Drowning Tucson (20 page)

The string of gold bells hanging from the handle of the door chimed. A teenaged boy walked in and Rudolfo said let me know if I can be of service. The boy wandered slowly through the store smelling each type of flower in stock, closing his eyes and breathing in every one as if he had never smelled a flower in his life. He went to the cooler and picked out a half-price carnation that had only a day or two left to live, feeling obligated to make a purchase. What do you think? he asked Rudolfo, who nodded and asked him for thirty-five cents, reducing the already lowered price because the boy obviously needed the money.

The boy walked back to the cooler and opened the glass doors, letting the cool air blow over him and smoothing as many wrinkles out of his shirt as he could, and then, apparently satisfied, he gathered up his backpack and walked toward the exit. Rudolfo, who watched from
behind the business section of the newspaper, lowered his paper and asked do you like flowers? and the boy said sure, it’s nice to see them in the desert. Rudolfo agreed and said there’s a rose garden in the park across the street that’s great for wandering through on lazy afternoons like this one. The boy thanked him, then he left, again jingling the bells on the door as he closed it behind him. Rudolfo gathered up his box of deliveries and walked out of the store. He flipped over the will return at two o’clock sign and locked the door behind him.

Hungry once more, and with his money dwindling fast, Jaime decided on lunch at a taqueria. He ordered huevos con chorizo in a tortilla and after he paid, he left the store with his food wrapped tightly in tinfoil. He could feel the warmth of the food in his front pocket heating his leg, his body reacting to the touch, as if his leg could taste it through the foil and denim. He crossed six lanes of traffic and went into the park, searching for the rose garden.

He wanted to relax for a moment and then try to find a relatively safe place to sleep for the night. But when he saw the pond in the middle of the park, with families and couples loitering in paddleboats, he was overcome with the desire to lie beneath a tree with his feet in the water. He surveyed the outline of the pond, looking for an area with the fewest amount of people, and found a spot where it trickled slowly over rocks leading down gently sloping steps. There, two boys walked through the stream, sneaking along its edges where they suddenly plunged their hands into the water to overturn a slimy rock and emerge with a crayfish. It was peaceful enough for Jaime to eat his meal and finally relax. When he finished, he crushed the tinfoil into a small wad and removed his shoes and socks and placed his bag beneath his head so he could doze off for a few minutes.

What woke him two hours later was the thumping of bass from the lowriders cruising through the park. He sat up and rubbed his eyes while he let his feet dry in a patch of sunlight. He admired the lowriders skulking by, and in the distance he saw Rudolfo Gutierrez coming toward him, wheeling his oxygen tank down a hill. He hurriedly put his socks and shoes back on.

When Rudolfo finally reached him, he looked at Jaime’s dusty clothes and started to turn around to give the boy some privacy, saying I figured you’d be here somewhere, since you didn’t look like you had anything else to do. I had a little extra lunch and came to see if you wanted any. In spite of his lack of money and work and a home, Jaime acted disinterested. He shrugged and mumbled thanks, leaving the food untouched. But after the old man nodded and walked away, leaving behind half a sandwich and a bag of chips, Jaime devoured the food.

He was having an inner celebration for getting to Tucson intact. The problem is, he thought, I only have eleven dollars and I can’t get a hotel room for that. And even if I could, I wouldn’t have anything left for eating or otherwise living. So, while he watched people slowly meander over the hills of the park toward their warm homes, Jaime tried to think of a place to stay. He’d felt safer in the desert than he ever had in his life, as if some outside force were protecting him. But now, in the bowels of the city, he was a stationary target. The sun began to go down in the west and the park emptied out and he realized he had absolutely nowhere to go. He got up and walked toward the sound of traffic. When he reached the edge of the park, he sat on a boulder by the entrance and passed the time watching cars and motorcycles cruise past. Eventually, he crossed the street, past the closed flower shop and Torchy’s, and turned left at the corner.

