I didn’t know what to say. And neither did Sam. So we all sat there and listened to Dusty Springfield singing, and then Sam sent me a text: What if you hadn’t gotten the brilliant idea of the running thing?
I thought a moment. Then we wouldn’t have found Fito sleeping on a bench!
Sam: ?
Me: And the vato can sing & he can write Sam: But can he dance? Lol
“You’re shittin’ me. You’re texting. What in the hell are you guys texting about?”
“You, Fito,” I said. “We’re texting about you.”
Mom
I THOUGHT OF SAM. How she’d been so brave and worked through all those stages. The look on her face when she let her mother’s ashes blow into the desert. Tough and brave as hell. I thought about what she’d told me and my dad: I just wanted to know that I really belonged. Which is stupid. Because I’ve always belonged. I thought about how I’d always hated to be left out. That had come from somewhere inside me. I’d never, ever been left out.
For a second the thought passed through my mind that I should text Sam and tell her I needed her, tell her to come to my room. So she could be with me. But I knew this moment belonged only to me. To me and my mom. Only to us.
I couldn’t explain everything to myself. I didn’t need to know everything.
I’d always thought my hands would be shaking when the day came that I decided to read my mom’s letter. But they weren’t. Nothing inside me was shaking.
I smoothed out the folds of the letter. My mother had beautiful handwriting.
Dear Salvador,
Writing this letter is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I don’t know how much longer I have to live, but I know it won’t be long now before I die. It’s not easy for me to let go, because dying means I have to let go of you. I’m having a pain-free day today, and my mind is clear. So I’m writing this letter and hope I say all the things I need to say to you—?though I know that’s not possible.
Vicente has you for the day. He adores you. And you? You sometimes cry when he leaves. You adore him back. I love watching the both of you when you’re together. It’s been that way with you two since the day you were born. After you were born, I was miserable. I didn’t want to have anything to do with you. You see, I suffered from a serious bout of post-partum depression. And it was Vicente who cared for you. He was there twenty-four/seven. And he took care of me, too. He took care of both of us.
Then I got better. And then, for a couple of years, I was the happiest woman in the world. I was working in a law office, and I was making decent money. Vicente had landed a job at the university, and he was becoming a successful artist. He paid for your daycare. Not that you went to daycare every day. On days he didn’t teach, Vicente kept you. You had a playpen in his studio. You were such a good baby. Good-natured and happy and affectionate. I was so, so happy.
But you have to know what came before to understand why I was so happy in those days before I got sick. I guess I’ll start at the beginning. I met Vicente when I was a sophomore at Columbia. I was at a party, and I saw him and I thought, Who is that beautiful man? To say that I wasn’t a shy girl is something of an understatement. To be honest, I was more than a little wild. I saw Vicente, and I thought, That man is so going to be mine. I went up to him and said, “My name’s Alexandra. You can call me Sandy.” No one had to tell me I was beautiful. I was born knowing it. I was born parading my beauty around everywhere I went—?not that that’s anything to be proud of. There was nothing humble about my beginnings. I came from a family that had wealth and prestige. The word I’d use is entitled. I grew up taking anything I wanted—?including boys or men. Life was a party. And there I was in front of Vicente, smiling at him.
We wound up talking most of the night. I thought things were going well. I really liked him. He was different from any man I’d ever met. But then he looked at me and said, “I have to tell you something.” And I said, “What?” And he said, “I’m gay.” I think I was really disappointed, and it showed. “Sorry,” he said, and then he started to walk away. And I thought to myself, So long, buddy. I don’t know why, but I went after him. I grabbed his arm and said, “Well, we can be friends.” That was the best decision I ever made. And we did become friends. In fact, Vicente very quickly became the best friend I ever had. The best friend I ever had in this world.
I was always getting into trouble. Man trouble, mostly. I’m sorry to have to tell you that I was a lot of drama. I was an incredibly self-destructive young woman. I loved to party, loved to drink, and I loved drugs. Vicente was always pulling me out of messes. I have no idea what I would have done without him. But I was there for him, too. He fell in love with a guy who broke his heart. Vicente doesn’t love casually. He’s just not built that way. He didn’t leave his room for days. I had to drag him down to a restaurant and put some food in him. Then I got him good and drunk and gave him a good talking-to. Vicente had a lot to learn about men, and I decided to be his tutor. I knew plenty about men.
My life was always something of a train wreck. My parents were wealthy, and they were in love with everything that came along with it. My dad enjoyed buying politicians, and in Chicago there was always a politician more than willing to be bought. My mother raised me to be a certain kind of woman, and I wasn’t interested in becoming the kind of woman she wanted me to be.
After college, Vicente went on to follow his dream of becoming an artist. I’m not sure I had a dream. Eventually, I got into trouble. I became hooked on alcohol and cocaine. I called Vicente one night. I was living in New York. He came down from Boston, where he was living, and looked after me. He got me into rehab, and I stayed clean for a few years. But I really didn’t have any reason to stay sober. I didn’t feel I had any purpose in life. And then I met the man who was to become your father. I fell in love with him, and we were happy for a little while. I moved in with him. One day, we got into an argument. I hadn’t been feeling well, and I said something he didn’t like. He slapped me with the back of his hand and sent me flying. He looked down at me as I lay on the floor. “Don’t ever talk to me like that again.” Then he calmly walked out of our apartment.