Where I Belong

by Marcia Argueta Mickelson

  Charlie pulls onto the expressway. “You can’t just reduce us to our demographics . . .”

  “Other people will. And before you say you don’t care—you have the luxury of not caring. It’s safe for you to not care. Besides, I bet if your dad wins this Senate seat, a lot of people around you will care too.”

  “Nobody who matters to me.”

  “What about your parents? I’m sure I’m not who they have in mind for you.”

  “Are you kidding? They love you.”

  “The housekeeper’s daughter?”

  Charlie squeezes the steering wheel and shakes his head. “Is that what you think? My parents don’t think of your mom as the housekeeper. She’s like a part of our family. And—”

  “She is NOT LIKE A PART OF YOUR FAMILY,” I explode. “Your parents pay her, Charlie. They pay her just enough that she can afford to rent a dilapidated house in a sketchy part of town. The fact that you occasionally also give her your charity doesn’t make her family.”

  There’s a long pause. “Okay,” he says at last, “okay, that’s fair. But they do care about your mom. They genuinely care about all of you, and they think the world of you, Millie. They would never object to us dating. My parents aren’t bad people.”

  “I’m not saying they are. I know they’re great people; they’re just not my people.”

  “So you just want to give up, before we’ve even really tried to make it work?”

  “I think we have tried.”

  Silence fills the car. For the next two hours, Charlie doesn’t say anything to me except “Is it cool enough?” and “Want me to turn on the radio?” and “Are you hungry?” I say fine to the temperature, yes to the radio to dispel the silence, and no to being hungry.

  Finally, Charlie pulls up in front of my house, sits back, and rubs his hands up and down the steering wheel. “This did not go how I thought it would, how I hoped it would.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, because I am. Not for speaking my mind, but for shattering the dream of us being together, a dream I desperately wish we could’ve held on to for at least a little longer.

  “This can’t be it, Millie.” He turns over to look at me. Shadows play on his face and only half-hide his downturned mouth. It is very rare that Charlie Wheeler doesn’t smile, but this is one of those times, and I’m the cause of it.

  “Maybe we just need some time to figure things out,” he says. “Can we talk in a few days?”

  “Charlie, I don’t want to keep rehashing this. If you care about me, you’ll respect my decision.”

  Charlie pulls his eyes away from me and turns to look out of the window. “Okay. I will. Just . . . know that I love you, Mil.”

  I want to say that I love him too, but that will only leave the door open for him to hope. And there’s no point in hoping.

  “Thanks for tonight. I wish it had ended differently too,” I manage to say. “Good night, Charlie.”

  “Good night, Mil.”

  Earlier today, when I pictured the end of our date, I imagined him walking me up to my front door, giving me a parting kiss. Instead, I get out of the car and go inside alone.

  “Millie.” Mami’s loud whisper from the living room startles me. It’s after ten, and I’m surprised she’s still awake.

  I walk the few steps to the couch where she’s sitting. “Hi, Mami.”

  “How did it go?” she asks me.

  I don’t sit down next to her because if I do, my already shaken composure will disintegrate, and I don’t want to divulge the details of my terrible evening. “It was okay. I feel pretty tired, so I better go to bed.”

  “Está bien, mija. Buenas noches.”

  As I crawl into bed, all the night’s events come tumbling back into my mind and make the small, hollow gap in my heart expand until all I feel is an emptiness that hurts so much. I love Charlie Wheeler. I’ve loved him for a long time, but I will also always resent his family—for taking Mami away from us so much, for exposing us to danger, for thinking their charity is enough to compensate for everything we will never have.

  ≈

  The next morning, Mami asks me if I want to go to the Wheelers’ with her. She’s taking Javi, Sele, and Ceci to spend the day there. I tell her that I’d rather stay home and finish unpacking my room. I can’t bear to tell her that I don’t want to see Charlie, that we had a fight.

