“No.”
And then Dante was there. He smiled at me. And then he smiled at his mom and dad. “Let’s go,” he said.
His parents didn’t ask any questions.
I just drove. I could have driven forever. I don’t know how I managed to find my spot in the desert, but I found it. It was as if I had a compass hidden somewhere inside me. One of the secrets of the universe was that our instincts were sometimes stronger than our minds. When I stopped the truck, I got out, slamming the door. “Shit! I forgot about the beer.”
“We don’t need the beer,” Dante whispered.
“We need the beer! We need the fucking beer, Dante!” I don’t know why I was yelling. The yelling turned into sobs. I fell into Dante’s arms and cried.
He held me and didn’t say a word.
Another secret of the universe: Sometimes pain was like a storm that came out of nowhere. The clearest summer morning could end in a downpour. Could end in lightning and thunder.
Seven
IT WAS STRANGE NOT HAVING MY MOM AROUND.
I wasn’t used to making the coffee.
My dad left a note. Are you okay?
Yeah, Dad.
I was glad that Legs broke the silence of the house when she began barking. Her way of telling me it was time to go for a run.
Legs and I ran faster that morning. I tried not to think of anything as I ran, but it didn’t work. I thought of my dad and my brother and Dante. I was always thinking of Dante, always trying to figure him out, always wondering why it was that we were friends and why it seemed to matter so much. To both of us. I hated thinking about things and people—especially when they were mysteries I couldn’t solve. I changed the topic in my head to Aunt Ophelia in Tucson. I wondered why I never went to visit her. It’s not as if I didn’t love her. She lived alone and I could have made an effort. But I never did. I did call her sometimes. It was strange, but I could talk to her. She always made me feel so loved. I wondered how she did that.
When I was drying myself off after my shower, I stared at my naked body in the mirror. I studied it. How strange to have a body. Sometimes it felt that way. Strange. I remembered what my aunt had told me once. “The body is a beautiful thing.” No adult had ever said that to me. And I wondered if I would ever feel like my own body was beautiful. My Aunt Ophelia had solved a few of the many mysteries of the universe. I felt as though I hadn’t solved any at all.
I hadn’t even solved the mystery of my own body.
Eight
RIGHT BEFORE I WENT IN TO WORK, I STOPPED OFF AT the drugstore where Dante was working. I think I just wanted to see that he really had a job. When I walked into the drugstore, he was behind the counter, placing cigarettes on the shelf.
“Are you wearing shoes?” I said.
He smiled. I stared at his name tag. Dante Q.
“I was just thinking of you,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Some girls came in a little while ago.”
“Girls?”
“They knew you. We got to talking.”
I knew which girls they were before he told me. “Gina and Susie,” I said.
“Yeah. They’re nice. Pretty, too. They go to school with you.”
“Yeah, they’re nice and pretty. And pushy, too.”
“They looked at my name tag. And then they looked at each other. And then one of them asked me if I knew you. I thought that it was a funny question to ask.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them yeah. I said you were my best friend.”
“You told them that?”
“You are my best friend.”
“Did they ask you anything else?”
“Yeah, they asked if I knew anything about an accident and you breaking your legs.”
“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it!”
“What?”
“Did you tell them?”
“Of course I told them.”
“You told them?”
“Why are you getting mad?”
“You told them about what happened?”
“Of course I did.”
“There’s a rule, Dante.”
“You’re mad? You’re mad at me?”
“The rule was we weren’t supposed to talk about the accident.”
“Wrong. The rule was we weren’t supposed to talk about the accident with each other. The rule doesn’t apply to anyone else.”
There was a line forming behind me.
“I have to get back to work,” Dante said.
Later that afternoon, Dante called me at work. “Why are you mad?”
“I just don’t like other people to know.”
“I don’t get you, Ari.” He hung up the phone.
What I knew was going to happen, happened. Gina and Susie showed up at the Charcoaler just as I was getting off work.
“You were telling us the truth,” Gina said.
“So what?” I said.
“So what? You saved Dante’s life.”
“Gina, let’s not talk about it.”
“You sound upset, Ari.”
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Why not, Ari? You’re a hero.” Susie Byrd had this thing in her voice.
“And how come,” Gina said, “we don’t know anything about your best friend?”
“Yeah, how come?”
I looked at both of them.
“He’s so cute. I’d have thrown myself in front of a moving car for him too.”
“Shut up, Gina,” I said.
“How come he’s such a secret?”
“He’s not a secret. He just goes to Cathedral.”
Susie had this gaga look on her face. “Cathedral boys are so cute.”
“Cathedral boys suck,” I said.
“So when are we going to get to know him?”
“Never.”
“Oh, so you want him all to yourself.”
“Knock it off, Gina, you’re really pissing me off.”
“You’re really touchy about things, you know that, Ari?”
“Go to hell, Gina.”
“You really don’t want us to know him, do you?”
“I don’t really care. You know where he works. Go badger him. Maybe that way, you’ll leave me alone.”
