Marcus Vega Doesn't Speak Spanish

by Pablo Cartaya

  “There they are!” Hilda says, then thanks the guy.

  “Sorry, we’re not in the market for a time-share,” María says, handing the guy back his business card. The guy tries to talk about the highlights of the property.

  “I said, no. Thank you.” María stares at the guy. He backs off. I wouldn’t mess with María. She has that same I might have to kill a cow look that Darma has. The guy scurries off and leaves them poolside. They walk toward us from one of the pool bars.

  “Hola, primo,” Sergio says.

  “Sergio,” my dad says.

  “Are you all set?” Sergio asks me.

  I nod, but I have one last thing to say.

  “I always thought I wanted to see you,” I tell my dad. “To let you meet my brother, who is the coolest kid in the world. But you never answered. You never even tried. I just want you to know that you’re not the hero in this story.” I point to my mom. “She’s my hero.”

  The anger rushing over me cools. I’ve only punched one person in my life. I’m not sure I ever want to punch someone again. It didn’t feel good. It hurt. I could do it to him, though. Nobody would blame me. But I don’t. Instead, I offer him something.

  I dig into my pocket and hand him his Pennsylvania driver’s license.

  “Here you go,” I tell him. “I don’t need to hold on to this.”

  And like that, I put my father away forever.

  “You’re the hero, sweetheart,” my mom says, and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Everyone!” Charlie says, putting his hand up for high fives as we walk back inside the hotel. “I am the hero. Marcus is my sidekick.”

  I put my arm around his shoulders.

  “Come on, show-off. Let’s get out of here.”

  Angela, Hilda, María, Sergio, my mom, and Charlie surround me. They hug me and stay close. Now I know what Danny and those other kids must feel when I walk them. Protected.

  TWENTY

  FAMILIA MONSTRUO

  As we wait on the curb for a taxi, I realize I’m hungry. I reach into my bag and dig out the rambutan Sergio gave me back at Darma’s farm. It’s not bright orange anymore. It looks like it’s gone bad. Sergio notices.

  “It’s still good, you know? You just have to peel off the skin.”

  He hands me his pocketknife, and I carefully slice it open. The little white ball is inside. I scoop it out and take a bite, careful not to chew through the seed. The sweet and sour flavors tickle my tongue. My mom is right. This is delicious.

  We wait for the taxi, laughing and making jokes.

  “Where to now?” I say, because really, after all the driving we’ve done around Puerto Rico, I have no idea.

  “Now we go grab some food and then we go home.”

  “Thank you for sticking with us, Sergio,” my mom says.

  “Melissa, this is what we do for family.”

  María bribes another taxi driver and we all get in. I don’t feel cramped anymore, though.

  I lean my head against the seat and roll down the window. I let the warm air wash over me. I take out my camera again. Snap. Snap. Snap. Pictures of everyone in the car on our way back to Old San Juan.

  “It’s too hot! Roll up the window! I need AC!” Charlie pushes the front seat to get my attention.

  My brother, the mood crusher.

  I thought about what happened. My mom knew all along. She knew my dad would be that way. Everyone did. My mom knew he had moved on to another life long ago. But she also knew that I needed to go. Darma helped her understand that. Tío Ermenio is right. Darma is tough and really smart. And she’s real. I like that.

  We pass a billboard advertising a battery.

  EL CLIMA ES IMPREDECIBLE—PREPÁRATE

  It’s something about the climate. It’s something about being prepared. We pass another one. It’s a company I don’t recognize.

  EL LUGAR ES ESTE, EL MOMENTO AHORA

  “Lugar” means “place.” I know because I heard María say it in the car on the way to the farm. “Momento” has to mean “moment.” “Ahora” is “now,” or “time.” I don’t remember.

  We drive on, and I read more signs that are mostly in Spanish. It’s like another country out here. Except it’s not. It’s an island in the middle of the ocean where people speak English and Spanish and sometimes a mix of both. It’s full of contradictions. The people here can serve in the US military but can’t vote for president. How does that make sense? Where they play the same sports as we do back in Springfield. Have the same passport. The same currency. It’s part of the same country. It’s a place where a Puerto Rican living in Chicago can invent a sandwich that reminds people of their culture, and a tall kid living in a small town in Pennsylvania can learn he has a culture and family he can claim. I came here to find my dad. But I didn’t find him. I found something else.

  My mom knows we’ll return. Return to the farm in the clouds. To the family we found. She knows. We all do.

  After a long drive, we enter the cobblestone streets of Old San Juan again. Everyone takes out money to pay the taxi driver when we reach Tío Ermenio’s place, but Sergio refuses my mom’s money again.

  “No, you keep it.”

  My mom tries to insist, but María, Angela, and Hilda block her. The cab driver is patient while we figure it out, and then zips off. We stare at the old building with no doorknob, and I instantly feel warm inside. It’s the feeling you get when you’re glad to be somewhere.

  “What a trip, huh?” my mom says, stretching. “I’m sorry you had to experience that one bad spot, sweetie.” No bad spots, I think. Just doors that needed to be closed and new ones I’m so glad we opened.