Behind the liquor store, he saw a mattress and wandered over to it to see if maybe it was in good enough condition to sleep on. It wasn’t. But at least there would be no cold desert floor that night. He pulled the mattress behind him and continued wandering up the alley until he came to a McDonald’s. There were two large brown dumpsters behind the restaurant, covered with graffiti. Between the two dumpsters, which stunk of a thousand half-eaten hamburgers, Jaime dropped the mattress and then climbed into one of the dumpsters and rummaged around until he found cardboard boxes to use as sheets. He broke the boxes into flat panels and arranged them on his mattress and then climbed back into the dumpster and removed a few bags of trash. He tore them open, using the plastic to cover the cardboard.

He lay down and immediately fell asleep and dreamed he was running through the desert, his pants getting caught on cactus needles. He felt
the needles implanting themselves into his jeans, their tips scraping away at his flesh as he ran from the headlights of a monster truck with a bunch of guys screaming HEY FAGGOT, WE FINALLY FOUND YOU, YOU ASSLICKING QUEER, and the cactus kept cutting at his feet as he ran farther and farther, his lungs threatening to cave in, his pants wearing down as the needles slowly tore at the seams and disconnected the fibers, but the truck was always bearing down on him, and the voices kept yelling FAGGOT and SHITDICKED COCKSUCKER.

Jaime thrashed around in his sleep. He kicked the plastic and it coiled around his ankles while he dreamed his legs were trapped in a sea of rolling tumbleweed and he could feel the breath from the truck’s engine pulsing on the back of his neck while the guys whooped and yelled and gunned the motor and laughed as he ran, trying not to trip on whatever it was that was catching his legs, afraid to look down, only able to look back over his shoulder and in front of him, his vision blurring as the dust blew into his eyes and scratched their surfaces and lodged in the corners and he had to find a place to hide, a wash to jump into where the truck wouldn’t be able to follow him or something, but all he saw was flat land ahead and he wanted to weep but was too afraid, fearing he would get run over by the truck but knowing they were only toying with him, waiting for him to collapse or trip or simply run out of steam so they could stop the truck and get out and beat him to death with bricks or bats or whatever they were banging on the roof of the truck as it nipped at his ankles. And while Jaime slept, he kicked the cardboard panels off the mattress and tossed and turned and felt the moisture of the mattress beneath him. In his dream his legs were still caught up in something, and he fell and the truck came to a stop and one of the boys threw something from the bed of the truck and it rolled toward him. Sammy’s head, staring him in the face.

When Jaime woke, his heart was racing and his eyes were bloodshot. Shaking with rage, he balled up his fist and punched himself in the face because he didn’t want to cry from missing Sammy, he wanted to cry out of anger. He had never felt like this before. He had never wished harm on a single soul, not even his father after he beat him with his Jesus belt. Not even his father had provoked what Jaime now felt toward those
boys from Buena High School who had taken the life of the only person he’d ever loved. The only person he’d ever been able to sit down with for hours and talk about anything. The only thing that mattered now, the only thing that allowed Jaime to open his eyes after that terrible dream, was his desire for revenge against the fuckers who killed Sammy. He had to make a plan. Once he got settled, he had to. He would figure out a way to get back to Sierra Vista and pick them off one by one. It wouldn’t be that hard. He had plenty of time. They were only juniors in high school, and so they’d be in school another year, maybe more. Stupid assholes. If it weren’t for metal shop, they’d be lost. Yes, he would get settled here somehow in this lonesome, crowded city, and then he would get back at each one of them. He would get them when they least suspected it, as if they really even expected a faggot to come after them and try to avenge the death of his fairy boyfriend. Yeah, to them he was just a donut puncher. But he would get them. He would surprise them.

The fuckers.

Jaime sat up and realized that the plastic he’d placed over the cardboard panels was wound tightly around his ankles. When he looked behind him in the mild blue light of the Arizona sunrise, he saw the figure of a girl kneeling next to the dumpster smoking a cigarette. She made no move to injure him, merely looked and puffed her cigarette.

