The Dream Weaver

by Reina Luz Alegre

  “To say hi, for starters. We just got our freshman dorm assignment. But then we started talking. He seems cool. He’s from Gainesville, so he already knows the town inside out. And he wants to major in biomedical engineering. And, you know, I was leaning toward civil or electrical engineering. Biomedical never really crossed my mind. But I started researching it today after Josh texted. And now I’m thinking maybe the chance to work on medical technology might be a lot more interesting, you know? The application is so immediately relatable. I could help save people’s lives.…” José talked on and on, gesturing with his hands, almost floating down the block in his excitement.

  Zoey followed, her heart lying broken on the sidewalk behind them as she realized Toni-Ann couldn’t keep her brother in New Jersey any more than she could.

  7

  The next day, Isa, Lacey, Patrick, and Tyler returned to Gonzo’s to prepare for the Summer Big Bowl Championship. They invited Zoey to practice with their team again. Patrick and Lacey focused almost exclusively on their own games, but Isa and Tyler were more interested in teaching Zoey how to bowl. Isa attempted to explain the wonders of geometry, and, though Zoey still didn’t really understand the math, she did her best to eyeball and imitate the physical angles at which Isa showed her to stand, as well as to hold and release the ball at the right times. Tyler watched intently, critiquing Zoey’s form. Soon the trio had Zoey’s ball curving nicely when it whooshed down the lane. Zoey began to knock over a few pins each turn with increasing regularity, and found the hollow clattering sound they made as they fell to the floor oddly satisfying. Almost as good as the euphoria Zoey experienced when her soccer ball flew past the other team’s goalie and into the net.

  Unfortunately, Lacey hadn’t bowled a single strike since they’d started playing at Gonzo’s (though she always managed to knock over more pins than Zoey). And it was obvious she was pretty bitter about it.

  “If you guys don’t want to go back to the place with the strobe lights, you should try to get us permission to practice at the school bowling alley,” Lacey complained to Patrick, twirling a long blond lock of hair nervously around her fingers. “I feel like my game is off here.”

  Tyler gave Zoey a knowing look. “Stop whining, Lacey.”

  Lacey’s eyes blazed at Tyler.

  “I’m not whining! It’s the truth.” She sucked in her cheeks and turned back to Patrick, tapping her foot. He sighed.

  “Before we found Gonzo’s, I tried getting permission to play at school over the summer,” Patrick said. He stood up to select his favorite yellow ball from the rack. “But we can’t. The school alley is booked solid for camp field trips, and they won’t give us priority because the Summer Big Bowl Championship isn’t officially part of the league we play in during the year.”

  “Fine.” Lacey plopped down on the metal bench. She swung her legs back and forth and sulked, but she didn’t say anything more until her ball rolled into the gutter again on her next turn.

  “That’s it! The arrows on the lane are too faded. My ball’s going too slow because the floor is so scuffed up. This place is such a dump!” She shot each of her teammates a challenging look. “I’m not the only one whose game is off. Neither of you guys is playing as well as you usually do,” she accused Patrick and Tyler. “Only Mrs. Math Genius over there—” Lacey pointed at Isa “—is rolling strikes.”

  “Hey, don’t go insulting my game,” Patrick said, checking the screen above. “I’m scoring just fine.”

  “Yeah, me too. You’re just having a bad day and looking for excuses,” Tyler piped in, shaking his head.

  Zoey sat quietly in the corner, trying to disappear into the cold bench. Lacey freaking out about how she didn’t want to bowl at her grandfather’s alley felt like a double burn to Zoey. Like Lacey was both trying to convince the other kids not to be Zoey’s friend and also trying to deprive Poppy of the business he so desperately needed. But glancing around the bowling alley, Zoey hated to admit that Lacey had a point. She’d thought the very same thing on her first day: Gonzo’s was a lot shabbier than it had been before Abuela died. Beige paint peeled from the ceiling and along the walls. The lanes that used to gleam like freshly waxed cars had dulled to a dirty brown. Sure, José had finally fixed the pinball machine, but Skee-Ball, air hockey, and all the rest still bore yellow caution tape and out-of-service signs. This place was a dump, just like Lacey had said. The truth landed like a concrete block on Zoey’s chest. But getting discouraged wouldn’t solve anything. Like Mami always said, Dale la vuelta—turn it around. Whatever problem you’re facing, spin it up, down, side to side, until you find the best way to fix it. And Zoey already knew what needed to be done here.

