American Road Trip

by Patrick Flores-Scott

  My ears hiss and burn. I cup my hands to my head to make it stop, but it doesn’t stop.

  Manny sits up. He takes a feeble swing at me.

  I spring to my knees and swing. My fist blasts his jaw.

  He shakes it off and comes at me. Misses with another weak swing.

  I hit him in the face. I hit him in the gut. In the jaw. I hit him over and over till he’s down in the dirt and he’s not moving.

  I lift him upright by his shirt. Pull his face to mine. “Fight me, Manny! Fight me!”

  He’s limp. Not moving. But I can’t stop yelling. “Fight, Manny! Fight, Manny! Fight!”

  I yell it till I got nothing left.

  I collapse on top of him.

  We lie there in a heap, faces to the earth, desperately heaving, like we’re trying to catch the same breath.

  “Manny? Manny?”

  He doesn’t answer me.

  I feel his rib cage expand and contract.

  I lift him up. My big brother feels so damn light.

  I start dragging him back.

  Xochitl runs at us, screaming his name, over and over.

  Tío Ed is right behind her.

  “Is he alive?” She lunges to Manny.

  I tell her he missed.

  She holds his head in her hands. “You’re going to be okay, Manuel. Oh, God, say something, Manny.”

  Tío Ed helps Xochitl lift him upright. “Ay, mijo.”

  I hear Luci shout something about an ambulance.

  “We love you,” Xochitl says. “Do you hear me, Manny?” She gets under an arm and they start dragging him back. “You’re going to be okay, Manny. We love you, Manny.”

  I’m stuck in place, watching them walk away.

  I sit in the dirt.

  It’s cold.

  My teeth chatter.

  I try but I can’t make myself stand.

  I bury my head in my arms until I feel a hand on my back.

  I look up.

  It’s Wendy, kneeling in the dirt.

  I look right at her.

  She looks right at me. Pulls me into her. Pulls my head to her chest and holds me tight.

  I hold her right back.

  The sound of sirens. We look back toward the house. It’s lit up in red lights.

  We watch Xochitl and Tío Ed lift Manny onto the porch.

  Wendy takes me by the hand. We stand and start walking. Then break into a run.

  The EMTs give Manny oxygen. Check his heart. Ask their questions.

  Wendy’s still got my hand in hers, squeezing as hard as she can.

  They move Manny to the ambulance. Xochitl motions my way.

  Wendy holds my face in her hands and looks in my eyes. There are no words, but she says everything she possibly can.

  I follow Tío Ed to the van. Xochitl pulls me into the front seat. We take off and she reaches out, grips my hand. She’s shaking. She’s a slobbering mess as she says, “I’m sorry, T, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have had to—”

  I shake my head and squeeze her hand.

  “I ruined everything, T.”

  “No, Xoch, don’t—”

  “I thought if I could—”

  “It’s not your fault. You tried, Xoch.”

  She squeezes my hand back. “You were the one who tried.”

  She asks me what happened.

  I tell her.

  She pulls me over. Wraps her arms around me.

  I start crying like a baby. “I couldn’t stop hitting him, Xoch.”

  * * *

  We sit on a waiting room bench, wondering what you do after your brother tries to kill himself.

  Tío Ed walks our way. Sits down beside us. He says they have to keep him in here for seventy-two hours. Dr. Fuentes says he’ll sign the release papers after that, but only if he’s sure he and Tío Ed have a solid safety plan. Tío Ed thinks that’ll mean putting Manny back to work, but with more frequent visits to Dr. Fuentes. More counseling with Dr. Chapman. Tighter protocol regarding meds. He says the group guys will come in waves every day, throughout the day. “I made the calls,” he says. “My men are all signed up.”

  He turns and talks to the reception nurse. Then waves us over.

  We’re going to Manny’s room.

  Knots in my stomach. Pains in my chest. A weight in my gut keeps me on the bench.

  Xochitl takes me by the hand. Pulls me up. “We’re going to tell Manny we love him. And we’re gonna tell him to knock it off right now.”

  “Okay, Xoch.”

  We walk down the hall. The smell of chemical cleaner. Monitors whistle, beep, and ring in rooms. Machines clunk and whir. Shoes tap on linoleum.

  We follow Tío Ed into Manny’s room. I look at the first bed. It’s some other miserable guy, his face wrapped in bandages.

  Manny’s by the window. He’s sitting up. Tubes for fluids and meds. A swollen jaw and two black eyes. His arms are exposed and there’s a couple tattoos I never saw before. One is some army shield. The other one is a fish. And it’s right over his heart.