  So after they all leave, I spend most of the morning in my room cleaning cobwebs and dead insects out of the closet. I put away some of my clothes in the donated dresser and hang up the rest of them. I also scrub the bathtub and mop the linoleum floor in the bathroom, which looks like it hasn’t seen a mop in its thirty years.

  I think about Charlie all morning. I wonder if he’ll say something to Mami about the date. I wonder if he’s even home or if he’s spending the day with his friends or at his country club job. I keep expecting him to text me, to ask if he can come by and talk, but he doesn’t. He promised to respect my decision. I don’t know why I expected him to do otherwise.

  Chloe comes by with tacos around lunchtime. We sit at the Rosarios’ old table in the kitchen. She takes a bite of a carne guisada taco, her favorite, and I savor my carne asada, which reminds me of the carne asada Papi used to make every time we’d go to the park. He’d bring charcoal, starter fluid, and a tub of his marinated steak, which he’d grill on one of the park grills.

  “So, I think I’ve seen Ivan every day since graduation,” Chloe says.

  “Does that mean it’s getting serious?”

  “Yeah, things are really good. I think he’s matured. Seriously. He’s all ready for college. We’re even talking about taking some classes together. But what about you? How was the big date last night?” Chloe scoots her chair in, her full attention on me.

  I put my taco down and turn my eyes downward. “Not so good actually.”

  “What?” She slaps the table with her hand. “Tell me what happened.”

  I explain as best I can. “We’re just too different, Chloe. It would never work out. It’s just better that we end it before it even really begins.”

  Chloe finishes the bite she has in her mouth and shakes her head. “Are you serious, girl? Charlie is a really great guy. I think you need to call him right now.”

  “No, Chloe. I think I did the right thing. I like Charlie a lot, but the reality is that he doesn’t get where I’m coming from, and that will always get between us.”

  She ponders this for a moment. “Well, it’s your call. And I mean, you said it yourself: college boys. Pretty soon you’ll probably meet some other great guy who’s got more in common with you. Some super-hot Latino from, like, Oakland or wherever.”

  “Wow, brilliant stereotyping, Chlo.”

  “I’m just saying, the world is full of people to date if you really don’t want to date Charlie Wheeler.”

  The thought should cheer me up, but it doesn’t.

  When Mami brings the kids home, they disperse to do the chores she’s assigned them. Sele and I go into our room to finish cleaning and unpacking.

  About ten minutes in, Sele puts down a rag she’s been using to clean the baseboards and plops down on the floor. “Charlie told me what happened.”

  “Does Mami know?” I ask.

  “No, he didn’t tell her, and I didn’t either.”

  “What exactly did he say?”

  “That you ran into Sebastian Smith and he wanted an interview. Charlie said you got mad at him because he tried to push you into doing it and that you’re still mad at him.”

  “That’s all he said?”

  “Oh and also that you think you’re too different because he’s rich and white and his dad’s about to be senator or whatever.”

  “What do you mean, whatever? That stuff is all a pretty big deal, Sele.”

  She shrugs. “I mean, sure. I’m not saying it doesn’t matter. But it’s not the only thing that matters.”

  Sele stands up. “I just think, if you’re going to let people
convince you that dating someone who’s different from you is too hard, you’re kind of letting them win.” With that, she picks up an empty cardboard box and goes out into the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I look at my watch as I sit on the floor of my new room sorting socks. It’s Wednesday afternoon. The rally in Victoria is going to start in a couple of hours. I already texted Oscar that I can’t go. I thought about it carefully, weighed the consequences of going and skipping. But I keep thinking about Susana’s letter. They can come and get me if they want, but I’m not going to hide anymore. I’m going to speak out.

  Her fearlessness won’t leave my head. The consequence of Susana going could be deportation. If she shows up at the rally, speaks her mind, she could be picked up by the authorities and sent to a country she doesn’t even remember. She’s going into the situation knowing this, knowing how much she has to lose, but doing it anyway.

