Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco (19 page)

Then I’d slink away with my head down, my hair hiding my tears. Once an old neighbor lady called to me. I walked faster, pretending I didn’t hear.

Then the day came when a big green garbage bin sat in front of our old building. Two men were lifting something into its open mouth.

Our kitchen table
.

My heart jumped into my throat. Our table teetered on the edge of the bin.

Then it toppled inside.

A metallic echo.

Debris flew up in a cloud.

“NO!”

I was running but not seeing. I stumbled, and the ground came up at me.

Pushing myself back on my knees, I squinted into the glare of afternoon sun. Voices around me, some familiar, some strange, asking questions, English and Spanish mixed together.

Then I saw Mr. Spitz’s angry face looming over me. He held an armful of sheets and blankets. And there, right there in his arms, with the other covers from my bed, was Abuelita’s afghan. The one Mamá had given me. To keep me safe.

Mine! That’s mine!

I saw all his smelly brown teeth up close. “You mind telling me where your parents are?”

I stumbled to my feet and threw myself at him. As he jumped away, I grabbed the afghan and pulled. Surprised, he dropped the rest of my covers on the ground.

Then I ran, my flip-flops slapping the concrete, my backpack bouncing against my spine. Ran with Abuelita’s afghan in my arms, leaving behind shrill and angry voices.

SPRING BREAK.

Like every other kid in America, I’d be glad not to go to school for a whole week. But unlike every other kid, I’d use that time for sleeping.

If I’d been lonely during Christmas, it was nothing compared to living at Tía’s. I felt like the last big kid in the orphanage, surrounded by babies. Cinderella minus her fairy godmother. My life was crowded and empty at the same time.

Miss had warned me not to be alone with a boy until I was married. She was right about that. I wasn’t going have a baby until I was ready.

But I didn’t tell Miss that. I wasn’t speaking to her. I would never speak to her again. I wouldn’t wear the ring she gave me, even though I kept my promise.
Why should I wear her ring if she isn’t keeping
her
promises?

I missed Cody and Ethan. I missed gymnastics and ballet. I missed books and films.

But mostly I missed Mamá and Papi. They’d worked so hard to keep my sisters and me safe. But I couldn’t save them.

The word for how I felt is
impotent
.

Helpless. Hopeless. Powerless.

If there’s a worse feeling, I don’t know what it is. I was filled with
rag
e — and there wasn’t one thing I could do about it. Like acid eating me from the inside — eating up all the strength that had been growing in me.

I’d thought Miss was the most honest person I’d ever met. But she turned out to be the biggest liar of all. She made me think she could do
anything
. And she made me believe
I
could be something I wasn’t.

Rain washed away the snow in Maplewood, but the ice in my heart wouldn’t melt.

Tía said Rosa would be going with the Dahls to Florida for spring break. The boys’ grandma was taking them all to the Magic Kingdom to see that famous cartoon mouse.

I was invited to go, too. But I refused to go anywhere with Miss.

Tía Carmen was relieved when I told her I’d
never
abandon her the way Rosa had. I didn’t even want to go, I said.

Not really.

Not very much at all.

But when Tía told me the Dahls had to cancel their trip, I was glad. I knew I had meanness in me, but I didn’t know I could enjoy it so much.

After spending her “last dime” on a lawyer, Miss had finally won her lawsuit with the TV station. She was going back to reading the nightly news on TV, so Rosa wasn’t going anywhere.
It’s only fair
.

My rage had burned down to ashes, and my smoldering anger turned inward. There’s a word for that.

Depression
.

And that’s when I got the
final
late-night phone call.

The baby lay in my lap, almost asleep. In the glow of the television, I watched Mateo startle and start sucking again. I hoped Tía had been paid, because I’d used the last of the formula to make his bottle.

Clicking the TV remote, I looked for something on late that wasn’t boring, stupid, or weird. On the third click I was stopped by a face.

Nadine Robert
.

I pushed the volume button.

“— the ballet company’s season finale,
Romeo and Juliet
. Good seats are still available.” Then music. The sound of my own heart. Pain and loss.

Maybe Miss will take me
.

But why would she, when I’m not speaking to her? Maybe she already tried to call, and I wouldn’t answer. Maybe she’s never going to call again
.

My eyes burned.
I didn’t get to ask Cody which ballet is his favorite
.

The commercial ended. The next music made my heart ache even more. 5News music.

The familiar anchor desk appeared, but this time instead of the blond lady, Miss sat next to the guy with the tie. Seeing them together, I realized he was younger than Miss.

A lot younger.

“Coming up at ten tonight, the Regional Transportation District tackles the issue of how to fund the extension of light rail.”

Then Miss spoke. “And Denver water officials say we could be in for another summer drought. Rejoining Steve Barnes on the anchor desk, I’m Kathryn Dawson Dahl.
5News Nighttime Edition
starts right after the movie.”

I clicked off the television and tossed the remote onto the sofa.

A tear splashed on Mateo’s cheek, startling him again. It was just as well. If I didn’t burp him, we’d both be up all night.

I put his blanket over my shoulder so he wouldn’t spit up on my pajamas. I lifted him slowly, then patted his back, smelling his baby hair. So tiny. A whole person, right there in my hands.
Perfect
.

