The Inexplicable Logic of My Life

  “Sally.”

  “Sammy.” I grinned at her. “So I guess we’re off to college.”

  “Let’s not get all enthusiastic about it.”

  “Ambivalent,” I said.

  She smiled. Sometimes it was as if she could read minds. “Don’t worry. When you get to college, you’ll have girls all over you.”

  “Sure.”

  “And you won’t have me around to get in the way.”

  “You’re not in the way.”

  “Maybe a little. You’re way too loyal. None of the girls you’ve ever gone out with—​not that they number in the hundreds—”

  I shot her the snarkiest smile I could come up with.

  “None of them liked me.”

  “Girls are weird that way,” I said. “They’re all like—​I’m the only person in the universe. I don’t like that.”

  “That’s because, unlike most boys, you’re actually kind of mature. But only in that way. In other ways, well, you’re a work in progress.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “You bet your ass, white boy.”

  “Nice girl. See how you are? You give me a compliment. And then you take it away in one fell swoop.”

  “Yup. No need to give you a big head.” Then she turned toward the living room and gave me the eye. “What do you think?”

  I shrugged. “Marcos—​he’s nice, huh?”

  “Yeah, he kinda is. He’s quiet, but not too shy. And he’s actually a good listener. I heard him talking to Fito, who was saying something about school, and it came out like the usual Fito. You know that negative self-talk he’s addicted to. And Marcos listened and then said, ‘You know, maybe it’s not you. Maybe it’s that teacher. There are a lot of great teachers out there. But there are also a lot of not-so-great teachers. It’s just something you should think about.’”

  I looked at Sam. “So are you gonna stop giving him a hard time?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What?”

  “We have this thing. I give him attitude, and he gives me a smile. It’s how we get along.”

  “I get you, and I don’t get you.”

  “Nah. You get me. You totally get me.” Then she got real serious. I knew that look. “You see me, Sally. I. Mean. You. See. Me. My mom, well, you know, she loved me. I know that. But she didn’t always see me. That’s sad. That’s really sad. She didn’t see me because she didn’t see herself. But you? You see me. I remember when we were about six. Maybe seven. I fell on the pavement, and you picked me up. And we walked here, to the house that has become my house. You washed my bleeding knee, which to me was totally traumatic.” We both laughed. “You washed it with a warm washcloth and put a Band-Aid on it, and then you kissed it. Do you remember that?”

  “No. I don’t remember that.”

  “You were so serious. I’ll always remember that look on your face. You saw me. You’ve always seen me. And I think that’s all that anyone wants. That’s why Fito loves coming over here. He’s been invisible all his life. And all of a sudden he’s visible. Seeing someone. Really seeing someone. That’s love.”

  “You know what else love is?” I said. “A friend who slaps you when you need to be slapped.”

  She smiled at me and I smiled at her. “You want to know a secret?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m a little jealous of Marcos.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And I’m a little suspicious of him.”

  God, she smiled. “Good to know not all my lessons have been lost on you.”

  Me. Dreams.

  IN MY DREAM I am surrounded by a bunch of guys. And I say, “One at a time. I’ll take you on one at a time.” So one at a time, I take them all down. I beat the holy crap out of the first guy. He’s bleeding, and I watch him lying on the ground. And I just say, “Next.” So one by one, I beat the holy crap out of all of them. And they’re all lying there on the ground, and I just stand there and stare at them.

  And then a man shows up. I look like him, and I know he’s my father. And we go for it. I throw the first punch, but it doesn’t faze him. And then he starts punching me. He punches me and punches me until I’m on the ground. Then he starts kicking me and kicking me. But I don’t feel a thing.

  And then I wake.

  If I was a bad boy in my dreams, what did that mean? And what did it mean when a father I didn’t know showed up in my dream and beat the crap out of me? I’m not going to tell Sam about this dream, because she’ll start analyzing me. I don’t feel like being analyzed.

  I tried to think of something beautiful so I could fall asleep again.

  I thought about the day when it was raining yellow leaves. Of course I did.

  And then I went back to sleep.

  Sam. Dad. Me. Dad!

  SAM AND I had just come in from our morning run. Dad was reading the paper. Sam and I had been discussing our plan. I decided to get some input from Dad. Why not? “Dad,” I said, “Fito’s birthday is Friday. He turns the big eighteen.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “So what are you doing on Friday?”

  “Well, Marcos and I were thinking about going to a movie.”

  I almost wanted to ask why they didn’t think of inviting Sam and me to go along—​but I knew the answer to that one.

  “Well,” I heard Sam say, “we were thinking of having something for Fito. You know, like cake and tacos.”

  “Sounds like a winning combination. We can do that.”

  “I’ll even bake the cake,” I said.

  “And I’ll even make the tacos,” Sam said.

  My dad looked at both of us and said, “Wow.” But he knew us. He knew there was something else coming. I could tell by the way he put the newspaper down.

  “And?” he said.

  “And,” I said, “Fito’s phone died. Which really sucks. I mean, his phone sucked anyway.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “It really sucked. It was one of those cheapos from Walmart.”