  What do I have to lose if I go? Will I be deported? No. My standing in this country is far more secure than hers. Yet I am here, and she is there.

  I toss the last few pairs of socks into the basket, and put the basket on the bed, where Sele sits sewing.

  She looks up at me. “What?”

  “I think I might go to Victoria after all.”

  Her eyes widen. “Can I go with you?”

  I hesitate for a moment. “I don’t know what it’s going to be like. There might be police there. It could get dangerous or . . .”

  “I want to go.” She gets off the bed and walks over to her dresser, where she pulls a folded piece of paper out of her top drawer. “I printed out the directions, in case you changed your mind.” She unfolds the paper and hands it to me.

  I look over the driving directions, feeling grateful and ashamed at the same time.

  “I’ll go tell Mami,” she says.

  While she’s gone, I wonder what on earth I should wear to a rally. Definitely not the short-shorts, tee, and flip-flops I’m wearing now. I pull out a pair of black dress pants and the white blouse with tiny purple polka dots that Charlie gave me.

  When I walk into the kitchen, Mami and Sele are standing by the door. Mami hands me the keys with a smile. “Go, mija.”

  I nod and take the keys. I know if I open my mouth to speak, I will probably cry. I can’t start this with tears. Sele follows me out the door and we get into Mami’s Tercel.

  Sele looks at the driving directions as I head toward the expressway. “Get on 77,” she says.

  I nod and drive in silence for a while. Finally I say, “Remember when Papi died, and Mami would come lie in bed with you every night?”

  “Yeah,” Sele says. She folds and refolds the sheet of paper on her lap.

  “I used to think it was because she wanted to comfort you because you were so sad. And you were sad, but I think you were also comforting her. She needed you. You’re like this quiet, calming force in our family. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  “We all do our part,” she says. “And our parts change a little as we grow, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. Like I think Javi can do the dishes next year, right? He’s getting old enough.”

  Sele nods. “Yeah, he’ll do the dishes. I’ll do the cooking.”

  “You want to do the cooking?”

  “I can do the cooking, sure.”

  “I might be very busy with college,” I say.

  “I understand. We’ll be okay when you’re not around, Mil.”

  “Sele, I wasn’t sure how to tell you this, how I would tell any of you this.” I pause for a second. “I have a scholarship to Stanford; I’m not going to stay here. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

  I can feel Sele staring at me, though I keep my eyes on the road. “Wow. I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me. Don’t you trust me? You don’t think I can handle things without you?”

  I let out a long breath and let silence hang in the air between us. “Of course I trust you,” I say slowly. “And I know you can handle it, but I was waiting for the right moment to tell you.”

  “You should’ve told me right away. You should’ve told all of us. We would’ve been so happy for you.”

  “But I feel bad just leaving you guys to deal with everything on your own.”

  Sele leans forward in her seat. “But it’s Stanford. It’s why Mami and Papi came here—so that we could have the best. The Island University is good, but Stanford is the best. Mami will be happy for you too. You shouldn’t keep this from her anymore.”

  I nod, but I can’t say anything. I focus on the drive; look for the place where I’ll have to turn. Sele directs me the rest of the way to Victoria and to the fairgrounds where the rally is being held. Most of the parking area is filled, with only a few open spaces scattered along the far edge.

  I hear a booming voice as we enter the spacious fairgrounds. A large crowd is gathered around a platform stage. Sele and I make our way through the crowd. A lot of young people are wearing Victoria East High School shirts. Two young men are wearing Titans football jerseys and holding a banner. Sele and I walk around them, passing several older white people carrying signs.

  Toward the front, I see Mr. Wheeler, Charlie, and a few other people standing at the bottom of a small stage. A young woman with long, curly dark hair is at the top of the stage behind a flimsy makeshift podium. This must be Susana, and I’m amazed at how poised she is in front of this huge crowd—like that’s where she belongs.

