“Your phone number still works?” Geraldo asked.
“Don’t call,” I said.
“But you came,” he answered.
Suddenly the fuzziness started to clear, and I began to remember where I was and how I had gotten here.
“I made a mistake,” I answered, handing him back the cat.
“Maybe you didn’t,” Geraldo said, holding Frijolito in his arms.
“No,” I said. “I did. Lo siento, Geraldo. I’m sorry. I really am.”
I left without another word.
chapter veíntícínco
Of course I returned home. And of course, when I did, no one asked me how I was feeling. They only wanted to know what the dinner plans were. I told them we’d be having KFC, and I wrote down the order on a piece of paper. Then I asked Rodrigo to go pick it up. There was a fútbol game on TV and he said no. I asked my younger brother Oscar to go. He sat on the couch right next to Rigo and told me no in the exact same tone of voice. Then, instead of just asking my brother Miguel, I changed my strategy and made him an offer of bribery. He was my last chance.
“I’ll give you extra money for nieve de fresa, which you can eat before dinner if you do this for me.”
“A double scoop,” he counteroffered.
“Okay,” I said. Really, I couldn’t have given a damn if he ate a whole bucket of ice cream; all I wanted was to survive the evening.
Which I did.
The next day my headache pounded a lot less, and I decided not to think about anything and just focus on working. There was so much to do. The floors needed washing, the shower needed cleaning, and the bedsheets needed changing. Call me a freak, but there is nothing like a few loads of laundry to make problems disappear. I even sent Maria an e-mail.
Hola, Prima,
Things at home are just GR8T. Better than ever.
I’m kicking butt in school, and my love life is absolutely purr-fect.
Juicy details soon. I miss the porch.
Amor to you & Abuelita & (most important) my little angel, Isabella,
xoxoxo,
Pocha
Wow, I never realized how easy it was to lie.
Later that evening, when I went to take out the garbage, which of course none of my brothers ever did, someone popped out from behind the Dumpster, scaring me half to death.
“Ah!” I said, jumping back.
“Whoa, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Geraldo? You followed me?”
“Technically, I think I stalked you.”
I looked over my shoulder to see if my drunkle could see me out the back door. “You must go. You can’t be here.”
“But who will I give this to?” he asked.
Slowly Geraldo reached into his jacket and pulled out the kitten.
“Awww, Frijolito,” I said. “But I can’t have a cat.”
“Too bad,” he answered as he passed Frijolito to me. “You do.”
“But I can’t,” I repeated as I took him in my arms. According to superstition, cats and babies are like oil and water, and mi ama was due to give birth any day now. There was no way she would allow it.
“The store just got a new dog.”
“A dog?” I said with fear.
“A mean one. The kind that doesn’t like cats,” he said. I nervously bit my lower lip. “His name is …” Geraldo paused for dramatic effect. “Dientes.”
“Uh,” I said in shock. The dog’s name was Teeth.
“You see, this is why I brought him to you,” Geraldo told me. “It was either here or la calle.”
“The streets?”
“We’re a pet store, not a pet hotel, and no one wants a lumpy cat,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I mean, no one but you.”
I stroked Frijolito behind the ear in his favorite spot, and he began to purr. Quickly, I looked over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching, and thought of a plan.
The garage.
I could hide some food and milk, maybe a bed. It wouldn’t be perfect, and I’d have to make sure I sneaked out there without anyone noticing, but I thought I could pull it off.
“Sonia…” a voice suddenly called out. It was my drunkle. Luckily, I was wearing an oversized hoodie sweatshirt. I quickly tucked Frijolito inside next to my stomach.
“Estoy aquí, Tío,” I called out. Then I turned to Geraldo. “You must go.”
“Have lunch with me.”
“Go.”
“Dinner.”
“Go, Geraldo, I am serious. Vete!”
“Breakfast, snacks, a midafternoon cup of tea.”
I pushed him away. “Leave, Geraldo. Go. You MUST stay away.”
Finally, Geraldo started walking away, slowly stepping backward down the alley.
“It is written, Sonia. Remember, we are written.”
Geraldo bowed, turned, then made a right at the corner as my drunkle stepped outside. Mi tío looked down the alley just as Geraldo disappeared.
“¿Quién es?” he asked.
“Nadie,” I answered softly.
My drunkle wrinkled his brow and stared far off into the distance.
“Hmm, un cerote,'” he said. “They can smell your pussy from a mile away.” He continued to look down the alley for the boy who was no longer there, then commanded to me in Spanish. “Centrals are foul people, Sonia. Stay away.”
I lowered my eyes and looked at the ground, hoping my drunkle wouldn’t see the big lump I was desperately trying to hide in the belly of my sweatshirt. Thankfully, Frijolito lay against my stomach perfectly still.
“Dinner will be ready in twenty-five minutes,” I answered, not looking up.
My drunkle stared at me for a moment then, satisfied his words would be obeyed like the orders of a king, he turned and walked back into the house.
I headed for the garage to make accommodations for my new cat. Jesucristo, was my family racist.
