I MADE ANOTHER LIST. A list of questions I had in my head. But the list wasn’t numbered, and all the questions were wrecking into each other: Was Marcos going to be coming around? If Marcos was once my dad’s boyfriend, why did he leave? Why doesn’t my dad date? Is that my fault? Why are some people gay? Why do people hate gay people? How much will it hurt when Mima dies? Who invented college? Why didn’t I know what I wanted to be? Why couldn’t I sing? Why couldn’t I draw? Why couldn’t I dance? What the hell could I do?
Maybe I could turn my list of questions into my college admissions essay.
I think I’m the stupidest smart boy who ever lived.
Marcos?
SO IT WAS Halloween. Sam’s favorite holiday. We’d gone trick-or-treating together since we were five. And the fact that we were seniors wasn’t going to stop us from continuing our tradition.
At first Sam fought the idea of Fito’s coming along. “Does he have to come?”
And I said, “Yup. I got him to take the night off from working at Circle K. Give him a break. His life sucks.”
“Everybody’s life sucks.”
“Mine doesn’t. And yours doesn’t either.”
“My life does too suck.”
“No, it doesn’t. Your mom died, that sucks. That hurts. I get that. But your life? Your life doesn’t suck, Sammy.”
“Whatever.”
“Fito lives in a crack house,” I said.
“It’s not a crack house.”
“Looked like one to me.”
“How many times did you go in there?”
“Once. That was enough.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t talk like you actually know what a crack house is.”
“Okay, okay, but you get what I’m saying. Fito’s just trying to make it through the day. Now, that’s a life that sucks.” And then I gave her one of those smirks that I gave Sam when I knew I had her on the run. “And he went to your mom’s funeral. That was sweet. You said so yourself.”
“But Halloween’s always been our thing.”
“I get that, Sam. It’s our tradition. But Fito’s just—?you know.”
“I know, I know. Okay. I’m being a shit. He can come.”
“And you like him.”
“Yeah, I guess I do like him.”
So we all went trick-or-treating. Sam went as Lady Gaga. Of course she did. I went as a baseball player. Sammy rolled her eyes. “Booorrrrrrriiiiiiinnnnngggg.” Fito went as a businessman vampire: tie, sports coat, black cape, and fangs. Sam was impressed.
We were a little old for trick-or-treating—?but we didn’t care. Dorks. Actually it was fun—?and we needed to have fun. We just did. Some lady was giving out caramel apples. Sam refused hers. “They probably have razorblades in them.”
Fito shrugged and wolfed his down, and then smiled at Sam. “See? No razorblades.”
“Do you ever chew your food? It’s not gonna run away, you know.”
“What are you, Ms. Etiquette? You know, sometimes, Sam, you be like the sweetest girl on the border and shit, and then other times you just got attitude. I mean, at-ti-tude.”
“If you were a girl, you’d have my attitude too.”
“If I were a girl, I sure as hell wouldn’t go out with the kinds of guys you hang with.”
I laughed. Sam didn’t.
“Oh, so you like nice boys, do you?”
“Yeah, I like nice boys. I like boys who know how to read and don’t give me attitude. I get all the attitude I need at home.”
Sam looked at him. I knew she was thinking. That girl was always thinking. “You got a boyfriend?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t I see you and Angel hanging out all the time?”
“Angel’s history.”
“He’s cute.”
“Yeah, well, he’s high maintenance.”
“Examples, please.”
Fito just looked at Sam. “I don’t do anybody else’s homework.”
“He wanted you to do his homework?”
“Yup.”
“Screw that.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Guys suck.”
Fito laughed. “Yeah, they do.”
And I said, “I don’t suck.”
Fito and Sam looked at each other and said, “Yeah, you do.”
And we all cracked up. Sometimes when you laugh, it has nothing to do with whistling in the dark.
As we walked the streets, knocking on doors for candy we didn’t need, Sam started taking lots of pictures of the little kids. “Adorable,” she said.
“See?” I said. “You’re going to make a great mother.”
“Maybe.”
But she was more interested in checking out the boys who were around. Sometimes she’d look over at me and nod. “That one’s a bad boy.”
“Keep walking,” I said.
“Yeah,” Fito said, “keep walking.”
Sam was Sam. Yup.
Then one bad boy with tats stopped us and said to Sam, “You’re hot, bitch.”
And I said, “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
And just like that, I took a swing at him. He fell back, but my punch didn’t stop him. He put up his fists and started going for me. “Let’s have at it, fucker,” he said.
But Sam stepped in and said, “Hey! Hey! Stop it! Stop it!”
And the guy looked at Sam, and Sam said, “Please. He didn’t mean it.”
So the guy calmed down and walked away. But he said, “I better not find you alone, dude.”
Sam looked at me and said, “Sally, what’s wrong? What the hell’s wrong with you?”
And I said, “I don’t know. He had no right to call you that.” I sat down on the curb. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.”
I felt Sam’s arm over my shoulder. “Sally, a lot of people think I’m a bitch. Who cares? They’re just stupid boys. Who cares?”
I sat there shaking.
“What is it, Sally? What is it?”
I calmed down, and I told Sam and Fito that it was just all these things coming at me and that I was fine. And then we got back into trick-or-treating and we took a bunch of selfies, and we were having fun again. When we headed back home, Dad was sitting on the front porch giving out candy to some trick-or-treaters.
A man sat next to him.
As we walked up the sidewalk, I could see the man’s face.
Marcos.
Part Four
Maybe that’s what life was. You zigged and you zagged and zigged and zagged some more.
(Dad) Things We Never Say (Me)
EVEN THOUGH DAD and I had this great thing going, and even though we talked, and even though we didn’t keep a lot of secrets, there were still things we never talked about. Talking wasn’t always easy—?even for talkers. But I decided I was going to talk to him because I had too many questions hanging around in my head. And I decided I was going to post a No Loitering sign right there in my brain.
Sam had spent the night with her Aunt Lina. I guess they had things to talk about too.
It was a warm Saturday afternoon. Maggie was rolling around in the grass in the backyard.
Dad was sitting on the steps having a cigarette.
I sat next to him and said, “Can I have a drag?”
We both busted out laughing.
“I never want you to smoke. Not ever.”
“Not to worry, Dad. I don’t like those things.”
“I don’t either.”
“Then why do you smoke?”
“Ahh, they keep me company sometimes. It’s a very uncomplicated relationship.”
“Yeah, you smoke them and they give you cancer.”
“And emphysema.”