  She speaks animatedly into a microphone. “We are here to do no harm. I am here to harm no one. I love this country, and it is my home. I want to help build up this country just as millions of immigrants before me have done. I am just one of many who are here to work, who are here to help, who are here to succeed, who are here to dream.”

  The people start to cheer, and the movement of signs and banners ripples through the crowd. I don’t read them. My focus is on Susana. As she scans her audience, her eyes come to rest on me and recognition sets in. She waves at me, and I find myself moving closer to the platform.

  “Thank you so much for coming out today,” she continues. “Our crowd is full of dreamers, full of supporters who have come a long way to show Texas that we stand in solidarity with those who dare to dream.”

  Susana starts to wave her hands more eagerly to me as I keep walking forward. Eyes begin to turn toward me a few at a time. Most people here don’t know me and perhaps are wondering why she is signaling to me. Charlie soon spots me, and I’ve never seen him look happier. The sight of him makes my heart constrict.

  “A new friend is here today. She has come all the way from Corpus Christi, and I hope that she will come up and join me on the stage.” Susana steps to the side as I reach the small set of steps that leads up to the platform.

  I climb the steps, heart hammering in my chest. Once I reach the podium, Susana squeezes my hand and points to the microphone.

  I’m not prepared for this. I was coming to show my support, but I hadn’t planned on speaking. I look out at the expectant faces before me. As the seconds elapse, they quiet, wait for me to say something, but I don’t know what they want to hear, what Susana wants me to say.

  So, I just talk. “My name is Milagros Vargas. I was just a few months old when I came to Texas. I didn’t ask to come here, didn’t make that choice.” My voice catches, and I pause, trying to calm my frantically beating heart. “It was made for me by loving parents who risked everything, gave up everything to bring me here. They came here seeking asylum. And they didn’t do it for themselves. They did it for us.”

  A few people let out approving cheers. I stop for a moment, finally taking in the crowd before me. Everyone is watching me. I see the signs clearly for the first time: “Immigrants are Welcome Here,” “No one is Illegal,” and “Keep Families Together.” I look at Sele, and she nods at me.

  “Some people may say, ‘You don’t belong here,’ but I don’t know anywhere else but here. This is my home. And I may not have been born
here, but I know citizenship. My parents taught me this. My mother will drive back to a store to pay for something they forgot to charge her for. She’s taught me what is right. And she’s taught me to be proud of who I am. I do belong here.”

  There is more cheering and enthusiastic sign-waving from the crowd. I wonder if I’m done speaking. I think I’m done. I’m not sure if there’s anything more to say, or if I’m supposed to move out of the way to let others speak.

  I lean into the microphone again. “People like Susana deserve to be here as much as I do, as much as anyone does. She has a kind of courage that I’m only beginning to understand. I was scared to come here today; scared of what people would think of me, would say about me. But I don’t want to be scared anymore. I want to do all I can to help in this fight.” Applause erupts, cutting off my last word.

  There. Now I’m really done. I look around, hoping someone will come up to take the microphone. A man I don’t know climbs the steps to the platform, clapping as he walks toward me. I hand over the mic and he begins talking. Susana embraces me and then we stand together off to the side as the man at the microphone concludes the rally with some closing remarks. Applause follows his speech, and Susana turns to me.

  “Thank you so much for coming, Millie. I’m so happy to meet you.”

  “I’m so happy to meet you,” I say. “I think you’re so brave.”

  Oscar Zambrano comes over to greet us. “It’s good to see you, Millie. I’m glad you two finally get to meet.”

  I look at Oscar, at the small beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead. I think about all the unkind thoughts I’ve had toward him for pushing me to do that interview. As I watch him wipe the sweat from his brow, see his rolled-up sleeves, the underarms of his shirt soaked in this June heat, all I can feel is gratitude. It was his prodding that propelled me to the spotlight—the last place I ever wanted to be. But it is being in that spotlight that’s helped me realize there is something—a very small something—that I can give others.