“I can drive you back to your mom’s place.”
“I’m not leaving right now.”
“I could wait.”
“Aren’t you going to get in trouble at your job?” she asked. “You’ve been with me for two hours.”
Not that she cared what his job thought. She just wanted him out of the apartment. When she was with him she had the bizarre sensation that ants were running up and down her arms. It was terribly irritating.
“I’m not a surgeon. People are not going to die if I show up late. It’s marketing.”
“Oh, yeah. Marketing,” Meche said, folding the flaps of another box. “What do you do, like peddle potato chips and shit?”
“I’m a Creative Director. I oversee the copy chief, the art director, and—”
“Wasn’t that what I just said? Peddle and shit.”
He looked amused as he sat on the floor of her father’s living room. Like he was having a really good time though she had said nothing nice to him all morning long.
“What do you do in Oslo?”
“I’m a coding monkey. Didn’t I say that?”
If she had not told him, then she was sure her mother had.
“When you’re not coding.”
“I don’t know. I watch TV. I take care of Svend.”
“Is that your boyfriend?”
“It’s a very big fern. I have several ferns but I only baptized one because if you name more than one inanimate object you’re heading into crazy cat lady territory.”
“That’s the rule?”
“Yeah.”
He smiled and she felt herself smiling back, which was not what she had been going for. Unfortunately, Sebastian had a way of disarming her. He’d had it when they were kids and he still had it now. Even though she knew she shouldn’t allow herself to be disarmed, that such behaviour led to shameful ruin, she was smiling.
“As much as I’d love to have a long chat about Pteridophyta, I really need some time to work and you’re distracting me.”
“Just how distracting am I?” he asked scooting closer.
Meche slammed a record against his chest, her eyebrows knitted together.
“Just carry these downstairs and get out, will you?”
He grabbed the boxes looking mightily amused, like that time when he had all the answers to the Spanish Literature quiz and she got none, so she sat at her desk in a panic while Sebastian smirked at her. Later she threw a piece of sandwich at the back of his head, but she didn’t have a sandwich at the moment.
“Don’t forget I’m taking you to the movies.”
“Go back to planet deluded,” she muttered.
She closed the door behind him and plucked a record sleeve from a pile.
“What do you think, Steve Perry?” she asked, smirking at the single—it was Oh Sherrie—and then tossing it to the floor because she realised she was talking to an inanimate object.
Mexico City, 1989
THE FIRST DAY back in class was usually a quiet, lazy progression of hours which everyone—teachers included—took easy. They were all recovering from the festivities. It was not a day for great happenings. But this year something very big did happen.
It took place right after English class. Sebastian, Meche and Daniela were sitting in their usual configuration.
Isadora Galván walked over towards them and in plain sight of about half a dozen other students, paused before Sebastian’s desk.
“Thank you for the nice Christmas present,” she said. “I’m wearing it today.”
“You’re... ah... welcome,” Sebastian said.
“A bunch of us are going to the movies tonight. Do you want to come?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Good. Let’s talk after school.”
Just like that Isadora bounced away, short skirt swaying, dazzling smile lighting the classroom. Gone and gone, leaving half a dozen students—as well as Meche and Daniela—completely stunned.
“Did I miss something while I was away?” Daniela asked.
“I’d say we both did.”
“I bought her a necklace,” Sebastian replied.
Meche’s voice was caramel-coated razors. “Gee, purchasing affection.”
“What do you know about it?”
“She just invited you to make Constantino jealous,” Meche said.
Daniela noticed how Sebastian twitched at that, as though he’d been zapped with a small taser. His eyes fixed on Meche and Meche rolled her eyes in turn.
“We need to change into the lab coats for chemistry. I have to wash mine again. I spilled something on it,” Meche said.
Daniela and Meche headed to the bathrooms. Meche grabbed the coat and placed it in the sink, rubbing it quickly.
“Do you think he’ll really go out with them tonight?” Daniela asked.
“What am I? A mind-reader?”
“I’m just asking.”
“Ugh,” Meche said. “Hey, how do you get rid of an avocado stain?”
“Beats me. When were you eating avocado?”
Meche put on the coat and looked in the mirror, brushing the hair away from her face.
“I don’t remember. Did you have a nice time in Mazatlán?”
“It was real nice. I wish we could have stayed longer.”
“Tell me about it,” Meche muttered. “How the hell does Rodriguez go about giving us an assignment during winter break? What am I saying, you don’t have anything to worry about. You’ll be doing the tutoring thing with him and he’ll give you an A just so you keep paying him.”
“I don’t know,” Daniela said. “It might not be so easy. We have our first session Friday and he’s already given me reading material.”
“I hate his little beady eyes.”
“He does not have little beady eyes.”
“Does too.”
They walked out of the bathroom and went up the stairs, following the flow of students moving at the sound of the bell.
“Did you have fun with Sebastian while I was away?” Daniela asked.