My name’s Lavinía, she told him, gesturing toward Jaime with her cigarette. He took it from her, trying to act cool. Nice to meet you. He looked at the plastic around his ankles. Guess I got a little carried away in my sleep. He tried to laugh it off. She nodded, as if to say hey, you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. Jaime unwrapped the plastic from around his feet. So, how long have you been sitting here?

Well, long enough to have a couple of cigarettes and watch you kicking and squirming in your sleep. This is the first time I’ve ever seen you around here.

Oh, so you come here all the time?

Well, every day on the way to school I come here because—where’d you get that mattress, anyway? She scratched delicately at her head, trying not to disturb any of her slim braids.

I found it down the alley, behind some liquor store.

Lavinía flinched. Behind Torchy’s? That mattress has stories attached to it. If you had any idea, you wouldn’t be sleeping on it. Trust me. She shook her head. It’s kind of a neighborhood artifact.

Jaime grimaced. I don’t need to know. But it was better than sleeping on the ground.

That’s probably true. I won’t tell you how it gets used, besides, you can probably guess.

The thought had never crossed Jaime’s mind until now that maybe there was a good reason why the mattress was sitting untouched behind a liquor store. Right now it only smelled of rain.

You know, someone died behind that store once. A boy that I used to have a crush on. His name was Felipe. You kind of look like him, actually. Same features. She stared at him for a few moments. Yeah, you both have this look, like you think too much. It’s kinda creepy how much you remind me of him. A softness to you. He had the same thing. Made me sick what they did to him.

How’d he die?

Well, his brothers killed him. His brothers and their gang. That’s why I was so surprised to find you here. Usually if someone comes around they don’t know, they make him pay. Don’t worry. If they find you here with me, everything will be fine. Anyway, I have to go to school soon. Maybe you should go over to the park or something until I get out of school, then I can meet you back here if you want.

Jaime stood up and gathered his things to walk back to the park. He wanted to check out the zoo or something today anyway, and maybe look for a place to work, something that might pay him under the table since he didn’t have any ID.

Lavinía stood and waved goodbye. So, maybe I’ll see you after school?

Sure. Jaime thought he probably wouldn’t see her, but when he was alone, he began to think maybe he should see her again. After all, she had mentioned the neighborhood gang. If she knew these guys, then maybe he could get to know a couple of them too, and maybe he could hit one of them up for a gun one day. It was an option.

It had been less than a day he had been in Tucson, and already things were starting to fall into place. Driven by his mission, and knowing that
it might even be attainable, Jaime hid the mattress behind the dumpster and walked back up the alley toward the main road. Before he began his job search, Jaime had one thing more he wanted to do.

He needed to find a church. He needed to show God that he had forsaken the world, and people were starting to take notice. Sure, he thought, I could pray to You, but that wouldn’t bring Sammy back. And I could pray the rosary and put ashes on my forehead and crawl on my knees through the desert to some shrine where la Virgencita had appeared in the desert, but that’s a bunch of shit. Why would I want to pray to the saints who’ve been dead forever? I’m sure Sammy prayed while he was beaten to death, and what good did it do him? I’ll make You notice, Jaime thought, shifting his backpack to his right shoulder.

As he walked he kicked stones into the street and ground his teeth until finally he stood before a Catholic church. He opened the door and stood in the back of the sanctuary, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness. Except for an old woman praying silently in the back row, the church was empty. Jaime didn’t bother crossing, dipping his fingers in holy water, or kneeling. Instead he made his way over to the shrine for the Virgin Mary surrounded by hundreds of burning candles. He looked around to be sure no one was watching and then turned back to the statue, pretending to light a candle. He reached toward a candle and let his hand move past it and on toward the statue of Mary in her powder blue and white gown. Jaime traced its folds and felt Mary’s face, her soft features tickling his fingertips, a mother whose eyes spoke undying love and devotion. He let his fingers fall around Mary’s throat and squeezed as tight as he could. Her unchanging features—her absolute belief in the holiness of her son and the goodness of the world—made Jaime want to smash her into a thousand pieces. He lifted the statue, placing it beneath the waistband of his jeans, and covered it with his shirt.