The Inexplicable Logic of My Life

  That made me smile. “Marcos likes Fito, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah. Marcos had a tough childhood. I guess he sees himself in that kid.” He played with his pack of cigarettes. “Besides, we all like Fito. He’s a wonderful guy. Pisses me off that his family never gave a damn.”

  I nudged him with my shoulder. “Dad, I think I like you a little feisty.”

  He nudged me back. “It’s been a weird year. Beautiful. Hard. Sad. Get your fireworks. We can shoot them off after dinner.”

  So I told Sam that we’re having dinner at Café Central. And she was dancing around the living room. “New dress! New dress!”

  “Like you have all this cash lying around.”

  “No, but you do.”

  “Really,” I said. “Really?”

  “What are brothers for?”

  Dad lent me the car, and we were off to buy a dress. For Sam. Even Fito came along, but only because we were going to buy fireworks.

  Sam tried on about twenty dresses. She looked great in all of them. And Fito, after Sam looked at herself in a mirror and shook her head again, Fito, he finally lost it. “Sam, you make me feel all happy and shit that I’m gay. Straight guys have to put up with this shit. Gay guys not so much.”

  I was grinning, and Sam was crossing her arms and giving us a look that said, Guys suck: gay or straight, guys suck. And then Fito walked to this rack, picked out a long red gown, handed it to Sam, and said, “This.” And he smiled.

  Sam took the dress, looked at the size, and walked into the dressing room. She came out, inspected herself in the mirror, turned this way, that way, then turned around and smiled at Fito. “You are gay!”

  We couldn’t stop laughing. Just couldn’t stop.

  Sam bought the dress. Well, I bought the dress.

  But do you think she was finished there? Nope. She picked out a shirt for me. And a shirt for Fito. Oh yeah, and ties. Sam, she was all about new clothes. “Dress like men,” she told us.

  We drove on the 10 right past the state line. New Mexico! Fireworks!

  When we walked into the restaurant, I thought Fito’s eyes were going to pop out. He looked at me and whispered, “Holy shit! People, like—​they live like this?”

  Sam kissed him on the cheek. “I love you to pieces, Fito.”

  Sam was the most beautiful woman in the room. No one else even came close.

  At dinner, Sam was all about taking pics. The Facebook thing. Made me crazy. Marcos ordered a bottle of champagne. He and Dad were at ease in places like this. They were used to going out to nice places and traveling and all that. Me, I wasn’t quite used to it.

  We toasted Mima. My dad raised his glass. “I know it’s hard,” he said softly,“but we have to remember we’ll always have her with us.” I think he was talking to me more than to anyone else. So we raised our glasses to Mima. And then I said, “And to the mulberry tree Popo planted.” My dad smiled at me. So we toasted that beautiful tree. We talked about everything that happened to us in the past year. Then Sam turned to Marcos and asked, “What’s the best thing that’s happened to you this year?”

  He smiled. “That’s easy.” He pointed at my dad. Then he pointed at Fito. Then he pointed at me. And then he pointed at Sam.

  Sam said, “You’re just trying to charm me into liking you, aren’t you?”

  Marcos nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

  Sam smiled. “Well, it’s working.”

  Of course she had to invent some kind of game. Of course she did. “Okay,” she said over dessert, “New Year’s resolutions.”

  I said, “I don’t do resolutions.”

  She didn’t skip a beat. “That’s part of your problem.”

  And I didn’t skip a beat either. “Okay. I resolve not to kill you this year, even when you use my razor to shave your legs.”

  “You’re such a girl about that.”

  Fito cracked up. And so did Marcos. Dad, not so much. He was used to us.

  “Seriously: New Year’s resolutions.”

  Fito went first. “I’m going to try and stop beating up on myself. Yeah, that idea came from the therapist. But, you know, I like it.” Everyone clapped.

  Sam nudged him: “Just don’t go overboard.”

  Dad said, “I’m going to quit smoking.” More applause.