  My dad did a wince thing. “It’s what he could afford, Sam.”

  “I know, I know, Mr. V. I can be such a brat. But we were thinking we wanted to get him a smartphone for his birthday. You know, Lina has me on her family plan, and you have Sally on your plan, so we thought maybe we’d put Fito on one of our plans, and the phone would be, like, super cheap. Sally has some money, and you know—​what do you think?”

  “Well, if you can’t save the world, at least you’ve decided you’re going to save Fito.”

  Sam crossed her arms. “Don’t say it like that—” And then she stopped. “He’s not like a project. He’s our friend. We love Fito.”

  “Yeah, we do,” I said.

  Dad smiled. “I get that. So you need a partner in crime?”

  “Something like that,” I said.

  “Why not? Tomorrow after school, we’ll all go get Fito a phone.”

  “Great,” I said.

  “Okay, then,” my dad said.

  “Okay, then,” I said.

  Sam was smiling. We were happy. And then she got this look on her face—​as if she had something else to say. And when Sam had something to say, she was going to say it. She looked right at my dad. “Mr. V? I don’t know what to call you now. Mr. V doesn’t seem to fit anymore.”

  “You can call me Vicente. That is my name, after all.”

  “That seems sort of disrespectful.”

  “This coming from the girl who used to refer to her mother as Sylvia?”

  “Yeah, but I only called her that behind her back.”

  Dad grinned.

  “What to call me?” he said. “How to solve this problem. You have something in mind?”

  “Actually, I do,” she said, sounding very serious.

  Dad just waited for her to finish what she’d started to say.

  “Well,” she said, looking really shy, “I’m going to be eighteen in August. An
d then I’ll be an adult.”

  “Legally, anyway,” my dad said.

  “Yeah,” Sam said, “legally. I was thinking maybe, well, you know, you’re really the only dad I’ve ever known. You know, it’s kind of been like that, hasn’t it?”

  My dad grinned some more as he nodded.

  “Have I been a big pain in the ass?”

  “Nope,” he said. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

  Sam had this I-think-I’m-going-to-cry look on her face. “You mean that?”

  “I don’t say things I don’t mean, Sam.”

  “I’m glad,” she said, “because I have this idea in my head that you might want to adopt me. You know, make things official before I turn, you know, legal.”

  I saw my dad’s face light up. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  Dad thought a moment. “We can go through a legal adoption, if that’s what you want. Let me just say that you’ve been my daughter for long time now, Sam. Adoption or no adoption. And you don’t need a piece of paper to call me Dad.”

  Tears were running down her face. And then she waved at him. “Hi, Dad,” she said.

  And Dad waved back. “Hi, Sam.”

  Sister

  I WAS IN MY room thinking about things. Life has a logic all its own. People talk about the highway of life, but I think that’s crap. Highways are nice and paved, and they have signs telling you which way to go. Life isn’t like that at all. There are days when great things happen and everything is beautiful and perfect, and then, just like that, everything can go straight to hell. It’s like getting drunk. At first it feels kinda nice and all relaxed. And all of a sudden the room is spinning and you are throwing up, and, well, maybe life is a little like that.

  I was thinking of making a list of all the great things that were happening and all the shitty things that were happening, the things that were making me crazy. But what good was that? Part of me was really happy. It was like Dad said—​adoption or no adoption, Sam had always been my sister. And Dad had always been her dad.

  To know something you’d always known. To really know it. Wow.

  Yeah, Mima was still dying and I still hadn’t come up with the courage to open my mother’s letter and I still felt unsettled about a lot of things. I heard Uncle Tony’s voice in my head: I think that kid’s gonna be devastated.

  I texted Sam: What doing?

  Sam: Reading. Thinking

  Me: Thinking?

  Sam: I want to change my last name

  Me: ?

  Sam: Want to change my last name to Avila

  Me: Avila?

  Then I saw her standing in my doorway.

  I look at her. “Avila?”

  “Yeah, Avila. It was my mother’s name before she got married. And I got to thinking that I really never knew my father.”

  “It’s not too late.”

  “I think it is. Anyway, that’s not the point.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “See, Sally, she’s dead now. And I want to take her name. That’s what I want. I asked her once why she didn’t take her name back after she divorced my father. She said, ‘I married him. I took his name. I’m good with that.’ I think my mom always defined herself in terms of the men around her. She kept the name Diaz because she told herself that at least she’d been married once. That’s what I think.” She gave me one of her I’m-proud-of-myself looks. “Yup, I’m going to officially change my name. In honor of my mother.”

  She walked up to me and kissed me on the top of the head as I sat at my desk. I was holding my mother’s letter.

  “God, you’re smart, Sammy. And me? Stasis.”

  She stared at the letter. “You’ll figure it out, Sally.”

  “Will I?”

  “I believe in you, Sally.” She got real quiet. “I still cry, you know? I still ask myself what if? What if Sylvia hadn’t died?”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t play that game anymore.”

  “We can’t help ourselves. Sylvia and I—​we fought to the bitter end.”

  “Maybe that’s how you loved each other.”

