The Inexplicable Logic of My Life

  I saw I had a text from Sam: U think Fito’s all right?

  Me: It’s like heaven for him. He lived in hell

  Sam: Guess ur right

  Me: U were great today

  Sam: Y? B-cuz I let him stay in a house that’s empty?

  Me: U didn’t have to do that

  Sam: World doesn’t need another homeless guy

  Me: R we changing Sam?

  Sam: Yup called growing up. I was behind. I’m trying to catch up to my hero

  Me: ?

  Sam: YOU, you idiot

  Me: Awwwwww

  Sam: No extra credit for being decent human beings. Isn’t that what ur dad says?

  Me: Yup. I think we should tell him about Fito

  Sam: Thought about that. We’ll tell him later. This is us. WE R DOING THIS. US. ME N U

  Me: U rock

  Sam: I m proud of us

  Me: Me too

  Sam: But we’ll tell ur dad

  A Father Thing

  I CALLED SAM on her cell when I woke up. That was her alarm. Time to run. I changed into my running clothes and sat on my bed for a little while. Sometimes when you get up, you aren’t really awake. But you aren’t really asleep, either.

  I made my way to the kitchen to drink a glass of water. That was the routine now. Drink water, go running, then drink coffee. Coffee tasted better after a run. Well, another glass of water, then the coffee.

  Dad wasn’t reading the paper. He was sketching something on his pad and drinking his coffee. I sat down. Then Sam walked into the kitchen. “Dad,” I said, “we have something to tell you.”

  My dad got this look on his face.

  “Relax, it’s nothing bad,” I said.

  Sam sat down. “Mr. V, we’ve kidnapped Fito.”

  “What?”

  “Well, we didn’t really kidnap him.” Then she launched into the whole story, every detail, about how we ran to the bridge and about how we found Fito sleeping on the bench in front of the library. I mean, she certainly didn’t leave anything out. Well, she left out the worst-moment-in-our-lives thing.

  My dad sat there looking at us as if he were watching a tennis match, his eyes moving from me to Sam to me to Sam. “Part of me says this isn’t a very good idea—”

  “Dad, he’s going to be eighteen in December. That’s, like, tomorrow.”

  “That doesn’t mean he should be on his own.”

  “So what’s the solution?”

  “No use in calling social services. By the time they process him, he’ll age out. They may not even bother.” My dad sat there thinking. “So you didn’t tell me yesterday because?”

  Sam raised her hand. “We weren’t sure. I mean, my motto is usually it’s better to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission.”

  My dad put his hands over his face and busted out laughing. “Ay, Samantha, que muchacha.”

  “You know, Dad,” I said, “we have to learn how to make decisions on our own. Without you watching over us. Remember that overprotective thing?”

  Dad nodded. “God, you’re sweet kids, you know that? You’re helping a friend the best way you know how. That’s a beautiful thing. But—”

  I looked at my dad. “But?”

  “There have to be rules. He can’t have any girls over.”

  “He’s gay, Dad, remember?”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot.” He grinned. “Well then, no boys. In fact, he can’t have company. Just you two. He doesn’t party and all that stuff, does he?”

  “Dad, he works two jobs and studies. He wants to get into college.”

  Dad nodded. “He apparently has more ambition than you.”

  I had the What? thing on my face.

  “No year off for you. You’re going to college next year. And that’s that.”

  My dad never said That’s that. “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said. “Go for your run. I’m going to pay Fito a visit.”

  “What for?”

  “It’s a father thing. That okay with you?”

  My Dad, the Cat

  SAM AND I ran through the streets of Sunset Heights. Yeah, we were zigzagging through our neighborhood. Maybe that’s what life was. You zigged and you zagged, and then you got up every morning and zigged and zagged some more.

  Thanksgiving week. A big holiday for Mima.

  I was making a list in my head of the things I was grateful for. I had talked to Mima on the phone the night before. She said she’d already made her list.

  “Did I make the top ten?” I asked.