  And of course, Sam had to add her commentary. “I’m glad you’re quitting smoking, Dad. Nobody likes to kiss smokers.” She sort of shot Marcos a little grin.

  Marcos looked around. “I’ll go next. I’m going to start running again.” And he looked at Sam. “What, no editorial?”

  Sam didn’t hesitate. “And you were doing so well, Marcos. You know, we’re still watching you.”

  Marcos grinned. I noticed there was something very shy about him. I thought that was a good thing. At least he wasn’t an arrogant asshole.

  Then it was Sam’s turn. “I’ve decided not to date any more boys until I get to college.”

  And my dad blurted out, “Whooaaa.”

  Fito was smiling his ass off. “We’ll see,” he said.

  “Yeah, we will,” Sam said.

  Then it was my turn. “I resolve never to use my fists again.”

  Sam said, “Not even to protect my honor?”

  “Your honor doesn’t need protecting,” I said.

  “Hmm,” she said.

  “And,” I said. “And I’m going to let anybody who wants to, read my admissions essay. But I don’t want to hear any editorials.” That put a smile on my dad’s face.

  Sam was all over reading my essay. “When? When?”

  There we were in the New Mexico desert. Fito and Marcos were setting up some fireworks, ready to bring in the new year. Dad popped a bottle of champagne and poured a glass for everyone. Well, a plastic cup for everyone. So the fireworks were all ready to be fired, and we were all standing around, all dressed up with our coats on, and I was glad it wasn’t that cold.

  And then Marcos looked at his cell and we start to count. Together. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one: HAPPY NEW YEAR!

  That was the first time I’d ever seen my dad kiss another man.

  I don’t think I was quite prepared for that. And it wasn’t, like, this sexy thing or anything. More like a peck. But still. They had a thing. And it was New Year’s, after all.

  Sam was smiling. No, she was beaming. She kissed me on the cheek. “Happy New Year, Sally. Let’s make it count.”

  Then Fito kissed me on the cheek too. “That cool?”

  “That’s cool,” I said.

  Happy. New. Year.

  Happy New Year?

  WE WENT TO see Mima on New Year’s Day.

  She was in bed. She’d always made menudo on New Year’s Day. Not this year. She was hardly eating anything anymore. I knew she was getting ready to say goodbye. Word for the day: goodbye. A common word. A sad and common word.

  But the good news: she was talking again. “Pray with me,” she said. So we gathered in her room and prayed the rosary. It was like this gift. I didn’t know if it was Mima who was giving us a gift or us giving her a gift. Maybe both. When we finished, she said, “I want to talk to you.”

  So she talked to us. All of us. One at a time. She pointed at my Uncle Mickey. We all left the room so she could talk to him. It reminded me of going to confession. You know, everybody waiting their turn.

  When she was done talking to my dad, he walked into the living room and said, “Son, you and Sam and Fito.”

  And Fito goes, “Me?”

  My dad nodded.

  I sat down on Mima’s bed and held her hand. She squeezed my hand softly. There was so little strength left in that hand. Then she placed that same hand on my cheek and said, “Hijito de mi vida.”

  Sam and Fito were standing close.

  And my Mima said, “Samantha, you have to take care of my Salvador. He’s your brother, and you have to take care of him.” She made a fist. “You’re strong.”

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; “I promise,” Sam said.

  “And, Salvador, you have to take care of Samantha.”

  “I promise,” I said.

  Then she looked at Fito. “Vicente talked to me about you.” She motioned for him to come closer and she took his hand. “Life can be hard. I know how hard it can be.” And then she said, “Déjate querer.”

  Let yourself be loved.

  She made the sign of the cross on our foreheads.

  I kissed her.

  That was how she said goodbye to the world. To the people she loved. She was going to leave this earth the same way her mother had.

  With all the grace of the old world. The old, dying world.

  Night

  NO ONE SAID a word on the drive home. Dad was trying to be strong for us, for me and Sam.

  And I was trying to be strong for him. I’d never thought about that. I knew now, and maybe a part of me had always known it, that my dad knew how to keep his pain to himself. He’d learned—​maybe because he was born gay—​he’d learned how to suffer things in silence. I didn’t want that silence for him.

