Efren Divided

by Ernesto Cisneros

  Just then, the sound of someone unlocking the front door sent Efrén’s blood rushing. He knew the sound of Apá’s keys jiggling, but he couldn’t relax until he saw him crossing the doorway.

  Apá came in carrying a grocery bag on a heavily wrapped hand. Efrén took the bag from him, his eyes glued to the red stain at the center of Apá’s palm.

  “Apá,” he whisper-shouted. “¿Qué te pasó?”

  Apá looked down at his hand and waved it dismissively. “Nada. Just a scratch.”

  Efrén panned up to Apá’s puffy eyes. He had never seen his father look so tired. Efrén knew working construction without any rest was dangerous and didn’t want to add to Apá’s worries, but he also knew Amá’s message was important.

  Efrén walked over and watched as his father ran his injured hand under the kitchen faucet, watched the diluted blood seep down the slow-draining sink. “Amá called,” he finally said.

  Apá turned to him, forgetting all about his injury. “How is she? What did she say?”

  “She said she was doing good. That she found a room . . . but will need money soon to pay for it.”

  Apá nodded while giving his hand a final rinse. “Don’t worry, mijo. I will get it to her.”

  There was so much Efrén wanted to say. Questions he wanted to ask. But no, he couldn’t bother Apá with questions now. Instead, he neatly put the groceries away.

  In typical Apá style, he stripped down to his boxers and headed to the shower. The second the bathroom door shut, Efrén raced into the kitchen and began boiling water for a fresh cup of Nescafé like he’d seen Amá do plenty of times—something to help keep Apá awake during his new night shift. Efrén then headed toward the dirty clothes on the floor. They reeked of sweat and sawdust and felt stiff to the touch as he stuffed them into the laundry bag.

  Laundry! Efrén felt his shoulders stiffen. He hated to spend the coins he had left, but knew he needed to go to the laundromat soon.

  No big deal. Separate the whites. Add soap. Dry and fold.

  “Mijo.” Apá’s voice caught him off guard. “I want you to take ten dollars out of my wallet. Make sure you and the gemelos eat well.”

  Efrén nodded as Apá buttoned his white uniform shirt. “¿Cómo sigues?”

  As much as Efrén wanted to come clean and tell the truth, to open up about how tired he was, about how the worrying was getting to him, about how stressed he was at school, he knew Apá’s worries were greater.

  “Bien, Apá. I’m doing fine.”

  “Good.” Apá leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Oye, estoy muy orgulloso de ti.”

  Efrén couldn’t help but smile. “I’m proud of you too.”

  And with that, Apá left again for the night.

  The entire apartment went silent. Efrén slipped underneath the sheets on the spot where Amá usually slept.

  He took a wavering breath and looked up at the ceiling. The textured line dividing the continent had now spread across the entire living room area. All he could do was shut his eyes and pretend it wasn’t there.

  The next morning, a loud clang woke Efrén. The noise came from the kitchen. Efrén pushed himself up on the mattress. “Maxie, what are you doing?”

  “Getting a spoon.”

  “Why?” He got up and scooped Max off the counter.

  Max pointed to the open freezer. “For the ice cream.”

  “No,” he said, putting him down. “You need to have breakfast first. You know that.”

  “I am. Ice cream!”

  Efrén gave him a look. “No. Now go get dressed.”

  By the time Efrén placed the ice cream container back into the freezer and turned around, Max was missing. Mía stood in the living room, wiping the boogers from her eyes.

  “Mía, where’s Maxie?” Efrén asked.

  Mía slipped her T-shirt over her head. “Hiding.”

  “Do you know where?”

  She shook her head under the shirt.

  With so few places to hide, Efrén headed straight for the bathroom. But all he found were a few forgotten books in there. No Max. He returned to the living room, panning the space for any odd bulges. Again, no luck.

  He glanced over at the front door and window and—after seeing that they were both still shut—he stepped into the kitchen and began opening the lower cabinet drawers.

  “Surprise!” Max shouted, leaping out as Efrén opened the doors beneath the kitchen sink.