  She laughed. I liked making her laugh. “Of course you did,” she said. I wanted to tell her that she was first on my list. Well, maybe she was second. Dad was first. And Sam was third. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to rank the people in your life. That’s not how the heart worked. The heart didn’t make lists.

  Sam and I sat on the front steps. We did that a lot after our morning runs. If we had time. Today we had time. On Sundays we always had time.

  “Great run today,” she said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You’re a great runner.”

  “You were slow today. That’s because you were in your head.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “I’m happy today,” she said. “You know something? I don’t think I’ve been a very happy person most of my life.”

  I leaned in and nudged her. “Most of your life? You say that like you’re an old lady. You’re only seventeen.”

  “It’s true, though. I think I liked being miserable.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  I looked up and saw Dad coming up the sidewalk. “How was your visit with Fito?”

  “He’s a very fine young man.”

  “His life kind of sucks,” I said.

  “I get that. He’s a survivor, though. Some people can survive just about anything.” He started to go inside. “I’m going out back to have a cig. Why don’t you guys hit the shower? We can take Fito grocery shopping.”

  Sam was wearing this giant smile. “Are you gonna adopt him too?”

  My dad grinned. “Some people collect stamps. Me? I collect seventeen-year-old kids.”

  I asked Fito about his conversation with Dad.

  “Your dad’s cool. I never met a dad like yours. I like that cat.”

  “So what did you talk about?”

  “He just wanted to make sure I was okay. He asked me about my mom and shit. So I just basically laid it all out, told him how things rolled in our dysfunctional little household. And after I finished telling him all my shit, you know what your dad said?”

  “What?”

  “He said, ‘Fito, I hope you know you deserve better than that. You do know that, don’t you?’ That’s what he said. How cool is that?”

  That sounded exactly like something my dad would say.

  “Oh yeah, and he gave me some rules for living in the house.”

  “Rules?”

  “Yeah. Like no one else allowed in the house. Just me. Well, you and Sam, you’re cool. But no one else. Believe me, I’m down with that. Don’t want strays eyeing things in Sam’s house. It’s called respect. I’m down.”

  “Any other rules?”

  “Yeah. I have to quit one of my jobs. I’m down with that, too. I’m tired. I’m really tired. He said I should just work my weekend job and stick with the school thing. Graduate, go to college, and try to have some fun. That’s what he said. Have some fun. Like I know what that is.”

  “Is that word even in your vocabulary?”

  “Nope.”

  “Sam will teach you how to spell it.”

  “And one more rule he gave me. Your dad’s all about rules.”

  That made me laugh.

  “It’s not like I’m bitching about your dad. Look, nobody ever cared enough about me to give me a rule. Your dad said I needed to stop spending so much time alone. I don’t know how he knew that. He said I’m isol
ated. Isolated? Is that a verb?”

  “Yeah, it is,” I said.

  “Your dad, man oh man, he shoulda been a counselor. Anyway, I got an invite to eat at your house anytime I want. A standing invitation.”

  His smile was breaking my heart.

  Hanging Out

  SO SAM TEXTED Fito and told him to come over and have some soup. I texted him too: Got homework?

  Fito: Yup math and shit

  Me: Bring it with

  Fito: Damn straight

  And then, guess who knocked on the door? Marcos. “Came over for some soup?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I guess that was the idea.”

  Dad was in the kitchen slicing some bread.

  Sam was sitting on the couch, texting.

  She waved at Marcos. I was hoping she’d be nice.

  I was surprised when Marcos sat in my dad’s chair. “Can I talk to you two for a sec?”

  Sam, boy, she perked right up. She even set her phone down on the coffee table.

  “Talk,” she said. “We’re listening.”

  He looked a little uncomfortable. “I’m getting this vibe that you don’t—” He stopped, trying to find the words, so I thought I’d help the poor guy out.

  “We’re okay, Marcos.” I knew I didn’t mean it—​but I wanted to mean it.