  The night seemed so dark.

  But I think I’d learned how to whistle in the dark. Maybe that was something.

  Thursday. Two O’clock in the Morning.

  WE WENT TO MIMA’S every day after that. Back and forth from El Paso to Las Cruces. Marcos came with us. He always drove.

  Mima had stopped talking.

  Sometimes it seemed that she had already left her body. But sometimes I thought she still recognized me.

  On Thursday, at two in the morning, Dad woke me and Sam. “Let’s go,” he said.

  I stumbled into my clothes.

  As soon as we walked into Mima’s house, Aunt Evie fell into my father’s arms. “She’s gone.”

  Gone

  THERE ARE A LOT of things I don’t remember. I think part of me went away somewhere after Mima died. But this is what I do remember. Someone came and pronounced my Mima dead. My dad and my Aunt Evie made calls and more calls.

  Some men from the funeral home came to take Mima away.

  Dad and I watched as they placed Mima’s body on a stretcher.

  As they were wheeling her out, my dad made a motion for them to stop. He kissed her forehead and crossed himself. Then he nodded at the somber funeral men, and they placed her in the hearse.

  Dad and Aunt Evie and Sam and I watched them drive away.

  My dad turned and walked back inside. I think he was lost in those moments.

  Sam took my hand and whispered, “This is killing me. I’m trying so hard.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t talk.

  I walked into the house. I found my dad sitting on Mima’s bed.

  My father was sobbing.

  My father.

  I sat next to him. And then I took him in my arms. My father.

  Grief

  I WAS SITTING in Dad’s car. Mima’s house was full of people. Our family. Old friends. Everyone brought food. There was food everywhere. My Uncle Mickey said, “Mexicans love to eat. We eat when we’re happy, and we eat when we’re sad.”

  Marcos and Fito were staying at a hotel.

  Dad was being very strong. He wrote her obituary for the newspaper. He wrote her eulogy. He was all about taking care of business. He greeted people; he talked to people; he comforted people. I guess my dad wasn’t the kind of guy who sat around and felt sorry for himself.

  Me, I was just numb and lost.

  I tried to think of the stages that Sam talked about. But I couldn’t remember what they were.

  I didn’t want to be around anyone. I didn’t want anyone to see my pain. I didn’t want to see it either.

  I went driving. I found myself driving toward that farm Mima had taken me to once. I’d been trying to find it without knowing it.

  And then I reached the farm. It was winter and nothing was growing.

  I got out of the car and stared out into the barren fields.

  Barren. That’s how it felt. That’s how I felt.

  I found myself on my knees. I was wordless and lost, and I had never known anything that felt like this, this, this hurt in the heart, this emptiness, and I wished right then I didn’t have a heart, but I knew I had one and I couldn’t wish it away. I couldn’t wish away the hurt or the tears. I don’t know how long I knelt there on the winter soil. But I felt myself taking a breath and let myself feel the cold air on my face.

  Cemetery

  I FOUND MYSELF HELPING to carry Mima’s casket at the cemetery. I was between my dad and Uncle Mickey.

  I still see the casket being lowered.

  I still see myself pouring a fist of dirt over her casket.

  I still see my Uncle Mickey sending some men away after everybody else had left.

  I still see my dad and my uncles taking shovels and burying their mother. I still see my dad handing me the shovel and nodding. I still see myself shoveling dirt. Shoveling dirt, shoveling dirt.

  I still see myself falling into Sam’s and Fito’s arms, crying like a little boy. But the strange thing was, I didn’t feel like a boy anymore. It had been such a strange time since that first day of school. So many things had happened, and I wasn’t in charge of any of them. I didn’t control anything, couldn’t control anything. I’d always thought that adults had control. But being an adult had nothing to do with control.

  I wasn’t an adult. I wasn’t a man. But I wasn’t a boy anymore.

  Me. Alone. Not.

