“Well, I was just thinking that if you quit smoking, you’d live longer. You know, you could stick around and put more bills in my pocket.”
He grinned at me. “So, cabrón, the only reason you want me to live longer is so I can give you more money?”
“Nope,” I said. “I want you to live longer because I effen’ love you.”
“You can say fuck around me.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his knuckle against my head. He’d always done that. Dad was right: everybody had their own way of loving.
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “You’re a good kid. You’re gonna be somebody.”
We’re all somebody. That’s what I thought.
I walked back into the living room. The game was over. The Cowboys lost, which didn’t put anybody in a good mood. Dad was talking to my Uncle Julian on the phone, and he had a serious look on his face. Uncle Julian and my dad—?they were really close, even though Uncle Julian was a lot older. Dad shut off his phone, and my uncles and aunts just looked at him like What did he say?
“Julian agrees with me.”
Uncle Tony looked a little disgusted. “Well, that’s a fucking surprise, Vicente.”
“Look, Tony, don’t start.”
My Aunt Evie looked at Uncle Tony and said, “No more beers for you.”
Uncle Tony shook his head. He pointed at my father. “Why does he always have to be in charge?”
My dad had this very patient look on his face. “Nobody’s in charge, Tony. We’re all in charge.”
Uncle Tony put a cigarette in his mouth but didn’t light it. “What’s the Mayo gonna do? Not a damn thing. Pinche gringo doctors don’t know shit.”
Aunt Lulu did the crossing-her-arms thing. “That’s not true. And they’re not all gringos. There are good doctors, and there are bad doctors. Mom needs to go to the Mayo.”
And then my dad made an announcement using his firm voice. “Evie and I are taking her—?and that’s all there is to it. I’ve already scheduled her appointment. We have to be there on Wednesday.”
Uncle Tony didn’t seem very happy. “And then what, Vicente?”
Aunt Evie wasn’t hiding her impatience with Uncle Tony. “Like he knows. We don’t know. We have to find out what’s going on in Mom’s body.”
Uncle Tony took the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. “And what about your classes? Or don’t art professors have to show up for work?”
My dad gave him a snarky smile. “Only when we want to.”
Uncle Tony was quiet for a little while—?then he said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” my dad said.
Somewhere along the line Uncle Mickey had walked back into the living room. “How long will she be there?”
“I don’t know,” Dad said. “We’ll just have to see.”
Uncle Mickey had this strange look on his face. “Well, just don’t let her fucking die there.”
Everyone was quiet for a long time. Then my dad said, “Mickey, we’re not going to let her die there.”
Aunt Lulu looked at Uncle Mickey. “We don’t know that she’s dying.”
“You’re right,” Dad said. “There’ll be tests. And then we’re bringing her back. We just have to know what’s going on.”
Uncle Mickey nodded. And then he looked at my dad and whispered, “At least you know how to talk to doctors. You’re good for somethin’, puto.”
And then everyone in the room started laughing. My dad and my uncles and aunts—?if there’s one thing they knew how to do, it was laugh. My dad called that sort of behavior whistling in the dark. Well, I guess that when you found yourself in the dark, you might as well whistle. It wasn’t always going to be morning, and darkness would come around again. The sun would rise, and then the sun would set. And there you were in the darkness again. If you didn’t whistle, the quiet and the dark would swallow you up.
The thing is, I didn’t know how to whistle. I guessed I was going to have to learn.
WFTD = Prayer
I WALKED PAST MIMA’S room and noticed that the door was halfway open. I peeked in, the way I’d always done since I was a kid. She was awake and praying her rosary. She motioned me to come in, patting the bed. I sat next to her. She brushed her hand across my arm. “You’re strong,” she said.
I didn’t believe her, but I nodded. “Who are you praying for?” I whispered.
“Your Uncle Mickey.”
“He needs prayers,” I said.
She smiled and nodded. “We all need prayers.”
She shut her eyes and continued praying. I listened to her whispers, and my mind wandered. I was getting worse about the thinking thing. See, if you wanted to pray, you had to focus. Thinking wasn’t prayer—?I knew that much. I’d never been able to focus and keep all the thoughts away. Maybe prayers were too old-school for me. My dad said that when he was a kid, he wanted to be Saint Francis—?and then he found out he didn’t have it in him. I didn’t know yet what I did and did not have in me, but Saint Francis wasn’t in the cards for me, either.
As Mima prayed, I closed my eyes. I told God that I needed Mima a lot more than He did. You already have more than your fair share. I wondered if Mima would approve of my prayer. Probably not. She would have told me I was a malcriado. I thought that later I would text Sam: Wftd = prayer. I wondered if it was normal for guys my age to be thinking about prayer. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. What was it with me and that normal word?
As I listened to Mima’s soft Hail Marys, I thought, What if prayer disappeared from the world? Would the world still be okay? Not that the world was so okay. The real world wasn’t my father’s world. The real world believed in fists and guns and violence and war. And I was beginning to think I was a bigger part of the real world than I cared to admit.
I saw guys like Enrique Infante and that idiot Eddie, guys who had no respect for anybody. It pissed me off, and there were little explosions inside me, and I even wanted to hit God because He was taking my Mima away, which was super stupid because God wasn’t someone you could hit, and what kind of guy was I anyway, a guy who wanted to hit God? My father didn’t believe in hitting or punching. And I guess I did. I mean, that Eddie guy, I had my sights on him. And I knew my father would say that hurting another human being just because he hurt you is no way to live your life. And maybe he was right. But that thought didn’t live inside me.
Me (and Prayer)
BEFORE WE LEFT Mima’s house, I texted Sam: What if prayer disappeared from the world?
Sam: Hard one. Not my subject Me: Mine neither Sam: Time to consult Sylvia lol Me: Seriously U think world needs prayers?
Sam: Don’t know. Makes us feel better I guess Me: If no one prayed would the world go to hell?
Sam: World has gone to hell Me: B serious
Sam: Am being serious Me: Ur no help
Sam: I’ll pray for U
Me: Very funny
Sam: Serious Sally Me: Laters
Sam: Don’t be mad Me: If on phone I be hanging up
As we drove away from Mima’s house, my dad looked at me and asked, “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“You were texting Sam, weren’t you?”
I nodded.