The Inexplicable Logic of My Life

  He laughed.

  “I thought you moved,” I said.

  “I did. I moved back a few months ago. I live a couple of blocks from here, as a matter of fact.”

  “Have you seen my dad?”

  “No, no, I haven’t. Not yet, but, you know, I was taking a walk and thought I’d stop in and see how he was doing.”

  Sam nudged me.

  “This is Sam. Remember her?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I remember.” He smiled at her. “Still pretty.”

  “Of course I am,” she said. “And I remember you, too. I don’t think I liked you very much.”

  He really laughed at that one. “No, I don’t think you did.”

  Sam was giving him a look. “You didn’t like going to the movies with us. That’s what I remember.”

  “Well, I was never much for movies.”

  Sam wasn’t buying it, I could tell. But, for whatever reason, she decided to be nice. “Well,” she said, “we were just kids. We were probably bratty.” She gave him a smile. She could charm when she wanted to, I’ll say that much for Sam.

  That’s when my dad stepped out onto the front porch. I saw the look on his face when he looked at Marcos.

  I didn’t quite understand the look.

  I didn’t know if it was good or bad.

  I’d never seen that look on his face before.

  It was one of those awkward moments—​you know, one of those times you wish you could just sneak out of the room without anyone noticing. My dad seemed genuinely uncomfortable, and he didn’t do that often. He was the kind of guy who just took things in stride. My dad sort of cleared his throat and said, “So how are you, Marcos? It’s been a while.”

  “I’m good,” Marcos said.

  There was another awkward silence, so I nudged Sam. “Shower time.”

  “Yup,” she said. “I smell bad.”

  We went into the house and walked straight to my room. I shut the door.

  Sam looked at me. “Do you think?”

  “Do I think what?”

  “Don’t play dumb. Do you think that guy was your dad’s boyfriend?”

  I nodded. “You know, I never thought about it before. I was twelve the last time I saw him. What the hell did I know when I was twelve? I certainly didn’t really get the whole gay thing and what that really meant back then. Did you?”

  “Hmm, not really. Not really, really.”

  We both shrugged. “But, Sammy, I think I remember my father being really upset about something when Marcos left. And one day I asked him why Marcos didn’t come over anymore, and he said, ‘Well, he just moved away.’

  “I remember asking him where he’d moved to, and Dad said somewhere in Florida. That’s all he said. I got the feeling that he didn’t want to talk about it. And I thought maybe they got mad at each other, you know, like people do. I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t know shit.”

  “You got that right.” Then Sam paused. “Sally, I got the feeling your dad wasn’t exactly happy to see him.”

  “Well, I got a different feeling.”

  “And—”

  “I saw a look on Dad’s face. And, well, I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before, and believe me, I’m an expert on reading my father’s face.”

  “Oh, so now you can read faces?”

  “Yes. Some people read cards. I read faces.”

  “You read mine?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Maybe I’ll work on my poker face.”

  “LMAO. You don’t have it in you, Sam. You wear everything you feel on that beautiful face of yours. You have the easiest face to read on the planet.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Whatever.”

  Sam smiled. “So your dad was in love with him?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “It’s a plausible scenario.”

  “Screw plausible scenarios. You should ask him.”

  “Wrong. What’s the matter with you, Sammy? A guy has a right to his own privacy.”

  “Didn’t you get the memo, dude? There is no privacy since Facebook.”

  “My dad doesn’t do Facebook.”

  “But he has a cell, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

  “Aren’t you curious?”

  “Of course I’m curious. But he’s my dad. It’s none of my business.”

  “He’s your dad, that’s right. And that’s why it is your business.”

  Samantha Diaz had a very interesting way of thinking. The thing is, she thought everything about my life was her business. And in her mind, that included my dad’s business.

  On the Road (to Mima’s)

  WE WERE ON THE ROAD to Las Cruces to see Mima. Samantha was in the back, texting a few friends. She had categories: school friends, Facebook friends, and real friends. She actually didn’t hang out with a lot of her real friends because most of the people in that category were her ex-boyfriends. And she never stayed friends with any of those guys after they broke up. Not that they were the kind of guys you’d want to hang out with. And anyway, Sam was all or nothing. You don’t love me? Get lost.

  Dad was in his head as we drove.

  I really did want to ask him about Marcos. They’d sat on the back steps and talked for a long while. This time, I hadn’t listened in—​though I really wanted to. When Marcos left, he told me that it was good to see me. And Sam butted into the conversation to say, “Was it good to see me, too?” her tone dripping in gleeful sarcasm. Marcos smiled good-naturedly. “Sure,” he said. “It was great to see you too, Samantha.” She rolled her eyes, and she wasn’t subtle about it.

  I sat in the front seat of the car, wondering why Sam didn’t like him. Not that I was all that into him either. The thing was, Sam didn’t lie to herself about what she felt. And when she took a disliking to someone, well, it was bad news. That was Sam. Me? Sometimes I didn’t know what I thought. Maybe it’s because I didn’t want to know.

  Maybe I was fishing when I said, “What’s in your head, Dad?”

  “I was just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Things.”

  I hated when he said stuff like that. “Anything I should know about?”