  AFTER THE FUNERAL, there was a reception. Lots of people. People, people, people. If I heard one more very nice person say, This is your son, Vicente? God, he’s handsome, I was going to fucking scream.

  I was sitting in Dad’s car again. Alone. Everybody was inside, and I thought maybe I’d pick up smoking. Then I heard a sound and looked up and saw Sam and Fito knocking on the window. “Get out of the car. We have you surrounded.”

  I got out of the car. “Very funny.”

  “Word for the day,” Sam said. “Isolating.”

  “Guess so,” I said. “Let’s sneak some beers.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s such a great idea.”

  “Yeah, there’s nothing worse than a reformed partier.” I shot her a look. “Humor me.”

  We walked over to Uncle Mickey’s house. There were people there, too. We didn’t really have to sneak anything. My Uncle Mickey was more than happy to unload a few beers. I drank mine down. Then I drank another.

  “Slow down, Cowboy.”

  I shot Sam another look. And then I downed a third beer. And then a few minutes later, I was feeling those beers. I was like, Whooaaa. “I don’t think that was such a great idea.”

  “No bueno,” Fito said. “Beer isn’t what you need, vato.”

  I nodded.

  “What you need is us,” Sam said. “So don’t fucking run away.”

  I offered her a crooked smile. “I won’t run anymore,” I said.

  “Let’s put some food in you,” Fito said.

  “Yeah, good idea.”

  We walked back to Mima’s. I was feeling a little lightheaded. “Chugging three beers on an empty stomach. No bueno,” Fito said.

  I was kind of leaning on him. “No bueno is right, vato.”

  “Just keep leaning into me, dude. That’s all you need to do.”

  Dad was at the stove warming something up in Mima’s kitchen. Marcos and Lina were at the sink, washing pots and pans. Lina? I guess I hadn’t noticed. I waved at my dad. “Hi.”

  “Where have you been hiding?”

  I guess I was a little drunk. Yeah, I was a lightweight. I walked up to my dad and put my head on his shoulder.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “Yup.” I really held on to my dad just then. “No Mima in Mima’s kitchen.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, Dad,” I whispered. “I had a moment.”

  “Don’t drink, son. Don’t do that.”

  I nodded. “Okay,” I said.


  My dad took me by the shoulders and looked at me. “Do you want to see something really fantastic?” Then he cocked his head like, Follow me. So I followed him, and he motioned for Sam and Fito to follow too.

  So there we were in Mima’s bedroom. My dad pointed to Mima’s bed. “Sit.”

  Sam and Fito and I just looked at each other.

  He handed me an envelope. “Open it,” he said. “Be careful. It’s fragile.”

  I held the envelope in my hand and opened it with all the care that was in me. And there in the envelope were some dry leaves. Yellow leaves. And there was a note. I stared at Mima’s handwriting: These are the leaves that my Salvador gave me one Saturday afternoon when he was five.

  I knew then that that day had been just as beautiful for her as it had been for me. She’d remembered.

  My dad was smiling.

  I handed the note to Sam. She and Fito read it. And then they were smiling too.

  Dad. Grief. Marcos.

  ONE MORE THING I remember about that time. The day after we got home, Marcos came over in the late afternoon. I answered the door. “Hi,” I said. “Dad’s in his studio.” I walked with him to the back door.

  He went through the door, and just as he stepped into the backyard, my dad came out of his studio. I turned to go back into the house, but I don’t know why, I stopped, turned around, and looked out. My dad stood there talking to Marcos, and then he was crying. Marcos took him in his arms and held him.

  I thought of what Mima had said.

  Déjate querer.

  Yeah, Dad, let yourself be loved.

  But there was something else. In that moment I saw that I wasn’t paying attention to my dad’s pain. I was only paying attention to mine.

  I was ashamed of myself.

  Dad. Me.

  I COULDN’T SLEEP. Maggie was in Sam’s room. I wished Maggie were here, lying next to me. I couldn’t stop thinking about my dad’s face while Marcos held him. Wasn’t it my job to take care of him like that?