Cerote is like a curse word used for Salvadorans by Mexicans. Of course, white folks and black people think all brown-skinned people are the same, but we’re not. In fact, in the Hispanic community, there’s a lot of ethnic stuff going on. All Latinos are NOT the same, and all Latinos are NOT Mexican, and cerote and Central are very bad, offensive words. Salvadorans return the insult when they call us wetbacks or beaners. It’s funny how so many brown people say they are the victims of racism in the United States, and yet they are just as racist themselves.
I laid down an old blanket for Frijolito in the back corner of the garage, not believing that my drunkle had had the nerve to tell me I couldn’t see Geraldo. I mean, didn’t he know that when you tell a teenage girl she can’t date a boy, the first thing it makes her want to do is go out and date that boy?
What an idiota.
The next day, I went to the pet store.
“I knew you’d come,” he said with a smile.
“You didn’t know,” I answered.
“I knew,” he said.
“Well, I’m only here for toys.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And food.”
“Uh-huh.
“And bowls. A kitten needs to have good bowls.” I wandered through the aisles, looking over the various types of items that were sold. “In your professional opinion, are these good bowls?”
Geraldo stepped so close I could feel his heat.
“Have dinner with me?”
“I don’t think…”
“Lunch?”
“Breakfast?
“What, a Snickers bar?” I said with a laugh.
“I was thinking eggs…after we stay up all night talking, looking deeply into one another’s eyes, and telling small jokes that make us giggle and hug and want to watch the orange sunrise together.”
My heart skipped a beat.
“When?” I asked.
“Now.”
“I can’t now.”
“Then later.”
“When later?”
“Whenever,” he replied. “If it takes
a thousand years, I already know, for you I will wait.”
His passion was undeniable. How could I say no? We made a plan to have lunch in two days.
chapter veintiséis
I had to take the bus for more than an hour to get to where Geraldo wanted to meet for lunch, but I was glad to make the long trip. This way, there was no chance of running into anyone I knew, and word getting back to mi familia about the boy from El Salvador with emerald green eyes.
He chose a place called Pupusería Suchitotal, a traditional Salvadoran restaurant.
“Do you like the pupusas? he asked before I could even finish chewing the first bite. I could tell by the way he inquired that he was eagerly hoping I’d say yes.
“Si,” I answered. “They are delicious.”
“They are made exactly like they make them in my family’s home town of Suchitoto. There’s corn meal, spices, beans, and cheese,” he said, taking great pride in explaining the ingredients to me. “And that is curtido,” he said, pointing to the other food on my plate. “It’s kind of a cabbage salad with vinegar.”
“It’s all really good,” I said after taking another bite. I could tell Geraldo was pleased. Like all Latinos, traditional foods are a big part of his culture and I knew he must have been worried that if I didn’t like the pupusas, there was probably no way I was going to like him.
“Suchitoto, is that your hometown?” I asked.
“No,” he answered. “I was born here. My family had to flee during the civil war.”
“Oh,” I said. Though Geraldo didn’t come right out and say it, I could tell by his tone that his parents were illegals, too. Us Latinos have a way of saying things to one another without exactly saying them.
“Have you ever been?” he asked.
“Me,” I answered with a laugh. Like my family would ever approve of me taking a trip to El Salvador. “Uhm, no.”
“It’s a small town,” he said as he took another bite of his food. “You can see the hills, feel the wind against your face, smell fresh air.” Geraldo looked out at the busy, traffic-filled streets of Los Angeles. “I like it there very much. Es tranquilo. Very calm.”
“Do you want to go back one day?” I asked.
He paused before answering.
“My family hopes I will one day return,” he said. “But I’m an American. At least, a Hispanic American, or a Salvadoran American, or a Chicano American, some type of hyphen person. Sometimes I kind of feel like a human being between two worlds, you know, like one of my feet is on a boat and the other is on a dock, and I can’t step on to either side; I’m just caught in the middle. Does that make any sense to you?” he asked.
“More than you know,” I replied.
“I think my parents, when they look at me, they are afraid they are going to lose their culture, so they ask lots of unrealistic things of me,” he said. “It’s like, because they don’t speak any English, sometimes it feels as if they are the child and I am the parent.”
Geraldo noticed that my soda was down to the halfway point in my cup, so, with the grace of a true gentleman, he stood to refill my drink.
“Con permiso,” he said, reaching over to take my glass. A moment later he came back with a Coca-Cola filled to the tippy-top.
“Gracias,” I said.
“De nada,” he replied as he sat back down.
“You know, America is my home, but sometimes I don’t really feel like I have anyone I can speak with.” He paused. “Up until now, that is. For some reason, it’s easy for me to talk to you.”
He looked at me with those gorgeous green eyes. I lowered my gaze and quietly took another bite of food.
“My family lost everything in the war,” he continued. “But one day, I am determined to make it in America and restore pride to my family name. But I’m not going to do it the wrong way,” he insisted. “I will do it properly, with brains and hard work, not drugs and crime. I guess you could say I am a traditionalista”
“A tradicionalista?” I asked. “And what exactly does that mean?” I said, curious to know what his idea of a traditionalist was.