  Sam nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.” She didn’t sound all that convincing.

  Marcos smiled. “I’m an idiot—​you know that, don’t you?”

  Sam smiled back at him. “Yeah, I get that vibe from you.” But it didn’t come out mean or snarky, the way she said that. Well, a little snarky, but a little sweet too. She was trying.

  Marcos looked at me and nodded. “Five years ago I left your dad. It was the biggest mistake of my life. I wanted you to know that. I wanted you to know that I hurt him once. You have no idea how much I regret that hurt. For the last five years, not a day has gone by when I didn’t think of Vicente. Not one day.”

  Sam and I were just looking at each other. Marcos smiled at us. “You two are a pair, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, we are,” I said.

  My father walked into the living room. Sometimes when Mima saw me, her face would glow. Sometimes. Because she loved me so much. That’s how my dad looked now.

  Sam and I sat there looking at each other. Marcos and Dad walked toward the kitchen. And then Sam said, “Sometimes adults can be very cool.”

  Marcos and Dad looked at her, and she flashed them a smile. “I said sometimes.”

  Sam was washing the dishes. She’d come a long way with stuff like that. The first time she cleaned the bathroom, I swear the people in Juarez could hear her bitching. But now it was a normal thing with her.

  Marcos was an engineer, so he was helping Fito with his math. I heard him explaining the concepts. I should’ve probably been paying attention, but I was so not about math. Nope.

  Dad was sitting in his chair writing something on a yellow legal pad. Sam came into the living room. I watched her as she walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled at her. “What was that for?”

  “Just because,” she said.

  And I heard myself saying, “Oh, now we’re into just because kisses.”

  “Yeah. And you’re so not getting one.”

  I thought about how we all sat down tonight to eat my dad’s soup—​Dad and Marcos and Fito and Sam and me. We’d played a game, the one we didn’t finish at Sam’s house, the what’s-the-best-moment-in-my-life game.

  Dad said the best moment in his life was the day I was born. “An emergency C-section. Your mother couldn’t hold you. I was the lucky guy. God, did you belt out a cry. Yeah, that was the most beautiful moment in my life.”

  Marcos said the best moment in his life was the day he met my father. I thought that was a brave thing to say, but I also think it was the truth. Yeah, being brave and telling the truth went together. Whatever happened between them in the past, well, it was in the past. I know I was trying to find all the faults in the guy, but I wasn’t getting very far.

  And Sam? The best moment in her life? “Well,” she said, “the day I came to live here. That was the best moment in my life. Even though I came to live here because my mom died, I feel safe. This feels like home.”

  And Fito said, “Hell, you know, this is the best moment in my life. This moment. Right now.”

  I thought Sam was going to cry—​but she didn’t.

  And me? I said the best moment in my life was the day it rained yellow leaves, and I told them all about that afternoon with Mima. I had never told anyone about that. No one. “I don’t think Mima even remembers. But I do.”

  Dad smiled. “Maybe I’ll paint that.” Yeah, I could see that painting in my head.

  For the longest time our house had belonged to me and Dad. It was just the two of us. And life was good—​simple and uncomplicated. Or maybe that’s the way I saw it. If I stopped to think about it, the whole thing hadn’t been that uncomplicated—​not for Dad. I remembered him telling me that love was infinite. Infinity, that isn’t like the pi thing in math. Or maybe it is. Love has no end—​it just goes on and on.

  It was a nice evening. A beautiful evening, really. Yeah, Mima was still dying and Sam’s mom was still dead and Fito was living in exile from his family, and I still wasn’t dealing with the stupid essay I needed to write to get into college, and I was still staying away from reading my mother’s letter, as if it had a snake in it or something. Still, it was a nice evening. Even if I was trying to figure out if Marcos was for real or if he was just playing it all up so he could get my dad back.

  Me. Fito. Sam.

  ON THE WEDNESDAY before Thanksgiving, Dad said, “Did you invite Fito over for Thanksgiving dinner at Mima’s?”