  DAY FIVE

  TWENTY-ONE

  LIKE ALL THINGS

  Charlie doesn’t want to leave the next morning after breakfast and, to be honest, I don’t either. My mom hugs and thanks Tío Ermenio.

  “Now you have to come back sooner,” he says. “I hardly saw you!”

  “I know!” my mom says. “I promise we’ll be back soon. Maybe even this summer!”

  “This is your home,” Tío Ermenio says.

  My mom got close to him on this trip. I can tell by the way she kept calling him to tell him we were okay on the road.

  Next, she turns to María. “You can stay with us whenever you want,” my mom says.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  “We’re not too far from New Jersey. There are amazing tomatoes there!”

  “In New Jersey?” María asks.

  “Oh, there are places that will surprise you,” my mom says. “Jersey is one of them.”

  María laughs.

  “Maybe we’ll fly from Florida to visit you in Pennsylvania?” Sergio says.

  “What do you mean, Papá?”

  “After I visit you in college, maybe we can take a trip to Springfield?”

  “You’re afraid of flying.”

  “Ah, I think I’ll manage. Right, Marcus?”

  “Not gonna lie, Sergio. Flying is scary,” I tell him.

  “Marcus!” Mom says.

  “What? I’m serious; it’s nerve-racking.” I look at the old building with no doorknobs. “But totally worth it.”

  Angela braids Hilda’s hair at the foot of the stairs and Hilda blows kisses at us.

  “Wir werden euch vermissen,” she says.

  “Hilda says we’ll miss you,” Angela says.

  Hilda nods while Angela finishes the braids, and then gets up to hug us. “Be well, my handsome Marcus,” she whispers to me.

  I nod and I think I blush a little.

  Sergio puts his arm on my shoulder. “Oh, Marcus,” he says, bringing me closer. “I’ll be sending you the bill for my broken-down truck.”

  He winks and I laugh.

  After our last good-byes, we all hop in a cab
and head to the airport. My mom promises we’ll return, and I believe her. We all do.

  * * *

  We finally land in Philly after a long day of travel. The airport is quiet. It doesn’t sound like Puerto Rico. It’s like someone hit the mute button. We walk outside, and the brisk air and gray sky remind me that we’re back home. Puerto Rico is humid. The heat makes you open up. Literally, your pores sweat constantly. Here it’s the opposite. The cold tightens. You have to keep things closed. Bundled.

  My mom sounds refreshed. She sounds like she is ready to take on the world.

  “First thing I’m doing on Monday is meeting with Principal Jenkins. He has to accommodate us. He must.”

  My mom, the fighter.

  For dinner, we order takeout. We sit around the kitchen table and munch on black beans and rice with steak from the Cuban restaurant in town. We don’t have a Puerto Rican restaurant in our neighborhood. The food from this place is good. Not as good as the stuff I ate back in PR, but it’s not bad.

  Charlie helps clean up after dinner, which is a total shocker.

  “Whoa! Maybe we should send you to Darma’s farm once a month?”

  Charlie says he wants to go back tomorrow.

  “Not so soon, honey. We will, though.”

  Charlie finishes washing up, takes a bath by himself, and gets into his pajamas. He is happy because he knows he’s going back to school on Monday. He wants to tell all his friends about his trip to Puerto Rico.

  “They’re going to be so jealous,” he says while I tuck him in. He wrinkles his nose and holds out his hand. I bring my head down to his and our noses touch.

  “Nose kiss,” he says, rubbing his nose against mine.

  “Mr. Wonka,” I tell him, smiling back.

  “Ha! Mr. Wonka. Mom! Marcus called me Mr. Wonka!”

  “All right, go to bed,” I tell him, patting his chest softly.

  “Night, Marcus.”

  “Night, buddy,”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  * * *

  I tell my mom good night before heading back to my room. I take Danny’s camera and look through the pictures of our trip. There are a whole bunch of photos of Charlie, my mom, Darma, Tío Ermenio, Sergio, María, Hilda, and Angela. There is one of Tío Pepe next to the pernil he roasted. There are several of the places we went on our road trip across the countryside. None of the fancy hotel. None of my dad.

  I upload them onto the computer and put them in a file. I label the file and check my email. Danny has sent me a note. I open it. It says he spent all break getting kids to sign the petition to keep me in school. He tells me parents have signed it also. He says he’s going to hold rallies at the school until they—dang, he uses big words—“exonerate me of all wrongdoing.” Then he goes on to say what a punk Stephen is and that kids are starting to speak out in bigger numbers. He says Stephen is the one who should get expelled.

  I appreciate the email. Danny is cool. But I don’t want Stephen to get expelled. That’s not going to do anything. A kid like Stephen is just scared. Scared of not being liked. Scared of things he doesn’t understand. I don’t hate him. I don’t think he’s ever going to use the R word again. Part of me wishes I hadn’t punched him. I could’ve really hurt him. That’s not cool. But then again, if I hadn’t punched him, I may not have gone to PR.

  I respond to Danny’s email.

