Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe (13 page)

“Seriously.”

“I’d like an old pickup truck.”

My mother and father exchanged glances.

“We can make that happen,” my mother said.

“I only have two questions. The first question is this: Are you getting me a car because you feel bad that I’m an invalid?”

My mother was ready for that one. “No. You’ll be in invalid for another three or four weeks. Then you’ll do some therapy. Then you’ll be fine. And you won’t be invalid. You’ll just return to being a pain in the ass.”

My mother never cussed. This was serious business.

“What was your second question?”

“Which of the two of you are going to give me driving lessons?”

They both answered at the same time. “I am.”

I figured I’d let them fight it out.

I HATED LIVING IN THE SMALL AND CLAUSTROPHOBIC
atmosphere of my house. It didn’t feel like home anymore. I felt like an unwanted guest. I hated being waited on all the time. I hated that my parents were so patient with me. I did. That’s the truth. They didn’t do anything wrong. They were just trying to help me. But I hated them. And I hated Dante too.

And I hated myself for hating them. So there it was, my own vicious cycle. My own private universe of hate.

I thought it would never be over.

I thought my life would never get better. But it
did
get better with my new casts. I could bend my knees. I used Fidel for another week. Then my arm cast came off and I could use my crutches. I asked my dad to put Fidel in the basement so I wouldn’t have to look at that stupid wheelchair ever again.

With the full use of my hands, I could bathe myself. I took out my journal and this is what I wrote:
I TOOK A SHOWER!

I was actually almost happy. Me, Ari, almost happy.

“Your smile is back.” That’s what Dante said.

“Smiles are like that. They come and go.”

My arm was sore. The physical therapist gave me some
exercises. Look at me, I can move my arm. Look at me.

I woke up one day, made my way to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror.
Who are you?
I made my way to the kitchen. My mom was there, drinking a cup of coffee and looking over her lesson plans for the new school year.

“Planning for the future, Mom?”

“I like to be prepared.”

I sat myself down across from her. “You’re a good girl scout.”

“You hate that about me, don’t you?”

“Why do you say that?”

“You hated that whole thing, that whole scout thing.”

“Dad made me go.”

“You ready to go back to school?”

I held up my crutches. “Yeah, I get to wear shorts every day.”

She poured me a cup of coffee and combed my hair with her fingers. “You want a haircut?”

“No. I like it.”

She smiled. “I like it too.”

We drank coffee together, me and my mom. We didn’t talk a lot. Mostly I watched her look through her folders. The morning light always came through the kitchen. And just then, she looked young. I thought she was really beautiful. She
was
beautiful. I envied her. She had always known exactly who she was.

I wanted to ask her,
Mom, when will I know who I am?
But I didn’t.

Me and my crutches walked back into my room and took out my journal. I’d been avoiding writing in it. I think I was afraid all my anger would spill out on the pages. And I just didn’t want to look at
all that rage. It was a different kind of pain. A pain I couldn’t stand. I tried not to think. I just started writing:

- School starts in five days. Junior year. Guess I’ll have
to go to school on crutches. Everyone will notice me. Shit.

- I see myself driving down a desert road in a pickup,
no one else around. I’m listening to Los Lobos. I see
myself lying on the bed of the pickup truck, staring up
at all the stars. No light pollution.

- Physical therapy will be coming up soon. Doctor
says swimming will be very good. Swimming will
make me think of Dante. Shit.

- When I’m well enough, I’m going to start lifting
weights. Dad has his old weights in the basement.

- Dante’s leaving in a week. I’m glad. I need a break
from him. I’m sick of him coming over every day just
because he feels bad. I don’t know if we will ever be
friends again.

- I want a dog. I want to walk him every day.

- Walking every day! I am in love with that thought.

- I don’t know who I am.

- What I really want for my birthday: for someone
to talk about my brother. I want to see his picture on
one of the walls of our house.

- Somehow I’d hoped that this would be the summer
that I would discover that I was alive. The world my
mom and dad said was out there waiting for me.
That world doesn’t actually exist.

Dante came over that evening. We sat on the steps of the front porch.

He stretched out his arm, the one that had been broken in the accident.

I stretched out
my
arm, the one that had been broken in the accident.

“All better,” he said.

We both smiled.

“When something gets broken, it can be fixed.” He stretched out his arm again. “Good as new.”

“Maybe not good as new,” I said. “But good anyway.”

His face had healed. In the evening light, he was perfect again.

“I went swimming today,” he said.

“How was it?”

“I love swimming.”

“I know,” I said.

“I love swimming,” he said again. He was quiet for a little while. And then he said, “I love swimming—
and you
.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Swimming and you, Ari. Those are the things I love the most.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” I said.

“It’s true.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t true. I just said you shouldn’t say it.”

“Why not?”

“Dante, I don’t—”

“You don’t have to say anything. I know that we’re different. We’re not the same.”

“No, we’re not the same.”

I knew what he was saying and I wished to God he was someone else, someone who didn’t have to say things out loud. I just kept nodding.

“Do you hate me?”

I don’t know what happened just then. Since the accident, I’d been mad at everyone, hated everyone, hated Dante, hated Mom and Dad, hated myself. Everyone. But right then, I knew I didn’t really hate everyone. Not really. I didn’t hate Dante at all. I didn’t know how to be his friend. I didn’t know how to be anybody’s friend. But that didn’t mean I hated him. “No,” I said. “I don’t hate you, Dante.”

We just sat there, not saying anything.

“Will we be friends? When I come back from Chicago?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Do you promise?”

I looked into his perfect face. “I promise.”

He smiled. He wasn’t crying.