  So she slipped away from the group to find Poppy. He was at the shoe rental counter, hunched over his computer and frowning at a spreadsheet.

  “Poppy, where are the cleaning supplies?”

  “Eh?” Poppy didn’t look up.

  “The cleaning supplies,” Zoey repeated.

  “What spilled? Where?” Poppy glanced over at Zoey’s friends. It was Lacey’s turn. Her expression was sour. She half-heartedly rolled her purple ball straight into the gutter again. Tyler gestured wildly with his hands, and Zoey could tell he was blaming Lacey for her own lackluster performance from the way Lacey crossed her arms defensively over her chest and marched halfway down the lane, pointing out every scuff mark with the toe of her bowling shoe.

  Zoey squared her shoulders.

  “No one spilled anything. I just think we need to clean up.”

  Poppy tsk-tsked.

  “Ay, mija. Go play with your friends. Muchas gracias, but I don’t need you to do housekeeping.”

  “But the place needs it,” Zoey said, running a hand over the counter and showing Poppy the gray dust that stuck to the pads of her fingers.

  Poppy sighed.

  “I know, and I’ll get to it, mija. One of these days. You have fun and let the adults work. Créame, believe me, you will have your whole life to work. Enjoy being a kid while you can.”

  Zoey opened her mouth to protest, but Tyler suddenly appeared behind her.

  “Hey, Zoey, we were wondering what you wanted to do about lunch.”

  “I vote we stay here to squeeze in more practice and order pizza again,” Patrick called as he and the girls walked over.

  “No one cares what I think so I’m not even going to mention the new hamburger place that just opened on Seagull Street,” Lacey said, examining the bright red nail polish on her short fingernails.

  “Good, because I’m not in the mood for burgers so I didn’t hear anyone say anything about them,” Tyler said pointedly.

  Lacey pouted.

  “Of course we care what you think,” Isa said to Lacey, sounding exasperated. “But I’m kind of in the mood right now for pizza too.”

  Patrick smiled and pulled out his phone.

  “Pizza it is!”

  The group began debating toppings. Lacey pushed passionately for pineapple, but was outvoted yet again in favor of mushrooms and black olives.

  “How about pineapple on just two slices?” Isa asked, striving for compromise. The boys agreed. Zoey didn’t care what fruit or vegetables topped her pizza so she didn’t weigh in. She turned back to Poppy, but he waved her off.

  “Have fun with your friends, eh?” Poppy said meaningfully to Zoey, and disappeared with his laptop into the broom closet that doubled as his back office.

  * * *

  That night when José went with Toni-Ann to the mall and Poppy drove off to the grocery store, Zoey figured she had no choice but to sneak into Gonzo’s and clean up on her own. It was weird being there in the dark, and eerie even though it wasn’t that late. Outside, a steady stream of people sauntered past on the boardwalk, which was lit by tall lamps. Wisps of their conversation kept Zoey company after she decided to leave the front door propped open to let in some light so that she’d feel less alone.

  Now where did Poppy hide his cleaning suppl
ies, Zoey wondered. The only soap she could find was the pink antibacterial stuff in the bathroom dispenser. She dumped almost an entire dispenser’s worth on the first two lanes and got to work using the Cuban mop and old blue towel she’d found under the desk in his office. But she’d only managed to scrub one lane down when she heard someone shouting for her outside.

  “Zoey! Mija, are you here?”

  The overhead lights suddenly turned on and Zoey blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. When she could see, she saw Poppy standing at the end of the lane, arms crossed over his chest.

  “What are you doing, mija? You scare me so bad! Ay ay ay, un momento,” Poppy said, breathing hard, clutching his chest, and collapsing onto a bowling bench.

  “Poppy!” Zoey dropped the wooden mop and hurried to sit next to him. “Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay! When I came home and saw you no there, I get worried!” Poppy exclaimed, waving his arms in the air. “Don’t do this to me again. You go somewhere—you tell me or José first, lo entiendes?”