  Thanks. I appreciate it, but I don’t want Stephen to get expelled. I just want to go back to school and finish out the year. Oh yeah, and thanks for the camera. I attached some photos I took. They’re of family, mostly. I’ll come by tomorrow to return the camera. Thanks again, man. Really.

  —Marcus

  I look at the file name attached to the email.

  FAMILIA

  I hit send and turn off the computer. I scan through the pictures on Danny’s camera one more time while on my bed. I took over a thousand photos.

  RETURN

  TWENTY-TWO

  QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS

  On Monday, we all get up and have breakfast together. My mom makes scrambled eggs with bacon and cheese. Charlie is already dressed and ready to go to school. I worry about what Principal Jenkins is going to say. He already told my mom that the best thing for Charlie is a special school. The Academy for Exceptional Students. My brother is doing fine in public school. Still, though, I worry about him next year. My mom and I look at the flyer on the fridge. We’re both thinking about it.

  “It’s expensive, Mom,” I tell her. “Besides, Charlie deserves to be in a school like every other kid.”

  “He does, but I’ve been reading up on AES. They really do have great schools all over. Even Miami, which is warm and beachside, just like PR.”

  “We’re not going to move to Miami, Mom. Besides, we can’t afford to put Charlie in AES. What about your job?”

  “Well, look,” she says. “I want changes, Marcus. I’m not saying we’ll find them in Miami or New York or if we stay in Springfield. But I do know that I want things to be different.”

  I nod.

  “So I’m going to talk to my supervisor about a promotion and I’m going to look at everything that is currently open across the airline. I want to explore all options.”

  “Great. Can we go to school now?”

  “You’re such a mood killer,” she says, giving me a gentle shove.

  “We’re going to be late.” I grab my things.

  “No more sitting around, letting others tell us what we can or can’t do. No more waiting.” Mom takes a long sip of her coffee and stands. “Ready, boys?”

  Charlie salutes her. “Mr. Wonka is ready!”

  My mom starts singing. “Cuz I’ve got a golden ticket!”

  Charlie joins in. “I’ve got a golden sun up in the sky!”

  “Come on, Marcus, join in!”

  “Nope.”

  “Come on!” Charlie grabs my arm. He tries to make me dance, but I don’t budge. There are a lot of changes going on. Me dancing isn’t one of them.

  My mom and Charlie keep it up all the way to the car.

  I tell my mom to go ahead with Charlie. I’m going to meet up with Danny.

  I head past the mechanic shop, the library, and across the street to where all the low rising buildings look the same. They aren’t colorful like they are in Puerto Rico. I miss that. How can you miss a place where you only spent a few days?

  I see Danny waiting on the corner outside his house. He stands up when he sees me coming.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t have to wait out here,” I say.

  “I know,” he replies, “but it saves time.”

  This kid never learns. We walk down the street, and Danny asks me about my trip.

  “Your pictures,” he says. “They’re really great.”

  We eventually meet up with the rest of the kids on the way to school. This isn’t for money. I want to walk with them.

  We get to campus and it’s buzzing with students. Some are excited to catch up after a week off. Others in hoodies yawn as they drag themselves through the door. Danny says good-bye and zips inside the school. I walk up the stairs slowly. I can’t lie—I’m anxious. What has everyone been saying over break about what happened with Stephen? What new names or rumors will I hear today?

  I make eye contact with a kid chatting with a friend. She’s one of my former Garbage Tax payers.

  “Hi, Marcus,” she says. I’m surprised she talks to me.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Had a good spring break?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Her friend watches me. I shift my weight and put my hands in my pockets.

  “I saw Charlie earlier,” she says.

  “He’s so funny,” the other kid offers.

  “Yeah,” I s
ay.

  “Only kid at school who knows everyone’s name.”

  “I’m Jessica, by the way,” the girl says. “This is Zach.”

  I nod. “Cool,” I say, then I start heading inside.

  “We signed the petition, you know?” she says.

  I turn around.

  “It wouldn’t be middle school without big, bad Marcus Vega patrolling around.” She smiles and winks.

  She’s joking. It’s funny. I smile back.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “And not everyone around here feels like Stephen. Most of us don’t.”

  Jessica gets up and Zach follows.

  “See you around,” she says. “Maybe the library?”

  “No leaving trash around,” I say, trying to make a joke.

  She laughs. “Yes, sir, Mr. Assistant Principal.”

  I laugh. “Right. Now get out of here before I give you detention.”

  Jessica salutes, Zach gives me a high five, and then they turn to leave.

  I walk down the hall in the other direction and watch as students zip by. Some say hello. Some smile. Some make eye contact. Not everyone, but more than usual.

  A kid on his phone bumps into me.

  He looks up and, without hesitating, offers me the phone.

  “I don’t do that anymore,” I tell him. “Just keep it safe.”

  “Please save me from myself,” he says. “I have an obsession with Clash of Clams. I can’t stop playing it.”

  “My brother likes that game.”

  “I know,” he says. “We play all the time during recess. We’re in the same class.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” he says, looking around like he’s nervous or something. “He’s my friend.”

  “That’s cool. Be careful with the phone, okay? Just keep it in your locker.”

  “I will,” he says.

  “What’s your name?” I ask him.