  “Yep, you got me. Now please, won’t you—” Efrén noticed Max’s back and underwear dripping. “Wait, did you pee?”

  Insulted, Max gave him the stink eye.

  With a strange smell now reaching him, Efrén followed the water trail under the sink. “Maxie, you spilled the drain cleaner!” Without wasting a second, he picked Max up and rushed him into the bathtub.

  Only Max wasn’t having it and went boneless on him—a go-to move of his. “Really, Maxie. Really?”

  But Efrén held him up as best he could, turned on the faucet, and aimed the shower’s hand sprayer directly at him.

  “Stop!” Max called. “The water’s cold!”

  Efrén held on to him as best he could. “Sorry, but this stuff could burn you. Now stop squirming!”

  Max pulled on Efrén’s hair and swung his legs wildly. One of his kicks nailed Efrén in the jaw, causing him to bite his lip.

  Efrén had had enough. “I’m trying to help you!” Without thinking, Efrén smacked Max hard on the butt. Something he wished he hadn’t done.

  Max’s eyes welled up with tears. Efrén’s heart welled up with regret.

  “I’m sorry, Maxie. I didn’t mean to hit you. But you need to understand, the stuff you spilled is dangerous.”

  Max didn’t answer.

  In fact, he didn’t answer again during breakfast when Efrén offered to warm the syrup for the freshly toasted waffles he’d found deep in the back of the freezer. Even after numerous apologies, Max sat at his seat, twirling his food around the plate while Mía sat glaring and shaking her head at Efrén. Without a doubt, it was the quietest breakfast they’d ever had.

  Still soaked from the bath incident, Efrén’s socks sloshed with every step, which made his twenty-minute trek to school feel longer than ever. Each sopping step reminded him of what he’d done. He wished the numbness he felt on his toes could somehow spread to the rest of him.

  In spite of the rough morning, he did manage to get to school on time. He noticed a crowd of kids outside his first-period class. Efrén hurried over.

  David and a few others were on their tiptoes, trying unsuccessfully to peek over the DO NOT DISTURB sign plastered over the window.

  “What’s going on?” Efrén asked.

  David shrugged. “It sounds like Mr. Garrett is pounding the walls with his stapler.”

  “Yeah,” said Ana Santana, the girl with chlorine-green blond hair. “Maybe he’s decorating the room. Like a normal teacher.” She got on tiptoes but even with her long legs, she couldn’t see a thing.

  “I know,” David said, lifting up his foot and offering it to Ana, “Why don’t you give me a boost?”

  Ana shook her head. “No way. I’m not going anywhere near your smelly feet.”

  David shot her a look. “For the record, these will soon be presidential feet. And for that, I won’t let you touch them then.”

  Ana crumpled her nose in disgust, but David didn’t care. He’d already moved on to Efrén. “How ’bout you, F-mon?” he said, offering his foot to him. “You don’t mind, right?”

  Efrén shrugged and was about to reach for David’s leg when Ana Santana tapped him on the shoulder.

  “I have a better idea,” she said, waving her phone in her hand.

  Efrén stepped aside and watched as Ana raised her phone over her head and pressed it against the window for a quick video. Thirty seconds later, she brought it back down and everyone gathered around her for a peek.

  Efrén stood on the tips of his toes, right behind David. Sure enough,
a sea of yellow poster paper now brightened the otherwise gloomy room. This definitely wasn’t normal Mr. Garrett behavior.

  And if that wasn’t strange enough, after the bell rang, Mr. Garrett opened the door and greeted everyone walking in with a . . . high five?

  Definitely not normal.

  Still feeling the soppiness of his wet socks, Efrén took the last spot in line. When he came to the door, he felt no choice but to hold the palm of his hand up flat.

  “Good morning, Mr. Nava,” Mr. Garrett called, slapping his hand.

  Efrén gathered enough courage to lift his head. “Good morning, sir.”

  His teacher leaned in close. “You’re all right?” he asked, in a soft voice.

  Efrén didn’t know what had suddenly gotten into Mr. Garrett, but one thing was for sure: he regretted having told Mr. Garrett about Amá. Efrén felt embarrassed. Didn’t want the pity. Not from Mr. Garrett, not from anyone. So a quick nod was all he could give.