DANTE AND HIS PARENTS CAME OVER TO OUR HOUSE
the day before they left for Chicago. Our moms cooked together. It didn’t surprise me they got along so well. They were alike in some ways. It
did
surprise me how well Mr. Quintana and my dad got along. They sat in the living room and drank beer and talked about politics. I mean, I guess they more or less agreed about things.

Dante and I hung out on the front porch.

For some reason, we were both into front porches.

We weren’t really talking very much. I think we didn’t really know what to say to each other. And then I got this idea into my head. I was playing with my crutches. “Your sketch pad is under my bed. Will you go get it for me?”

Dante hesitated. But then he nodded.

He disappeared into the house and I waited.

When he came back, he handed me the sketchbook.

“I have a confession to make,” I said.

“What?”

“I haven’t looked at it.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Can we look at it together?” I said.

He didn’t say anything, so I just opened up the sketchbook. The first sketch was a self-portrait. He was reading a book. The second sketch was of his father who was also reading a book. And then there was another self-portrait. Just his own face.

“You look sad in this one.”

“Maybe I was sad that day.”

“Are you sad now?”

He didn’t answer the question.

I flipped the page and stared at a sketch of me. I didn’t say anything. There were five or six sketches he’d done of me the day he’d come over. I studied them carefully. There was nothing careless about his sketches. Nothing careless at all. They were exact and deliberate and full of all the things he felt. And yet they seemed to be so spontaneous.

Dante didn’t say a word as I looked over his sketches.

“They’re honest,” I said.

“Honest?”

“Honest and true. You’re going to be a great artist someday.”

“Someday,” he said. “Listen, you don’t have to keep the sketchbook.”

“You gave it to me. It’s mine.”

That’s all we said. Then we just sat there.

We didn’t really say good-bye that night. Not really. Mr. Quintana kissed me on the cheek. That was his thing. Mrs. Quintana placed her hand on my chin and lifted my head up. She looked into my
eyes as if she wanted to remind me of what she’d said to me in the hospital.

Dante hugged me.

I hugged him back.

“See you in a few months,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I’ll write,” he said.

I knew he would.

I wasn’t so sure I’d write back.

Me and my mom and dad sat out on the front porch after they’d left. It started to rain and we just sat. Sat and watched the rain in silence. I kept seeing Dante standing in the rain holding a bird with a broken wing. I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or not. What if he’d lost his smile?

I bit my lip so I wouldn’t cry.

“I love the rain,” my mother whispered.

I love it too. I love it too.

I felt like I was the saddest boy in the universe. Summer had come and gone. Summer had come and gone. And the world was ending.

There are some words I’ll never learn to spell.

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL, AUSTIN HIGH SCHOOL, 1987.
“What happened to you, Ari?” I had a one-word answer to that question. “Accident.” Gina Navarro accosted me during lunch and said, “Accident?”

“Yup,” I said.

“That’s no answer.”

Gina Navarro. Somehow she felt entitled to hound me because she’d known me since first grade. If there’s one thing I knew about Gina it was that she didn’t like simple answers.
Life is complicated
. That was her motto.
What to say? What to say?
So I didn’t say anything. I just looked at her.

“You’re never going to change, are you, Ari?”

“Change is overrated.”

“Not that you’d know.”

“Yeah, not that I’d know.”

“I’m not sure if I like you, Ari.”

“I’m not sure if I like you either, Gina.”

“Well, not all relationships are based on
like
.”

“Guess not.”

“Listen, I’m the closest thing you’ve ever had to a long-term relationship.”

“You’re depressing the hell out of me, Gina.”

“Don’t blame me for your melancholy.”

“Melancholy?”

“Look it up. Your sad sack moods are nobody’s fault but yours. Just look at yourself why don’t you? You’re a mess.”

“I’m a mess? Take a hike, Gina. Leave me alone.”

“That’s your problem. Too much alone. Too much Ari Time. Talk.”

“Don’t want to.” I knew she wasn’t going to let this go.

“Look, so just tell me what happened.”

“I already told you. It was an accident.”

“What kind of accident?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“You noticed.”

“You’re a shit.”

“Sure I am.”

“Sure you are.”

“You’re bugging the crap out of me.”

“You should thank me. At least I’m talking to you. You’re the most unpopular guy in the whole school.”

I pointed at Charlie Escobedo who was walking out of the cafeteria. “No, that’s the most unpopular guy in the whole school. I’m not even a close second.”

Just then Susie Byrd was walking by. She sat right next to Gina.
She stared at my crutches. “What happened?”

“Accident.”

“Accident?”

“That’s what he claims.”

“What kind of accident?”

“He won’t say.”

“I guess the two of you don’t really need me for this conversation, do you?”

Gina was getting mad. The last time I’d seen that look on her face, she’d thrown a rock at me. “Tell us,” she said.

“Okay,” I said. “It was after a rainstorm. Remember the afternoon it hailed?”

They both nodded.

“That was the day. Well, there was a guy standing in the middle of the road and a car was coming. And I took a dive and shoved him out of the way. I saved his life. The car ran over my legs. And that’s the whole story.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Gina said.

“It’s true,” I said.

“You expect me to believe that you’re some kind of hero?”

“Are you going to throw a rock at me again?”

“You really are full of shit.” Susie said. “Who was he, the guy you supposedly saved?”

“I don’t know. Some guy.”

“What was his name?”

I waited for a little while before I answered. “I think his name was Dante.”

“Dante? That was his name? Like we believe you?” Gina and Susie gave each other the look:
This guy is fucking unbelievable
. That look. They both got up from the table and walked away.

I was smiling the rest of the day. Sometimes, all you have to do is tell people the truth. They won’t believe you. After that, they’ll leave you alone.