  “It is how we loved each other. That’s really sad, Sally. And it can’t be undone.”

  “We can’t live in regret, Sam.”

  “Maybe we both live in regret. You’ve asked yourself a hundred times what if your mother had never died, haven’t you?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “You hate to talk about this.”

  “Yeah, I do.” I put the letter on my desk, ran my hand across it, and asked myself, What would happen if I met my bio father face to face? What if, Sam? What if?

  Mothers

  THE WIND WAS COLD. And it looked as if it might snow.

  I loved the snow.

  I loved the feel of the cold wind on my face.

  Dad didn’t much care for cold weather. He said my romance with snow existed only because I didn’t live in a place like Minnesota.

  I don’t know exactly why I was standing in front of my house looking at the lights. I could see the Christmas tree twinkling in the living room. When I was a boy, Mima would hold my hand and take me outside, and we’d look at the lights. Mima always had lights all around her house, and we always sang a Christmas carol. She really liked “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” but she sang it in Latin because that’s how she’d learned it.

  Dad said Latin was a dead language. I wondered about that. Why did some languages die? Sam had a theory that languages didn’t actually die. She said we killed them. “Do you know how many languages we’ve killed off in the history of the world? You kill a language off, and you kill off an entire people.” Sam, that Sam.

  I decided then and there that Sam and I would print out the words in Latin and sing it to Mima this Christmas. That’s exactly what we’d do. I was almost finished with the photo book I was making. I was going to give it to her for Christmas. We could look at it together. That would be the best part.

  I took my cell phone out of my pocket and called her. My Aunt Evie answered the phone. “It’s good to hear your voice,” she said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s just a regular voice from a regular guy.”

  “Regular.” She laughed. “Smart-ass. You want to talk to your Mima?”

  “Yeah.”

  When Mima got on the phone, she sounded tired but she sounded happy, and she told me that Uncle Julian was coming for Christmas even though he’d come for Thanksgiving, and she was really happy about that. I was happy too, and happy that she was talking so much, because that was her normal self. Then she asked me what I was doing.

  “I’m standing in front of my house and looking at the lights and thinking of you. That’s what I’m doing.”

  I wanted to say so many things to her. I wanted to ask her about my mother, because she’d known her, and ever since Sam’s mom died, I’d begun thinking more about my own mother. It wasn’t just the letter; it was this whole thing about mothers that Sam and Fito and I had going on, and maybe that’s what we had in common, this thing with mothers who were impossible to talk to. I wanted to talk to Mima about this, but I could hear the tired in her voice. She seemed almost as far away as my dead mother, and there was nothing I could do to bring her closer. Nothing at all.

  I texted Sam: Come outside with me.

  Sam: It’s cold out there

  Me: Please

  So a few minutes later Sam was standing right beside me and we looked at the lights together. “What’s so important?” she said.

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Yeah, you’ve been doing a lot of that lately.”

  “Were you mad at your mother?”

  “We just had this conversation, didn’t we?”

  “No. That’s not what I mean. Were you mad at her because she died?”

  Sam was quiet. Then she took my hand and held it. “Yes,” she whispered. “I was fucking furious with her for dying.”

  ?
??Are you still?”

  “It’s going away. But yeah, I’m still mad.”

  “You know something? I think I don’t remember loving my mother because I got mad at her. For dying. I got mad at her. I think so.”

  “You were three, Sally.”

  “Yeah, I was three.”

  She squeezed my hand. It started to snow, big flakes that fell silently to the ground.

  I wondered if that’s what death sounded like. Like a snowflake falling on the ground.

  Fito. Eighteen. Marcos. Adult?

  “YOU GOT ME a present? Really. I mean, like a real present?” Fito said.

  “What?” I was just looking at Fito. “It’s your birthday, vato. That’s, like, what people do.”

  “Not in my house,” he said, wearing a shy, crooked smile. “The last time I got a present, I was, like, about five.” He just kept staring at the box.

  “It’s from all of us.”

  Sam pushed it across the kitchen table. “You can open it, you know.”

  Fito kept looking at his present. “Nice wrapping.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “That would be my handiwork. Sam doesn’t wrap. She just buys those gift bags. Me, I like to unwrap stuff.”

  “How do you even know what I like? I mean, how did you—​I mean—” Fito was stumbling all over the place, tripping over his own words.

  “You’ll like it,” Sam said. “I promise.”

  He just kept nodding and staring at the wrapped box.

  Sam did the cross-her-arms thing. “If you don’t open it, I’m gonna pop you one. I mean it.”

  So finally he reached for the box. He opened it really slowly, and then he stared at it. He didn’t say anything. He just stared. He looked up at Sam and me. “You got me an iPhone? An iPhone? Wow! Wow! Man, oh man.” Then he got real quiet. “Look, guys . . . Man, I can’t take this. Man, this is just way too nice. I can’t take this. I mean, I can’t.”

  Sam gave him one of those looks. “Yeah, you can.”

  “See, I can’t because, you know, it’s like—”

  “Just take it,” I said. “You need a phone.”

  I looked up and noticed that my father had been watching us.