  He glanced at me and smiled. “Sometimes we get to keep the things we have in our heads to ourselves.”

  “You said we shouldn’t keep secrets.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Yup, you did.”

  “Stupid thing to say.”

  Guess he shut down the conversation.

  Then he said, “What are you thinking?”

  So I decided to tell him. “Well, I was thinking about how Sam doesn’t seem to think very highly of Marcos.”

  Dad laughed. “He wasn’t very good with kids.”

  “That’s an understatement, Mr. V,” Sam said. “And I have a long memory.”

  “Let me translate that for you, Dad,” I said. “Sam likes to keep grudges.”

  “All they have to do is say they’re sorry,” she said.

  “What’s he got to be sorry for, Sammy? We were twelve the last time we saw him. He wasn’t exactly mean to us.”

  “He didn’t want to play catch with me.”

  My dad and I started laughing.

  “Go ahead, laugh.”

  Dad didn’t quite scratch his head, but he had that scratching-your-head look on his face. “You remember that, Sam?”

  “I remember lots of things, Mr. V.”

  “Well, we all do,” Dad said.

  “Is it all right if I don’t like him, Mr. V?”

  “You can dislike anybody you want, Sam.”

  “Well,” she said, “if you like him, then I’ll like him for you.”

  “Hmm. I’ll get back to you on that one.”

  Sam and I were giving each other knowing looks without actually making eye contact. Just then we took the exit to Mima’s house. Dad glanced over at me. “No texting.”
br />   “You hear that, Sam?” I said.

  WFTD = Tortillas

  MIMA WAS SITTING on the front porch talking to my Aunt Evie when we pulled up. She looked a little tired, but she was all dressed up and wearing makeup and the earrings she always wore. I got my usual hug and kiss and lots of I missed yous. And when Mima saw Samantha, she just hugged her. “Que muchacha tan bonita,” she said. “You’ve turned into a woman. Que linda! Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” And then she made a joke because Mima loved to joke around. “And do you still like to use bad words?”

  Samantha actually blushed.

  “She does, Mima,” I said.

  Mima kissed Sam on the cheek, and I realized how frail and small Mima looked.

  We had fun that day. My uncles and aunts and two of my cousins came over. They were way older than me, my cousins, and they were cool—​even though they treated me like I was a kid. We watched the Dallas Cowboys, and there was a lot of cussing going on. The team was going down in flames.

  At a certain point Mima walked into the living room and called Sam over with her finger. I watched as they disappeared down the hall, and I wondered why I wasn’t included in the conversation—​but I was just going to have to deal with it. Anyway, I knew Sam would tell me all about it. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Or maybe she’d only tell me some things and not others. Why was I like this? Why did I have this thing about being left out?

  I walked outside and sat on Mima’s front porch. Uncle Mickey was smoking a cigarette and talking to someone on his cell. He winked at me. He was kind of a winker. I thought that was cool. Fito would have called my Uncle Mickey a cat. To Fito, some guys were cats. Don’t know where he got that cat thing.

  I stared at Uncle Mickey’s tattoos. I thought maybe there were two kinds of people in the world: tattoo people and non-tattoo people. I already knew which category I fit in.

  “So,” my Uncle Mickey said, “is she your girlfriend now?”

  “Nah. It would be too weird.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I remember her from when you were little kids. She liked to scream a lot.”

  “She still does,” I said.

  We both laughed.

  “She’s living with us now, you know? Her mom died.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. Poor kid. That sucks.”

  “Yeah, it sucks.”

  He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He handed me a fifty-dollar bill. “Here, give this to her for me.”

  I nodded. I knew that Uncle Mickey was terrible with words. But he cared, and he showed that care in the only way he knew. I smiled. “You’re a good guy,” I said.

  “For a screwed-up guy, I’m all right.”

  Uncle Mickey. He was always beating up on himself. I wondered why. But then I thought, Well, I get that. I so get that.

  I walked into the kitchen, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing—​Sam rolling out a tortilla while Mima stood over her. Sam was whining: “Mine aren’t round, Mima.”

  “You have to be patient, Samantha. They don’t come out perfect the first time.”

  I loved the way Mima pronounced her name. The way she said Samantha as if it were a Mexican name.

  “Mima, Sam’s not patient.”

  “Not true.”

  “Yes, true.”

  “You’re not patient either, Sally.”

  Mima smiled and shook her head. “Patience is a gift you have to work for.” She looked at me. “Samantha will learn if she wants to.”

  I offered Sam a crooked smile. “I’m impressed. I didn’t know you knew what a rolling pin was.”

  “Mima, tell him not to be mean to me.”

  I had to hand it to Sam. She knew how to work it. But I was getting a kick out of her first shot at being domestic. I watched her as she gave the sad flour tortilla she’d just rolled out a look of disgust. “It looks more like a map of South America than it does a tortilla.”

  “Nope,” I said. “It looks more like Africa.”

  “Australia,” she said. “Definitely Australia.”

  Mima shook her head. “That’s okay. It’s your first time.” She winked at me. “Don’t laugh at Samantha.”

  Actually I thought it was great that Sam was making such an effort. It wasn’t like her to please other people. That wasn’t her style. She was changing. She really was changing.