“It was alright,” Meche said, giving Daniela a sideways glance. “He...”
Meche trailed off and Daniela waited patiently for her to complete her sentence.
“Yeah?”
“Oh, nothing. Something dumb.”
SEBASTIAN WATCHED THE screen without watching it, his eyes out of focus, and when they stepped into the lobby he could not have said what movie had been screened.
“We’re going to the washroom,” Isadora told the boys.
She walked away, followed by the other girls. Sebastian stood a bit to the side, not really engaging the boys in the group. Constantino and the other three clones glanced in his direction, smirked and talked amongst themselves.
It was to be expected. But then Constantino motioned to him and Sebastian walked towards them, shuffling forward, his shoulders hunched; a lumbering giant.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“We’re glad you could make it tonight,” Constantino said.
Sebastian nodded, a bit surprised by that.
“I’m glad too.”
“But don’t make a habit out of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we don’t want you going out with Isadora again.”
“We or you?” Sebastian asked, surprising himself with the boldness lurking in his voice.
The boys glanced at each other, then back at him. Constantino’s lips curled into a smile.
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“What friend?” Sebastian asked cautiously.
“The one who likes music. She wears her headphones all the time.”
“Meche.”
“Yeah. She’s a good dancer. She’s got good moves.”
Sebastian recalled the night at Isadora’s party, when he’d seen Meche twirling in Constantino’s arms and the sick feeling in his gut. He said nothing.
“If you fuck with my girl, I’ll fuck with yours,” Constantino said. �
��I’ll give it to her up the ass.”
Sebastian stood straight, unfolded to his full length and glared down at Constantino, his fingers pressing against his throat, making the shorter boy gasp with shock because Sebastian had never before put up a fight. The others must have also been in shock because they did not interfere.
“Never, ever try that,” he whispered. “Or I’ll cut off your dick.”
He released Constantino and stepped back. The boys, normally itching to pile insults on him, seemed to have lost their will and looked dully at him. Constantino straightened up, his handsome face ugly with anger.
“I’ll teach you a lesson some other time.”
“Try it,” Sebastian said.
He thought how they might fare if he cast a spell. Maybe Constantino could contract a nasty disease. These dark thoughts must have been reflected in his eyes for the boys looked away and Constantino pressed his lips tightly together and did not speak again.
The girls returned. Isadora smiled at him and Sebastian smiled back. There was some talk of going for a bite and Sebastian, tight on finances as usual, looked at his watch and pretended he was expected for supper back at home.
“I should go,” Sebastian told her. “But thanks for the invitation.”
“Maybe we can go out some other time,” she said.
“Yes.”
The boys glared at him. Sebastian walked out of the movie theatre.
GRANDMOTHER’S NEEDLES CLICKED together as she knitted, fingers steady, always knowing what movement would follow. Practice, she’d told Meche. All it takes is a little practice.
Maybe it was the same with magic. Meche thought they were getting better but there was still the need for practice.
They should have been in the factory that evening. But Sebastian was out with Isadora and her friends.
Meche glanced at the clock. The little hand had scarcely moved.
She sighed and looked at her homework. She had finished the math problems ages ago and was now stuck on some short story readings. The words seemed to jump and dance before her eyes. She could not concentrate.
“Can you tell me the story of the girl in the well, grandmother?” she asked.
“Aren’t you working?”
“I’m tired.”
“There once was a little girl who lived deep in a well. The chaneques had taken her when she was little, stolen her from her mother and placed her deep in the middle of the forest, inside a well—”
The phone rang and Meche rushed to pick it up, breathlessly holding the receiver.
“Yes?”
“Hey, Meche,” her father said.
Oh. She thought it might have been Sebastian. He would tell her the evening had been crap and they would laugh together about it.
“I’m going to be home late tonight. I’ve got some business over here.”
“Do I leave your plate out?”
“Just put it in the refrigerator. Thanks, sweetheart.”
“Okay. Night.”
Meche went to the kitchen and put some picadillo on a dish, then began covering it with plastic. Her mother walked in and glanced at her.
“Dad’s coming late.”
Her mother did not say anything. She dropped her glass in the sink and walked out, but Meche could see it in her eyes: she was angry. Dad was probably at the bar, getting drunk. She hoped she was not going to be sent out to find him. But, as was regularly the case, an hour later she was putting on her green jacket and gnashing her teeth.
She poked her head into the bar and looked around. Her father was not playing dominoes and he was not chatting with the regulars. He was not there.
Meche walked back home and poured herself a glass of milk before going to bed. Her mother, nestling a cup of coffee between her hands, was reading a magazine.
“He wouldn’t come,” Meche lied, though she did not know why she did.
Her mother turned a page and nodded.
VICENTE LAY IN the arms of his mistress and thought of his wife. It was the worst time possible to be doing this, but he could not get Natalia out of his mind.