“For one, it means no sex before marriage,” he answered.
My eyes got big.
“But,” he continued, “I have to admit, when I get close to you I have very deep desires to know your flesh.”
I flushed with heat.
There was no way I could date Geraldo. I had too much work, too many problems, I needed to get school back up and rolling, and mi familia would never, ever approve.
But I had never felt this way about a boy in my entire life. Geraldo leaned across the table and kissed me. It was tender yet sensual. My heart exploded.
We began to date in secrecy.
chapter veintisiete
As I rode the bus back home that afternoon, I wondered if this was how my cousin Maria had felt about Juan Carlos when she’d first started to see him. My whole body tingled, and for el primero time in my life, I knew I was head over heels in love. Nothing could ever stop us.
Geraldo began showing up at my house after his shift at the pet store, before he went to his evening classes. He was studying business at night school with a plan to become an Internet entrepreneur one day. Geraldo swore there was a giant international market still to be tapped by better connecting Mexico and Central America to the emerging power of China, with the expertise of American engineers. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure I understood all of his big ideas about multinational businesses, but Geraldo was passionate, intelligent, and determined. I had no doubt that one day he’d be an amazing success. We started meeting at prearranged times behind the Dumpster in the back alley when I’d take out the garbage.
“Stalker,” I said as I fell into his arms and kissed him.
“I must see you more,” he pleaded.
“We can’t see each other more,” I said, kissing him again.
“We must,” he insisted.
“I keep throwing perfectly fine things out just to make more garbage,” I said with a laugh. “I think our relationship is bad for the environment.”
“You’re right, we should recycle,” he answered. “We’ll start with a recycled kiss. This is like the one I gave you yesterday,” he said as his lips tickled my neck. “This is like the one I gave you a few minutes ago,” he continued as I smiled with a heart full of joy. “And this is like the one I am going to give you on May fifth.”
“Alto,” I said, telling him to stop but praying that he never, ever would. “But why May fifth?” I asked between kisses.
“Because that is my birthday,” he answered. “And your lips will be my present.”
“Consider it a deal,” I answered as he leaned in again. . I promise.”
Then we heard a noise. A moment later, my brother Rodrigo stumbled out from behind a Dumpster about fifteen yards away. He exhaled a big cloud of smoke. Obviously he was smoking pot.
Then, right behind him, followed my drunkle. He was coughing. Dios mío, Rodrigo and my drunkle were smoking mota together.
They looked up and were just as surprised to see Geraldo and me as we were to see them. Rodrigo moved first. He walked right past us into the house without saying a word. My drunkle, however, stayed where he was and looked Geraldo up and down. There was menace in his eye. A second later, he started to approach.
Geraldo straightened up tall, as if he wanted to clear up something with my drunkle, even though I had never dared mention anything to him too personal about mi tío. But I had spent a good deal of time talking about how unfairly I was treated by most of mi familia—okay, especially by my drunkle—and now I was regretting every bad word I’d ever said. I sensed trouble.
Big trouble.
“Geraldo, go,” I said.
“No, there’s a few things I’d like to clarify with this gentleman.”
“No, Geraldo, you mustn’t,” I said, holding him back. “Please.” My drunkle was heading straight toward us. “Please, Geraldo, go,” I repeated. “For me.”
&
nbsp; Geraldo lowered his eyes from my drunkle and looked down at my pleading face.
“Violence will not solve anything,” I said. “I beg you, do not stoop to this level.”
Geraldo paused and considered my words.
“Out of respect for you,” he said, and began to walk away.
My drunkle glared with a machismo stare at Geraldo. “Vámonos,” he said, ordering me inside.
I didn’t move.
“Te dije, vámonos,” he repeated with more authority. I could tell my drunkle wasn’t going to say it a third time. Not wanting him to grab me by the arm and drag me into the house, I began walking inside. If Geraldo would have seen my drunkle touch me, I am sure he would have come running back.
I headed indoors. Suddenly I heard a screech.
“Vete!” my drunkle said.
“Meow!”
I spun my head around and saw Frijolito scampering away.
Bastard! I thought. What kind of scumbag kicks a cat?
“Vé,” he commanded to me again. We walked through the back door.
Once inside, we found mi ama out of bed and on the couch, sitting with Tía Luna, Rodrigo, and two of my younger brothers.
“I needed some air,” mi ama said in defense of not being in bed like the doctor had ordered. She was plump as a moose.
I expected there to be mutual silence between me and my drunkle. I wouldn’t say anything about the fact that he had been out back smoking pot with my brother, and he wouldn’t say anything about Geraldo.
“Your daughter is fooling around with a cerote” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Tía Luna and mi ama looked up at me in total shock. My jaw dropped. Before I could think of what to say in response, or calculate what the consequences would be for my words if I did say them, my drunkle added more fuel to the fire.
“Since her father has to work so much, it’s easy for a girl to get into trouble.”
I just stood there like an idiot…stupid, silent, and stunned as he snitched on me. Mi ama and Tía Luna started nodding their heads up and down in agreement like those silly little bobble-head dolls.
The Secret Story of Sonia Rodriguez Page 14