  “Yes Poppy,” Zoey said, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Don’t do it again,” Poppy said, exhaling and running a hand through his thin gray hair. “I’m just glad you’re okay. But mija, qué estás haciendo aquí?” He looked down at the towel covered in pink bathroom soap, and his jaw dropped.

  “You came back to clean?” he asked disbelievingly.

  Zoey nodded.

  Poppy’s eyes bugged out of his head. A muttered stream of Spanish words erupted from his mouth. When he at last finished, he said, “Niña, if you don’t use the right products and equipment, you can ruin the floor! These are real wooden floors! Not that synthetic garbage like in los new bowling centers! You can’t just use anything! What you use? Why it pink? Why you do this, mija? Explain yourself.” Poppy’s gaze was furious. Zoey had never seen him this upset with her before. He usually only got this worked up around Dad.

  “I just… I thought if the alley was cleaner and looked nicer then maybe more customers would come. I don’t want you to lose Gonzo’s to Mr. Silos,” Zoey whispered, trying not to cry.

  “I told you, mija. That is my problem. I don’t want you worrying about adult problems. You have your whole life to worry. I want you to have fun. This is summer!”

  Zoey sighed, exasperated. “But I can’t have fun knowing you might lose your dream. This bowling alley is everything to you,” she said. All at once Poppy’s shoulders sagged and his angry scowl turned into a sad frown. Zoey couldn’t help thinking Poppy looked really old. Gray-haired and deflated. His short-sleeve, button-down shirt too baggy over his loose, wrinkly skin. All Zoey wanted to do was to give Poppy a hug and tell him everything would be okay. But increasingly, it seemed it wouldn’t be. So Zoey stayed still, twisting her hands in her lap and wishing she could be like Isa or Lacey, only concerned about a bowling championship or what color to paint her nails, instead of constantly feeling like she was a cracked picture frame responsible for holding up her family, even though two of the most important loved ones in the photograph were gone.

  “Ay, mija, you are so much like your mother,” Poppy said, surprising Zoey. Most of the time, Zoey wished she was like her mother. Mami always knew what to do. She was beautiful and strong and capable. Zoey, on the other hand, was messy and insecure and tired of watching her well-intentioned plans crash and burn.

  Poppy’s lips curved into a grim smile at Zoey’s doubtful expression.

  “I mean it. And no as a compliment either, my little jefa. Your mami was always trying to help the people she loved. But going behind people’s backs, keeping secrets, and telling lies—that’s no really help, eh?” Poppy eyed Zoey knowingly, like he’d X-rayed her brain. “That just get you into trouble. And your mami always doing that with your dad. She keep all his failures a secret. She try to secretly clean them up with the wrong soap, like you. She no tell us they were having problems until it was too late. When you were getting evicted from your apartment or your dad lose his job again.”

  Poppy’s jaw twitched. “Michael cause your mami so many problems. He is no a responsible man. He is un—”

  “Tell me a story about Mami when she was a kid,” Zoey interrupted softly. Even if he was right, it still hurt to hear Poppy speak badly about Dad. And he’d just finished criticizing Mami. Which was super strange. Usually Poppy talked about his daughter like she was as perfect as Zoey remembered. And yet the idea that her mother wasn’t a hundred percent perfect—that she struggled the same way Zoey struggled now to help the people she loved—made Zoey feel weirdly better. Like she wasn’t as alone, somehow.

  Poppy’s shoulders relaxed. He leaned back against the bench, sighing.

  “Ay ay ay, your mami was the most stubborn person in the world. I remember one time she climb into a tree across the street—it no there anymore—but it was this muy grande oak tree, and she no come down. I tell her I going to throw out all her toys. She don’t care. No dessert. She no care. No playing with her friends for a month. She no care. She not coming out of that tree! Okay, after dinner, I climb up the tree, I tell her, ‘Pero que esta pasando, mija? Why you want to live in this tree?’ She tell me, ‘Oh, Papi, I’m just collecting good dreams from the tree and the sky and the birds.’ ”