Nine
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU’RE SO UPSET.”
“Why did you tell Gina and Susie about the whole thing?”
“What’s with you, Ari?”
“We agreed not to talk about it.”
“I don’t get you.”
“I don’t get me either.”
I got up from the steps of his front porch where we were sitting. “I gotta go.” I looked out across the street. I remembered Dante running after two boys who were shooting at a bird.
I opened the door to my truck and climbed in. I slammed the door. Dante was standing in front of me. “Do you wish you hadn’t saved my life? Is that it? Do you wish I was dead?”
“Of course not,” I whispered.
He just stood there, looking at me.
I didn’t look back. I started my truck.
“You are the most inscrutable guy in the universe.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess I am.”
Dad and I ate dinner together. We were both quiet. We took turns feeding Legs scraps of food. “Mom wouldn’t approve.”
“No, she wouldn’t.”
We smiled awkwardly at each other.
“I’m going bowling. You want to go?”
“Bowling?”
“Yeah. Sam and I, we’re going bowling.”
“You’re going bowling with Dante’s dad?”
“Yeah. He invited me. I thought it would be good to get out. You and Dante want to come along?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You guys have an argument?”
“No.”
I called Dante on the phone. “Our dads are going bowling tonight.”
“I know.”
“My dad wanted to know if we wanted to go.”
“Tell him no,” Dante said.
“Okay.”
“I have a better idea.”
Mr. Quintana picked my dad up to go bowling. I thought that was really strange. I didn’t even know my dad bowled. “Boys’ night out,” Mr. Quintana said.
“Don’t drink and drive,” I said.
“Dante’s wearing off on you,” he said. “What’s happened to that respectful young man?”
“He’s still here,” I said. “I’m not calling you Sam, am I?”
My dad shot me a look.
“Bye,” I said.
I watched them drive off. I looked at Legs, “Let’s go.” She hopped in the truck and we drove to Dante’s house. He was sitting on the front porch, talking to his mother. I waved. Legs and I leapt out of the truck. I walked up the stairs and leaned down and gave Mrs. Quintana a kiss. The last time I’d seen her, I’d said hi and shaken her hand. I’d felt stupid. “A kiss on the cheek will do, Ari,” she’d said. So that was our new greeting.
The sun was setting. Even though it had been a really hot day, the breeze was picking up, the clouds were gathering, and it looked like it might storm. Looking at Mrs. Quintana’s hair in the breeze made me think of my mother. “Dante’s making a list of names for his baby brother.”
I looked at Dante. “What if it’s a girl?”
“He’ll be a boy.” There was no doubt in his voice. “I like Diego. I like Joaquin. I like Javier. Rafael. I like Maximiliano.”
“Those names sound pretty Mexican,” I said.
“Yeah, well, I’m shying away from ancient classical names. And besides, if he has a Mexican name, then maybe he’ll feel more Mexican.”
The look on his mother’s face told me they’d had this discussion more than a few times.
“What about Sam?” I said.
“Sam’s okay,” he said.
Mrs. Quintana laughed. “Does the mother get a say?”
“No,” Dante said. “The mother just gets to do all the work.”
She leaned over and kissed him. She looked up at me. “So you two are going stargazing?”
“Yeah, stargazing with the naked eye. No telescopes,” I said. “And it’s us three. You forgot Legs.”
“Nope,” she said, “Legs is staying with me. I feel like some company.”
“Okay,” I said. “If you want.”
“She’s a wonderful dog.”
“Yeah, she is. So you like dogs now?”
“I like Legs. She’s sweet.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sweet.”
It’s almost as if Legs knew what the score was. When Dante and I hopped into the truck, she stayed right beside Mrs. Quintana. How strange, I thought, that dogs sometimes understood the needs and behaviors of human beings.
Mrs. Quintana called out to me before I started the truck. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I promise.”
“Remember the rain,” she said.
Ten
AS I WAS DRIVING TOWARD MY SPOT IN THE DESERT, Dante took out the goods. He waved the two joints in the air.
We both smiled, then laughed.
“You’re a bad boy,” I said.
“You’re a bad boy too.”
“Just what we’ve always wanted to be.”
“If our parents knew,” I said.
“If our parents knew,” he said.
We laughed.
“I’ve never done this.”
“It’s not hard to learn.”
“Where’d you score this?”
“Daniel. This guy I work with. I think he likes me.”
“Does he want to kiss you?”
“I think so.”
“Do you want to kiss him back?”
“Not sure.”
“But you talked him into giving you some pot, didn’t you?”
Even though I kept my eye on the road, I knew he was smiling.
“You like talking people into things, don’t you?”
“I’m not going to answer that.”
There was lightning in the sky and thunder and the smell of rain.
Dante and I got out of the truck. We didn’t say a word. He lit the joint, inhaled, then held the smoke in his lungs. Then finally, he let it out. Then he did it again, and handed the joint to me. I did exactly as he did. I have to say I liked the smell, but the pot was harsh in my lungs. I fought not to cough. If Dante didn’t cough, then I wasn’t going to cough. We sat there passing the joint until it was gone.