  “No,” I said.

  “No?” He looked at me as if I’d committed a crime. He shook his head. “What are you waiting for?”

  I felt bad. I mean, yeah, I felt bad. Shit. Another little slip.

  So Sam and I picked Fito up. We always said that. We’ll pick you up. We weren’t really picking him up. I mean, we walked to school. But Sam’s house was on the way, and I had always stopped by and we’d go to school.

  Fito was waiting for us outside, and Sam and I waved. “Hey.”

  Fito waved. “Hey.” And then Fito said he had had a bad dream.

  “Bad dreams suck,” Sam said.

  “Yeah. I have lots of them.”

  We walked along, and I asked Fito, “So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  “Well, this guy Ernie, he wants me to work for him at the K. So I’m probably gonna work.”

  “Tell him no,” I said. “Tell him you have plans.”

  “But I don’t.”

  “You do now. You’re spending it with us.”

  “Nah,” he says. “No can do. No bueno.”

  “No bueno? What’s wrong with you?”

  “You know, you and Sam, you show up and you’re kind of like these fuckin’ angels and you’re all, like, sweet and stuff and nice and shit, and I’m this guy who’s all messed up. I mean, what have I got? I gotta get my stuff together. I mean, why do you guys keep hanging out with me? I got nothin’ to offer.”

  Sam got a fierce look on her face. “Oh, you think we just feel sorry for you. Is that it? You’re full of shit, you know that, Fito? Maybe when Sally looks at you, he thinks you’re worth something. Maybe when I look at you, maybe I think you’re worth something too. Just because you don’t like yourself doesn’t mean other people don’t like you. And if you ever say you don’t have anything to offer in my presence—​if you ever say that again—​then I’m going to kick your ass from here to Michoacán.”

  “Michoacán?” I said. And then we got all goofy and laughing. And then Fito sort of hung his head and he was blinking his eyes, like he was trying to blink away all the tears that he’d held inside all his life. “I’m just, you know, I’m just not used to people being so nice to me.”

  Sam le
aned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Well, get used to it, Fito.”

  And then we walked. Three friends walking to school. Fito was smiling, and Sam was smiling. And I was smiling. And I looked at her and whispered, “I like who you’re becoming.”

  Sam. Eddie. Me.

  I THOUGHT IT WAS going to be a perfect day, that Wednesday before Thanksgiving.

  But it didn’t turn out that way. Not perfect. No bueno. To begin with, no one wanted to be in school. You could feel it in the hallways. It felt like we were fire ants going crazy on a busy anthill. Or something like that. Sam would have laughed at me if she had been listening in on my thoughts. I was okay with words, but let’s just say I wasn’t going to grow up to be a writer.

  What was I going to be? Maybe a boxer. Ha. Ha.

  I decided I was going to wait out the day.

  During lunch I went outside to get some air. I needed to breathe. Malaise. That’s what I was feeling. Malaise.

  But just as I stepped outside, I saw Sam lost in a conversation with Eddie.

  Really? She was talking to Eddie? It made me crazy to see them talking to each other as if nothing had happened.

  They didn’t even notice when I walked up to them.

  “Sam,” I said, “what in the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m talking to Eddie,” she said softly. “And why are you yelling at me?”

  “Because you’re talking to a guy who tried to hurt you.”

  “Sally—”

  I didn’t let her finish. “Sam, just walk away right now. Just walk back inside.”

  That’s when Eddie decided to step into the conversation, “Look, Sal, we were just—”

  “Say another word and I’ll beat the holy crap out of you, you son of a bitch.”

  That’s when I felt Sam’s slap.

  She slapped me so hard I fell back.

  And then we just looked at each other.

  “Who are you?” she whispered. “Who are you, Sally? Who are you?”

  The rest of the day I could feel my cheek still burning.

  Part Five

  Highways are nice and paved, and they have signs telling you which way to go. Life isn’t like that at all.