Then he slid sideways. With a burp louder than a miniature person should make, a stream of baby barf rolled down my sleeve.

I sighed.
Ça ne me fait rien
. French for “It makes no difference to me.”

I’d learned to lie to myself in three languages.

The phone rang.

NOW WHAT?

I didn’t recognize the number, but it was long distance. I hesitated. Neither my head or my heart could take one more thing. Wincing, juggling Mateo, I reached for the phone and forced the word out of my mouth.

“¿Bueno?”

“Jacinta?”

Forgetting I had him in my arms, I squeezed Mateo and was rewarded with another spray of milky spit-up.
“¡Mamá! ¿Dónde estás?”

Mamá didn’t answer. “
Mija
, I need to speak to Carmen.”

“Tía is working. Where are you?” I was practically shouting. I had to — so I could hear my voice over the sound of blood rushing around my head. Mateo started to cry.

“Rosa. Get Rosa.”

I froze. “Rosa is living with Miss.”

I heard her sob.

“¿Mamá? ¿Mamá, qué pasó?”

So Mamá told me. She had no choice.

A
coyot
e — a paid smuggler of people — had gotten Mamá across
la línea
. Before I had time to swallow this news, to let its happiness flow through me, Mamá said the
coyote
had stolen her money while she slept in a motel, leaving her no way to pay for the room and nothing to buy a bus ticket home. She said to call Papi at his night job and tell him to come get her. Right away.

A breath
. “Papi was deported.”

A wail
.

“Mamá?” Her cries ripped my heart.
She’ll pull herself back together. Then she’ll tell me what to do
. I watched Tía’s digital clock tick off a minute. “Mamá?”

Still she cried.

Stunned, I held the phone away from my face.
She doesn’t know! Mamá doesn’t know what to do!
I felt myself drowning in the familiar sensation of helplessness. Hopelessness.
The world is a hateful, chaotic place. Bad things happen for no reason. We’re pushed around by things we can’t control, until we die
.

But another wave — a more powerful force — came over me. I couldn’t swallow the lie. Not anymore.

My heart turned hard. Hard like a diamond.

All the strength seeping out of Mamá got sucked through the phone. Right into me. Her power, Abuelita’s power, my sisters’ power. The power of every woman. All of it was in me.

Even the power I thought belonged to Miss?
That too.

“Mamá, no llores.”

After I told her not to cry, I dumped Mateo onto the sofa next to me and shouted to Mamá over his squalling.

“Tell me where you are!” My voice.
Not
the voice of a lost little girl. The voice of someone with power. Power on the inside.

I had to repeat my words. Mamá continued crying, Mateo kept screaming. But I got what I needed and scribbled the information on the back of an envelope.

“Stay where you are, Mamá. I’m coming to get you.”

“No,
mija
, I need to leave before the motel people want their money. I cannot even pay for this phone call.
La policía
will take me to jail.”

“Mamá, I will bring money. You need to wait.”

We argued. The time it was taking to convince her started to worry me. I imagined Miss looking at her watch. But I finally got Mamá to agree to wait for me at the motel.

Then the hard part. I didn’t want to hang up. This was as close to Mamá as I’d been in months. But if I was going to rescue her, I had to do it right then, that night.

“Adiós, Mamá. Te quiero.”
I hung up.

And for once, I didn’t cry.

Fortunately Mateo had cried himself to sleep. Careful not to wake him, I put him in his crib. Then I called Tía and told her to come home because I was going to rescue Mamá.

Tía Carmen might get fired for leaving work in the middle of the night. With no other money coming in, it was a dangerous decision. But it was what we had to do.

It’s what family means.

I put my anger aside. Holding a grudge was a
luxury
I couldn’t afford. Pastor Federico had said, “Forgiveness is a choice, not a feeling.”

Another dangerous choice. The choice to trust again.

I took a deep breath and punched in Miss’s cell phone number.

THE TIME
from when the phone started ringing to when Miss picked it up was an eternity. While I waited, I practiced what I would say. I wished I could ask Miss to her face, but I didn’t think my puppy-dog eyes would help.

“Carmen?” she asked.

“Miss! Mamá’s back!”

“She’s there? At Carmen’s?”

I swallowed. “No, we need to go get her. Right now.”

“What? Where?”

The blood rushed to my head, making me dizzy. “In New Mexico.”

Silence
.

“Miss?”

“You spent the last month hanging up on me, slamming doors in my face! Now you — you expect me to —?”

“Miss, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. But I
need
you! You need to come now!”

“There’s no way I can leave now! I’m about to do a newscast! Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

“She’s in a motel, but her money was stolen before she could pay. We have to leave
now
! Before the police get her!”

“No. It’s too dangerous,” she hissed, her voiced lowered. “There’s a story in the news about a guy who went to jail for driving illegals across state lines. He was just ‘giving them a ride.’”

“I’m not talking about illegals! I’m talking about
MAMÁ
!”

She hesitated. “We’ll call a lawyer tomorrow.”

“MAMÁ WILL BE GONE!”

“Jacinta, I’m sorry. I’ve got my boys to think about.”

I needed a tool.

Leverage
.

So I said the one thing guaranteed to make Miss shut up.

In the silence I crossed my fingers. The digital clock flipped off another minute. I thought about saying something else, decided against it, and waited. Through the phone I felt Miss hating me.