I felt light and breezy and happy. It was strange and wonderful and everything seemed far away and yet kind of close. Dante and I kept looking at each other as we sat on the tailgate of my truck. We started laughing and couldn’t stop.
Then the breeze became a wind. And the thunder and lightning was close and closer and it started to rain. We ran inside the truck. We couldn’t stop laughing, didn’t want to stop laughing. “It’s crazy,” I said. “It feels so crazy.”
“Crazy,” he said. “Crazy, crazy, crazy.”
“God, crazy.”
I wanted us to laugh forever. We listened to the downpour. God, it was really raining. Like that night.
“Let’s go out there,” Dante said. “Let’s go out in the rain.” I watched him as he took off all his clothes: his shirt, his shorts, his boxers. Everything except his tennis shoes. Which was really funny. “Well,” he said. He had his hand on the handle of the door. “Ready?”
“Wait,” I said. I stripped off my T-shirt and all my clothes. Except my tennis shoes.
We looked at each other and laughed. “Ready?” I said.
“Ready,” he said.
We ran out into the rain. God, the drops of rain were so cold. “Shit!” I yelled.
“Shit!” Dante yelled.
“We’re fucking crazy.”
“Yeah, yeah!” Dante laughed. We ran around the truck, naked and laughing, the rain beating against our bodies. Around and around the truck, we ran. Until we were both tired and breathless.
We sat inside the truck, laughing, trying to catch our breaths. And then the rain stopped. That was the way it was in the desert. The rain poured down, then stopped. Just like that. I opened the door to the truck and stepped out into the damp and windy night air.
I stretched my arms out toward the sky. And closed my eyes.
Dante was standing next to me. I could feel his breath.
I don’t know what I would have done if he had touched me.
But he didn’t.
“I’m starving,” he said.
“Me too.”
We got dressed and drove back into town.
“What should we eat?” I said.
“Menudo,” he said.
“You like menudo.”
“Yeah.”
“I think that makes you a real Mexican.”
“Do real Mexicans like to kiss boys?”
“I don’t think liking boys is an American invention.”
“You could be right.”
“Yeah, I could be.” I shot him a look. He hated when I was right. “How about Chico’s Tacos?”
“They don’t have menudo.”
“Okay, how about the Good Luck Café on Alameda?”
“My dad loves that place.”
“Mine too.”
“They’re bowling,” I said.
“They’re bowling.” We were laughing so hard I had to pull over.
When we finally got to the Good Luck Café, we were so hungry that we both had a plate of enchiladas and two bowls of menudo.
“Are my eyes red?”
“No,” I said.
“Good. I guess we can go home.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I can’t believe we did that.”
“Me neither.”
“But it was fun,” he said.
“God,” I said. “It was fantastic.”
Eleven
DAD WOKE
ME EARLY. “WE’RE GOING TO TUCSON,” he said.
I sat up in bed. I stared at him.
“There’s coffee.”
Legs followed him out the door.
I wondered if he was mad at me, wondered why we had to go to Tucson. I felt a little groggy, like I’d been woken in a middle of a dream. I slipped on a pair of jeans and headed for the kitchen. Dad handed me a cup of coffee. “You’re the only kid I know who drinks coffee.”
I tried to go with the small talk, tried to pretend I hadn’t had that imaginary conversation with him. Not that he knew what I’d said. But I knew. And I knew I’d meant to say those things, even if I hadn’t. “Someday, Dad, kids all over the world will be drinking coffee.”
“I need a cigarette,” he said.
Legs and I followed him into the backyard.
I watched him light his cigarette. “How was bowling?”
He smiled crookedly. “It was kind of fun. I’m a crappy bowler. Luckily, so is Sam.”
“You should get out more,” I said.
“You too,” he said. He took a drag off his cigarette. “Your mom called late last night. Your aunt had a very serious stroke. She’s not going to make it.”
I remembered living with her one summer. I was a small boy and she was a kind woman. She’d never married. Not that it mattered. She knew about boys and knew how to laugh and knew how to make a boy feel as though he was the center of the universe. She’d lived a life separate from the rest of family for reasons no one had ever bothered to explain to me. I never cared about that.
“Ari? Are you listening?”
I nodded.
“You go away sometimes.”
“No, not really. I was just thinking. I spent a summer with her when I was little.”
“Yes, you did. You didn’t want to come back home.”
“I didn’t? I don’t remember.”
“You fell in love with her.” He smiled.
“Maybe I did. I can’t remember not loving her. And that’s weird.”
“Why is that weird?”
“I don’t feel that way about my other uncles and aunts.”
He nodded. “The world would be lucky to have more like her. She and your mother wrote to each other every week. A letter a week for years and years and years. Did you know that?”
“No. That’s a lot of letters.”
“She saved them all.”
I took a sip of my coffee.
Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe Page 17