He needed to leave her. He was tired of sneaking around. He was just plain tired. When he woke up in the morning he saw a middle-aged man with grey hair and a forlorn expression in the mirror. He hated that man. He hated himself.
But there were some practical things to consider. Their daughter, for one. And, though it might sound crass, there was the issue of the money.
Vicente had none. His desire to move to Puerto Vallarta, to live by the beach and spend his days watching sunsets, drowned in the reality of his scant possibilities.
He wished he was fifteen, even ten years younger than he currently was. He wished he had never met nor married his wife. Then he didn’t wish that because that would mean Meche would not exist.
Azucena had told him about a business venture of a cousin of hers, something guaranteed to bring in dough. Vicente imagined himself rich, with a house in el Pedregal and a brand new sports car. Meche could live with them. She’d like it there. He’d buy her nice clothes and take her to eat out every night of the week.
“What is it that your cousin does, again?” he asked Azucena.
Mexico City, 2009
MECHE BOUGHT PISTACHIOS and a Coke at the corner store. Catalina Coronado was there too, buying eggs. The old woman stood gossiping and Meche had to wait ten minutes as the gnarled witch informed the shopkeeper of the movements of everyone in the colonia. Finally, Meche was able to pay, dumping her coins on the counter. Then it was onto the bus, headphones on, until she reached her father’s apartment.
The apartment seemed to be getting more depressing every day and Meche was sure the flamingoes were growing anemic. Their ugly, faded, pink bodies blurred into one large pink blob when she stared at the curtains for too long. If she stared at the records the faces on the covers also blurred and changed, becoming faces of people she had known. Becoming her father.
KEEP MOVING. KEEP going. Keep running. Go through another pile of records, toss another box in a corner. Repeat.
Three more nights of prayer and then it was over.
She switched to her father’s papers, cramming pages from his book into a box, slamming the typewriter on the top. She emptied the bedside table and found his diary for the current year.
March’s entry. Written with his tight handwriting, filling every centimetre on the page.
I am planning on visiting Meche next year in Norway. She doesn’t know it yet. I have decided to save enough money for the plane ticket and go in the summer. I want to see Meche before I die.
Meche went into the kitchen and searched the cabinets for her father’s booze. But there was none. The old drunkard was disappointing her: he wouldn’t even share his liquor.
Meche laughed. She opened the front door, determined to leave for Oslo right that instant. Determined to escape the dark, dingy apartment, the singers plastered on the covers of an army of records, the notebooks crammed with his life. She was going to die if she didn’t get some air.
But back home there would be the food, the prayers, the people, the conversations and her father’s picture in a silver frame set high upon a shelf for everyone to see.
She hurried back to the bedroom, lay on the bed and turned up the volume on the iPod, searching for a recent song. Something fresh. Meche closed her eyes.
When she woke up there was a tall, dark shadow in the doorway, blocking the light which filtered from the living room.
“Sebos?” she asked, her mouth dry.
She must be dreaming of him, like she did in Europe, during the long winter nights when he used to come into her room and sit quietly at the foot of her bed. The ghost of a boy who had not died.
“Nobody calls me Sebos anymore,” he said and when he stepped forward she saw it was not the young Sebastian who had haunted her. It was the older one. The real one.
“What are you doing here?”
“I went to your home for the novena and nobo
dy knew where you were. I thought you might still be here. We had a movie to watch.”
“How did you get in?” she asked, wondering if he still had some magic tricks under his sleeve. Turning into mist and slipping under the door maybe.
“You left the door open.”
How prosaic. Meche shook her head, still groggy. She pulled out the earbuds, stuffing them in her pocket.
“Is the praying over?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“What are you doing?”
“I was taking a nap until you interrupted me.”
“No, I mean what are you doing,” he asked, the inflexion falling on the last word.
He sat on the bed and she sat up so that she was level with him.
“Thinking,” she said.
“I had a hard time when my dad died.”
“When did he die?”
“A couple of years ago.”
“You hated him,” Meche said. “He used to beat you up.”
“He did. But he also did nice things. He made toys for me. Little things of wire and tin. I try to remember the good things.”
“Then you’re a better person than I,” she muttered, folding her legs into a lotus position.
“When did you get so sad?”
“Oh, please,” Meche said. “Am I crying?”
“No.Then?”
“When I was seven years old I fell down and I said, ‘I’m not going to cry about this.’ And I didn’t. I’ve stayed true to that. Waterworks don’t work for me, all that stupid melodrama...”
“You didn’t cry because you wanted to show your dad you were brave,” Sebastian said turning his head and looking at her. “You told me that story. I remember.”
“Great. So what? Should I start weeping all over your shirt and you can wipe my tears with that God-damn nasty tie you’re wearing?” she asked, jamming a finger against one of the buttons on his shirt. Poking his chest. “You get your kicks like that these days?”
“I can go if you want.”
“You do that,” she said and grabbed the notebook she had been reading before. She tossed it at him, hitting him on the face.
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