  Mr. Garrett bent down just enough to be eye level with Efrén. “Hey, I want to thank you.”

  Efrén looked at him, confused.

  “For reminding me why I’m here.” Mr. Garrett waved him in with a smile. “Come on in. I’ve got an important lesson for today.”

  As Efrén took a seat, Mr. Garrett picked up a pile of papers from his desk and handed them to David, who never turned down a chance to leave his seat, even if it was only to simply pass out papers.

  “Here are your permission slips,” said Mr. Garrett from the center of the room. “I’m excited to announce that our history department has received approval for a visit to the Museum of Tolerance in LA. Of course, we will be needing some parent chaperones to join us. Please ask your parents if they’ll be able to attend.”

  Efrén looked at the permission slip. The trip was in two weeks. Plenty of time for Amá to make it back.

  “We’ve got a lot of material to cover before the trip.” Mr. Garrett rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbow. There was a glimmer in his eyes that Efrén hadn’t seen before. He seemed . . . excited. Efrén looked around the much-improved room, admiring the difference the new bulletin boards made. Even Mr. Garrett’s desk area had gotten a makeover. His entire corner area was now plastered with certificates and college diplomas. And above them stood—not one, but two—District Teacher of the Year awards.

  It was the Mr. Garrett Efrén had hoped to see.

  “Now, I have to warn you,” Mr. Garrett added, “during our next unit, we will be seeing some very graphic images, witnessing cruelty at its worst. However, I’d like our focus to be on the kindness, the selfless acts of bravery that took place during these trying times.”

  Mr. Garrett paced back and forth the same spot at the front of room. “We will be reading and hearing true audio accounts of people who risked their own lives to help complete strangers. Humanity at its finest.”

  Efrén thought about everything he’d shared with Mr. Garrett. Could Mr. Garrett be doing this for me?

  Mr. Garrett clicked on his remote and started a slideshow on the projector. “If we as a society can’t learn from history, sadly, we are doomed to repeat it. Now, please turn your attention to the slide in front of you. It’s a poem from a German Lutheran pastor, Martin Niemöller. Anyone care to read it?”

  Without skipping a beat, Jennifer Huerta put her hand up first. And of course, all the kids snickered and rolled their eyes. But Jennifer didn’t seem to worry about them.

  Efrén thought about how brave she was as he twirled his pencil around each of his fingers, wondering why he didn’t have the courage to do the same.

  Seeing no other raised hands, Mr. Garrett turned to Jennifer. “Yes, Ms. Huerta. Proceed.”

  Jennifer pushed her glasses up and paused to catch a breath before reading aloud.

  “First they came for the socialists,

  and I did not speak out—

  Because I was not a socialist.

  Then they came for the trade unionists,

  and I did not speak out—

  Because I was not a trade unionist.

  Then they came for the Jews,

  and I did not speak out—

  Because I was not a Jew.

  Then they came for me—and there

  was no one left to speak for me.”

  “Well done, Ms. Huerta. Can anyone tell me what they think it means?”

  Again, her hand went up first.

  “Anyone else?” asked Mr. Garrett without glancing in her direction. “Anyone else care to answer?”

  Efrén wanted to raise his hand, he really did. But with his perfect attendance, straight A’s, and high reading scores, he was on the brink of being labeled a nerd himself.

  Calmly, Mr. Garrett paced back and forth the front of the room, searching for someone to call on. Almost immediately, his eyes locked onto David, who had his attention on a sketchbook.

  “How about you, David?”

  David did his best to hide the sketchbook under his desk, but Mr. Garrett wasn’t having it. “Working on your sketches again? Hope you get my good side for a change.”

  The kids around David did their best to hold in their laughter.

  Efrén’s hand sprang up in the air, waving back and forth like the inflatable tube man at the used-car dealership across from the school. But his attempt to help his best friend went nowhere.

  Mr. Garrett held out his hand, leaving David with no choice but to give up the sketchbook.

  Mr. Garrett rummaged through the pages. “Ah, campaign slogans. That’s what you were working on.”