  I looked at Mima and Sam. “Is it all right if I stay and watch the lesson?”

  Sam smirked. “Why not?”

  So we sat in the kitchen, Sam trying to learn how to roll out tortillas, Mima telling stories about how things were when she was a girl and how the world had changed, and she seemed a little sad.

  Sam and Aunt Evie and I helped her cook. Mima didn’t generally like people in her kitchen, but I was thinking she was beginning to let go. When you were dying, you had to let go of the things you loved. And Mima loved her kitchen, so yeah, the letting-go thing was starting to kick in. Me, I wasn’t letting go of anything just yet. Not ready. Just not ready.

  I grated the cheese for the enchiladas. Mima taught Sam how to make red enchilada sauce, and Aunt Evie fried the corn tortillas. If you don’t fry the tortillas, the enchiladas won’t be any good. Some restaurants don’t quite get that. In our family, frying the corn tortilla was a rule. Nobody was allowed to break it.

  You know, it was beautiful to be in that kitchen just then. I guess there are times of quiet beauty in life. My dad had told me that once. At the time I didn’t have a clue as to what he was trying to say.

  I smiled at my Uncle Mickey staring at his plate of enchiladas. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He loved to say that. Mima always served him first. Don’t know why.

  As I watched Mima serve everyone that Sunday afternoon, I wondered how many more meals she had left in her.

  Sam. Me. The Future.

  ON THE DRIVE home, Dad asked me and Sam where we stood on our college applications. Sam said she had all the paperwork but still had to complete some of the forms.

  “Lina and I will go over the financial forms ASAP,” he said.

  “Thanks, Mr. V.”

  “You’ve written your admissions essay?”

  “I’ll get on it,” Sam said.

  “I know it’s been crazy,” Dad said. “But this is important. And you, Salvie? How’s the essay coming?”

  “It’s coming,” I said.

  “Is it, Salvie?”

  “Okay, it’s not coming.” It’s not as if my mind was on college. My heart just wasn’t in it.

  Sam reached into her backpack and took out her list of schools.

  “You carry that around?” I asked.

  “Yup, Sally. For luck.”

  She handed it to me. “Read me my list,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “I wanna hear. I wanna hear the sound of the future.”

  “You cray-cray,” I said.

  “Humor me. I’m still in mourning.”

  “You’re pulling that card out again?”

  “Yup.”

  I could tell my dad was getting a big kick out of our little exchange.

  Sam shoved her list in my face. Literally. I took the list. “You want me to read it like it’s a frickin’ poem?”

  She crossed her arms.

  I looked at the list and said, “’K. Here goes.” I put on a formal voice: “Number one on the list: Stanford University. Now, that’s a real college. Number two: Brown University. Uhh. Brown. Rhode Island, here I come.”

  “Skip the commentary, you clown. Just read the list.”

  “No sense of humor,” I said. I got the look. “Okay, okay. Number three: Georgetown. Number four: UC Berkeley. Number five: UC Santa Barbara. Number six: University of Texas. Hey, we have a school in common.”

  “If you’re going there, I’m definitely not.”

  “Whatever, Sammy. Hmm. Okay, to continue, number seven: Boston College. Number eight: University of Notre Dame. That one’s cuz you’re such a good Catho
lic.”

  “Shut up. Mr. V, tell him to shut up.”

  My dad was cracking up. “You’re doing pretty well on your own, Sam.”

  “Clocking in at number nine: the University of Miami. And rounding out the top ten is Cornell University, where Sam will text every ten minutes complaining about the winter.”

  “You mangled my list.”

  I gave her my best snarky smile. “But seriously, Sam, you’ll get into all of them.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not sure about the money.”

  “You have the money, Sam,” my dad said.

  “Yeah, well, it sucks that I have the money because my mother had a good insurance policy.” She was fighting back tears.

  “Hey, hey,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  “Yeah, Sally, one minute it is okay. And then another minute I’m falling apart. You know, Sylvia and I fought all summer about this list.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I noticed that my dad didn’t interject himself into the conversation.

  Lists = Future?

  I MADE ANOTHER LIST. A list of questions I had in my head. But the list wasn’t numbered, and all the questions were wrecking into each other: Was Marcos going to be coming around? If Marcos was once my dad’s boyfriend, why did he leave? Why doesn’t my dad date? Is that my fault? Why are some people gay? Why do people hate gay people? How much will it hurt when Mima dies? Who invented college? Why didn’t I know what I wanted to be? Why couldn’t I sing? Why couldn’t I draw? Why couldn’t I dance? What the hell could I do?

  Maybe I could turn my list of questions into my college admissions essay.

  I think I’m the stupidest smart boy who ever lived.

  Marcos?

  SO IT WAS Halloween. Sam’s favorite holiday. We’d gone trick-or-treating together since we were five. And the fact that we were seniors wasn’t going to stop us from continuing our tradition.

  At first Sam fought the idea of Fito’s coming along. “Does he have to come?”

  And I said, “Yup. I got him to take the night off from working at Circle K. Give him a break. His life sucks.”

  “Everybody’s life sucks.”