the voice gives meaning to your life, keeps you from feeling worthless, like you told me once?”

  He bites his lip as if to keep himself from speaking.

  “What about the little things that give life meaning? The green of life that is all around us will be there even if you don’t hear the voice. Can’t those little things and that green of life be the way God speaks to you from now on? How can you possibly believe that you are worthless without the voice? You give so much, you’re needed so much by so many, you are so … so much more than someone who hears a voice, even if that voice is God himself speaking to you.”

  A faint smile, an almost-smile, appears on his face.

  “Maybe you will be depressed when the voice goes away,” I say after a few moments. “Then it will be the two of us struggling with depression. You and me, we’ll be depressed together.”

  “You’ll be there?” he asks quietly.

  “Gabriel. You’re my friend. My friend forever. I need you and you need me.” I lean over and kiss his cheek.

  “Mona,” he says, drifting away.

  “E.M. and I will find Mona. I promise you we will find her. But you need to stay here.”

  He is moving his lips, speaking to someone, his eyes closed. Then he opens them and whispers, “With Gwendolyn.”

  “Yes, with Gwendolyn. Remember how you made her laugh? You can make her laugh again today. The world is full of Gwendolyns that need you to make them laugh. I’m one of them,” I tell him.

  He nods. It is the slightest of nods, but that’s all I need. Then he snaps his head to one side and freezes, listening. Fear crosses his face. He makes what looks like an immense effort to snap out of it and says to me, urgently, “Go.” He shuts his eyes and covers his ears with his hands again.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I tell him.

  But I know he doesn’t hear me.

  E.M. is waiting for me by the nurses’ station. He waves a small piece of paper when he sees me. “I got Rudy’s address,” he says. “I know where he lives. It’s not far from here.”

  “Okay,” I say. We start walking toward the elevator, then I remember. I turn to Margie. “Dr. Desai left a prescription for me.”

  “Yes.” She opens a drawer and gives me a slip of paper. “See you soon, Vicky.”

  She means as a visitor and not as a patient … I think.

  On the way to his car, E.M. says, “You convinced Gabriel to stay.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like he had a choice,” I say, thinking of the locked doors to the upgrade side of the fifth floor.

  “He had a choice,” E.M. says.

  We get on a highway heading in the direction of my house. I feel peaceful. I made a decision back there in Gabriel’s room, one that I will always live by no matter how hard the days get. It’s not happiness, exactly. It’s more like a certainty, a determination, a quiet strength.

  Twenty minutes later, we
are driving past row after row of identical apartment buildings, the kind that resemble motels, with those small pools about the size of E.M.’s car.

  “This is the street,” he says. “Look for number 1475.”

  We slow down to peer at the numbers on the side of the buildings. “E.M.,” I say, “Gabriel thought it might be dangerous … when we find Mona. Promise me you’re not going to do anything to aggravate the situation?”

  “Agra-what?”

  “Promise me you won’t get violent or anything.”

  “Me? Violent?” he says, pretending to be offended.

  “I’m serious. Let’s go over our plan. Wait. Do we have a plan?”

  E.M. cranes his neck out the window, looking for house numbers. “Our plan is to find out what’s going on with Mona. If she’s with Rudy and in a bad place and can make decisions, then it’s up to you to convince her to come back with us.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re the expert convincer,” he says. “We’ll know what to do once we find out what’s going on. But … she’s a big girl. She’s got to make her choices, just like Gabriel did. Like you did.” He looks at me briefly and winks. “That’s it,” he adds, pointing at a three-story brick building. Many of the windows have leaking air conditioners sticking out of them, but more of the windows are open, and in a few I can see people looking out at the street.

  E.M. parks the car next to a row of aluminum cans overflowing with garbage. We get out of the car, E.M. not bothering to lock it. His is easily the worst car on the street. It is jarring to see glitzy, well-kept cars gleaming with chrome parked next to the oppressive apartment buildings and smelly garbage.

  “Apartment 316,” E.M. says.

  We walk through a playground with a rusty swing set and a pair of plastic horses on springs. One of the horses has been decapitated. We find the stairs on the side of the building and climb up single file, E.M. leading the way. He stops when we get to the third floor and looks at me as if to make sure that I want to continue. I nod, and we enter the hallway that leads to the apartments.

  Many of the doors to the apartments are open to create cross-ventilation with the open window at the other end of the hall. There are sounds of Mexican music and children crying and women yelling. From the doorway of one apartment, a man with a brown belly hanging over a pair of white boxer shorts leers at me as I walk by. He starts to say something, but then he sees E.M. glaring at him.