  David didn’t blush easily, but that’s exactly what happened. “I’m sorry. I had an idea for a campaign poster and didn’t want to forget it.”

  Mr. Garrett’s lower lip curled upward, eventually forming a smile. “I get it. It’s called being focused. That’s not a bad thing, but if you’re going to be ASB President, you might try to learn from people of the past to help the people of today.”

  Mr. Garrett’s eyes searched the room. “Does anyone have any thoughts on this poem?”

  Efrén raised his hand midway. As much as he wanted to share his thoughts, he might be showing up his best friend. No, he better let Jennifer take this one.

  “Yes, Ms. Huerta. You are running for ASB President too, right?”

  She nodded with a smile, ignoring a handful of groans in the room. “Yes, I am. David and I are the only two candidates. So one of us has to win.”

  “That’s exciting. I’m curious to hear your thoughts.”

  Jennifer propped herself forward. “It’s a poem, so I guess it can mean lots of things. But to me, it’s about bad things happening to people and not doing anything about it. It’s why I’m running for ASB President. I know I’m just a kid and can’t control what’s happening in the world, but I can have a say in what happens here at school . . . if you guys give me a chance.”

  Efrén peeked over at David sinking low into his seat.

  Mr. Garret clicked his remote, pointing to a new slide. “To quote Gandhi: ‘We but mirror the world. All the tendencies present in the outer world are to be found in the world of our body. If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change.’”

  He searched the room. “Anyone want to tackle this one?”

  Efrén couldn’t keep his hand down.

  “Yes, Mr. Nava.”

  “What I think it means is that if you, or me, lead by example, then people around us would do the same.”

  “Thanks, that’s exactly right. To paraphrase Gandhi, ‘Be the change you want to see.’” Efrén snuck a look at David, who was still slumped in his seat.

  Was he really the change the school needed?

  Nine

  Even after the bell, David stayed slumped down in his seat, looking as if the air had somehow been squeezed out from his body. Everyone else, except for Efrén, had hurried out—including Mr. Garrett, who’d excused himself for a quick bathroom break.

  Efrén walked over and
patted David on the shoulder.

  “Hey, you all right?”

  David sighed, letting out a deep breath. “Yeah. I guess. I just wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot like that.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Jennifer really killed it. Sounded like a real pro.”

  “She is pretty smart. Super hardworking too.”

  David gave Efrén a look.

  Efrén answered with a shrug. “What? I’m just telling it like it is.”

  David’s head plopped against his desk. “Man, I didn’t know elections were this much work. Maybe Mr. Garrett’s right. I might not be cut out for this sort of thing.”

  “Mr. Garrett never said that.”

  “Didn’t have to. It’s pretty obvious who he’s rooting for.”

  There was no arguing that point. “Maybe. But that’s only because he doesn’t know you like I do. That’s why I think we need to rebrand you. Show the entire school how presidential you can be.”

  David’s body sprang back up. So did his smile. “You’re right! I can’t just count on my popularity. I’ve got to focus on the issues and keep the campaign clean . . . like a baby’s butt.”

  Efrén crunched his forehead. “I’m not so sure baby butts are all that clean.”

  “Of course they are. Otherwise they’d get all rashy.” Now reenergized, David flung his backpack over his shoulder and gestured toward the door. “Come on. We’ve got an election to win! Ms. Salas says we need a short presentation for next week’s morning announcements. I’m thinking of filming a campaign video. You can be in it too, if you want.”

  Efrén took a deep breath, bracing himself for one of David’s crazy plans.

  “Our video needs to be funny, but deep,” David said. “Without sundering my opponent.”

  “I think you mean slandering. Like politicians do on TV ads,” Efrén said, walking toward the door.

  “Yeah, none of that.”

  None of that? It was music to Efrén’s ears. Was David finally taking things more seriously? Had Efrén been wrong? Maybe there was nothing to actually worry about.

  “When I win,” David added, jamming his thumb into his chest, “I want to know it was because the best man won. That’s why my presentation’s gonna be a music video. And not just any video,” he said, “a rap video!”