“I can’t go into that room.”
“Then don’t. You don’t have to.”
I followed her as she walked into her bedroom. “It’s a disaster,” she whispered. “I’m a disaster.”
“Shhh,” I said. “No beating up on yourself. That’s my job.” That made her smile. She took out a suitcase, started packing a few things, then walked into the bathroom. I heard her sobbing. Then I saw why. Her mother had left a note on the bathroom mirror, written in lipstick: just because my love isn’t perfect doesn’t mean i don’t love you.
Sam fell into my arms. My shirt was wet with her tears. And she kept whispering over and over again, “What am I gonna do, Sally, what am I gonna do?”
Sam and Me and Something Called Home
WE SAT ON Sam’s bed, looking around the room. I’m not sure what we were looking for. She texted me. We did that sometimes, texted each other even though we were in the same room: I can’t live here.
Me: U don’t have to Sam: where is home?
Me: I’ll be ur home
She leaned into me.
“Get me out of here, Sally.”
Before we left Sam’s house, I used my phone to take pictures of Sylvia’s last note to her daughter. I wanted Sam to have a copy. So she’d never forget. As if she ever would.
Dad and Sylvia
“HOW COULD THIS happen?”
We were sitting at the kitchen table, eating soup. It was cold outside, and it seemed to me that winter had come early this year.
I heard my dad answer Sam’s question. “People die in accidents all the time, Sam. Do you ever read those warning signs on the freeway? The last one I read said three thousand, nine hundred and twenty-one deaths on Texas freeways this year. Drive safely. Accidents are the cruel part of life. It’s part of the equation of this thing we call living. Accidents are normal, if you stop to think about it.”
“Well, that’s consoling,” she said.
I was glad she was being sarcastic. It was a good sign.
“I don’t have any explanations, Sam. In the end, life and death are mysteries.”
Sam just looked at my dad. “Which explains nothing.”
“Which explains everything. We say things to each other like: It’s God’s will.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No, I don’t believe that, so I don’t say it. I can’t say it. But some people do believe it. People say all kinds of things to try to explain what they can’t explain. All I know is that your mother and her boyfriend were killed in a car accident. That’s all I know.”
“So what am I gonna do now?”
“Well, you can live here if you want.”
“Can I do that? Don’t I have to go live with my Aunt Lina?”
“No.”
“No?”
Dad had a serious look on his face. When he was deciding, he had a specific look. “I need to tell you something, Samantha.”
He called her Samantha. This was serious. I wondered if he was going to tell her the truth about how her mother died.
“When you and Salvie were about six years old, your mother got arrested for driving while intoxicated.”
“She did?”
“Yes. I’m not trying to make your mother look bad here, Samantha. I’m not. Just hear me out. It was like this: She called me on the phone in the middle of the night. She told me she was in jail. It was the second of July.” He looked over at me. “You were having one of your slumber parties that night. I had your Aunt Evie pick you both up the next morning. You spent the Fourth of July weekend at Mima’s house. Both of you. I don’t know if you remember.”
Sam and I looked at each other. “I don’t,” I said.
“I do,” Sam said. “It was the first time I got to blow up fireworks. But that’s the only thing I remember.”
My dad nodded. “I got your mother out of jail. In the end, she got to keep her license. They weren’t as strict back then as they are now about that sort of thing. But I made your mom make a will. I guess you could say I gave her a lecture.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Believe me, you don’t really want to hear all the details.”
“I do.” Sam gave Dad one of her looks. “I do want to hear all the details.”
Dad shook his head. “I told your mother she could live her life any way she wanted. I told her that her life was none of my business. But I also told her that she had you to think about. She had a few choice words for me. I remember losing my temper with her. I know how to throw words around too. So I guess you could say we threw some words around that day.” Dad laughed. “The funny thing is, that’s when Sylvia and I became friends. At least we came to a sort of understanding.
“The point of the story is this—” There were tears running down my father’s face, and he looked straight into Sam’s eyes. “When she handed me a copy of the will she’d had made up, she said to me, ‘If anything should ever happen to me, Vicente, I’ve had you appointed as Samantha’s legal guardian.’ Your mother loved you very much, Sam.” He stopped. “And so do I.” He got up from the kitchen table. “I’m going to have a cigarette.”
Sam. Dad. Me. Home.
SAM AND I looked at each other. We were both crying, but, you know, just tears. Those silent things again. Then I said to Sam, “You’re going to have to learn how to clean.”
She laughed and I laughed, and I guess we needed to laugh, because we couldn’t stop. Were we learning to whistle in the dark?
When we finally pulled ourselves together, I said, “Let’s go sit with Dad.” So we sat on the steps as he smoked.
And then my dad said, “Anybody want to play catch?”
So we played catch all afternoon. Sometimes we said something. Mostly we didn’t. And everything in the world was calm again. All the tears were gone. At least for now. The tears would come back again—?but we had this little piece of quiet that was helping us survive.
We were safe. We were home.
WFTD = Extinct
I SAT AT MY desk, staring at my computer. I wanted to write something, but I didn’t know what. I saw Sam’s text appear on my cell. She was sitting in the living room deciding whether she wanted to watch television.
Sam: Wftd = extinct Me: ? Use word in sentence Sam: My mother’s voice is extinct Me: ?
I knew why people were afraid of the future. Because the future wasn’t going to look like the past. That was really scary. What was Sam’s future going to look like now that her mother’s voice was extinct? What was my future going to look like when Mima’s voice left this world?
I kept hearing Sam’s whispers: What am I gonna do?
Me and Sam. And a Word Called Faith.
ON THE MORNING of Sylvia’s funeral, I lay in bed, thinking about things. I texted Sam: You awake?
Sam: Yup
Me: Did u sleep?
Sam: A bit
Me: Do you believe?
Sam: ?
Me: U know like faith?
Sam: No don’t have that. Want to but don’t. U?
Me: Don’t know
Sam: Ur Dad?
Me: Yeah think so. But not like Mima
Sam: Wish I had what she has
Me: Maybe we can learn how to get it
Sam: My mom = no faith = ?
Me: U sure?
Sam: She told me
Me: Oh
Sam: U think God cares?
Me: Yes
Sam: Really?
Me: Yeah