  Poppy smiled fondly at Zoey. “I ask her, ‘Why you want their dreams? You need to make your own dreams.’ She told me it because she was having pesadillas, nightmares, about scary movies she’d watched at her friend’s house. She’d climbed the tree to find better dreams to take to sleep with her. Imaginate. Ay, she was so sweet, mija. There she was, this little girl in a crown made out of yellow paper and a pink tutu, tan linda mi princessa. That night I gave her the blanket your abuela sewed for my birthday when we first got married that was on our bed. I told your mami, ‘Mira, look at the birds and the hearts and all the happy symbols your mom,’ bueno, your abuela”—Poppy clarified for Zoey—“ ‘weave into this blanket. It represents all her good hopes and dreams for our marriage and future, and now this blanket gonna protect you and give you good dreams when you go to sleep.’ ”

  Zoey smiled. Mami had told her the same story when she’d given Zoey the blanket in first grade when she’d been having nightmares about a bloody ghost. The kids at school had tried summoning one in the bathroom mirror during lunch, but none had come, and Zoey feared maybe the summons had worked, but the clever evil spirit had immediately hidden away. Maybe the bloody ghost was planning to pop out at her when she least expected it and kidnap her in the middle of the night. A cast of Halloween horrors had haunted her dreams for weeks after that, until Mami gave her the blanket. Zoey had slept, ghost-free, with the blanket ever since.

  “That blanket is on my bed now,” she informed Poppy. “I love it when you tell me stories about Mami when she was little. Did she always want to be a chef?”

  “Ooof, ay, sí,” Poppy said, chuckling. “Though I think at first your mami should be a lawyer. She always like to talk. And to argue. Ay ay ay. She gave your abuela a hard time, especially when she was a teenager. She fight with your abuela about everything—her clothes, the boys we no let her go out with, the parties she want to go to, her curfew, her diet. She always trying some new diet she didn’t need and cooking new recipes. She argue at home. She argue at school. She was a debate champion,” Poppy reminisced, smiling proudly.

  “She won trophies. I remember one time she research the dangers of smoking for a debate competition. Then she convince me to quit my cigars. She was so happy. I tell her, ‘You should be a lawyer.’ She say, ‘No, I always want to be a chef!’ I say, ‘Perfecto, even better, you come work here in Gonzo’s with me. Help Abuela with the café. This business is for you.’ ‘Pero no,’ she tell me, ‘I will not stay home to cook rice and beans my whole life! I want more flavors.’ And she not just talking about the food. She marry your dad after she go to culinary school, and you know the rest. But yes, your mami always, always wanted to be a chef. Ev
er since Abuela teach her to cook here in Gonzo’s when she was a little girl.”

  “I guess José is like Mami, always knowing what he wanted to do. He’s always wanted to be an engineer,” Zoey said, biting her lip. It seemed the only person in her immediate family who dreamed of being more than just one thing was her dad, and Zoey wasn’t sure anymore she wanted to grow up to be like him. Not if it meant leaving behind the people she loved.

  “Was the bowling alley always your dream, Poppy?” she asked, fearing she already knew the answer. “Like, even when you were a kid in Cuba?”

  “No, in Cuba I thought I wanted to be a doctor,” Poppy said, stunning Zoey. “But we couldn’t afford for me to go to medical school when we come to this country, so my dream change here.”

  “Why’d you want to run a bowling alley?” Zoey asked, realizing she had no idea why Poppy ever opened Gonzo’s.

  “Bueno, a few reasons,” Poppy said, holding out his hand like he was about to tick the reasons off on his fingers. “But the most important one is my own dad, he, ah, how you say, an ingeniero, an engineer—like what José want to do—when he in Cuba. But when we come here, the only job he can find is to be the janitor in a bowling alley.”

  “Did he work in this one?”

  “Yes,” Poppy said, his lips curving up in pride. “I buy it from the original owner, but that take a long time. First, my dad work here, then he get me a job working here too. I was the waiter. That’s how I meet your abuela.”

  “Really?” Zoey said. “But I always thought you’d met reaching for the last piece of chocolate cake in a bakery. Mami used to joke that’s why we all inherited such a sweet tooth.”

  Poppy laughed and tsked at the same time, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

  “Ay, I know, your mami change the story when she want to be fancy, pretend her father and grandfather were no poor immigrants who work as janitors and waiters. But the truth is I was working as the waiter here in the bowling alley café when your abuela come in with her friends to bowl and have lunch. Actually, I notice her friend first,” Poppy said, chuckling.