  Xochitl ducks under the tangle of tubes and cords. Then she climbs in bed with him.

  I did not know you could do that.

  She wraps an arm around. Kisses his cheeks. “I love you, Manuel. Don’t you ever do that again. I love you. We need you. We want you here forever.”

  He looks lost on hospital drugs.

  “Come to me next time,” she says. “Tell me you want to do it. If I think you’re a lost cause, I’ll put you out of your misery myself. Deal?”

  He says it’s a deal.

  “I’d never do it, Manny.”

  “Thanks, Xoch.”

  Tío Ed pulls the curtain between beds. Scoots a chair over. “How you feeling, mijo?”

  Manny says he’s been better. He asks why his face hurts.

  “Teodoro got pissed he had to save his brother’s life.”

  Manny looks my way.

  “I’m sorry, Man. But don’t do that stuff anymore.”

  He looks at me like he’s begging me to understand. “T, it’s not—”

  “Huh-uh, Manny. There’s nothing you can say that’s gonna make it make sense.”

  He looks down at the bed. Looks like he wants me to go away.

  But I’m not going away. I kneel down. Get at bed level. I’m shaking. I got tears blurring everything. “Look at me, Manny.”

  He doesn’t.

  “Manny, I know you’re messed up. I know you’ve seen some horrible stuff.” I wipe tears. “You know what? Now I’ve seen some horrible stuff. You wanna mess me up, too? You wanna mess up Xochitl and Mami and Papi? Then do your thing and we’ll all be messed up forever.”

  I can’t breathe and I can’t take the smell. I run out and down the hall and through the waiting room into the restroom. I splash my face with water and let out tears and snot till I got no more.

  I sit back on that waiting room bench and bury my face in my hands.

  And I try to work out how to undo what I just said to Manny.

  Then I stop.

  Because I don’t wanna undo it.

  * * *

  “Hang in there, son.”

  I look up from the bench. It’s an old bald guy. There are four other old guys standing behind him.

  “I’m Lou,” he says. “I’m buddies with your uncle. So are all these guys.”

  I shake the group guys’ hands.

  Lou asks what room Manny’s in.

  I point and he says, “We’re here for Manuel. But we’re here for you and your sister, too.”

  I tell them thanks and they turn to go see Manny.

  In a minute Xochitl walks through the waiting room toward the exit.

  I follow her.

  Outside, she puts a cigarette to her lips. Pulls a lighter out of her pocket.

  “Where’d you get that?” I say.

  “I saved one in case of emergency. This qualifies.”

  She flicks the lighter.

  I grab the cigarette, a
nd before she can snatch it back, I drop it and stomp.

  “What the hell, T?”

  “In SeaTac, you said that was your last one ever.” I grab the lighter from her hand and stomp that till it’s bits of plastic. “You can do this, Xochitl.”

  “Oh, God, T, it doesn’t even matter.”

  “Maybe not to you.”

  She looks back toward Manny’s room. Looks at me again. “Don’t tell Manny I was gonna smoke.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “I told Mami and Papi I quit, too, so—”

  “I won’t tell them, either.”

  “Speaking of Mami and Papi…”

  Xochitl asked Tío Ed if we could wait to tell them about Manny. She promised him she’d call home soon.

  “T,” she says, “I don’t think it’ll help to tell them. Manny will be pissed. And Mami and Papi will freak out. Everything is bad enough. They don’t need to know right now.”

  I tell her if they find out we didn’t tell them, they’ll never forgive us.

  “Up to you, T. You can tell them if you really think we should.”

  Xochitl heads back inside.

  I pull out my phone.

  I dial and hear the ring.

  Then I press the hang-up cuz I’ve got no idea how to say it.

  The sliding doors open. Tía Luci walks in. She’s taking us back to the farm.

  MONDAY, JUNE 29, 2009

  Luci gives us long hugs before she goes out again.

  Xochitl goes to her room to sleep. I head to the kitchen.

  Wendy’s there with the cereal box. She looks my way and lifts it up.

  I nod.

  She pours.

  We sit and slurp. Clink spoons on bowls.

  Wendy says she’s so sorry about Manny.

  I nod.

  “You were brave,” she says.

  “Don’t, Wendy.”

  She reaches over and clutches my arm. I can see in her eyes she’s about to try to say something hopeful. Then she stops. And that’s good.

  “You’ve been up all night,” she says. “You should sleep.”

  “I can’t.”

  Wendy takes her bowl to the sink. She sits down again. “Should we work?”

  The way she asks … the way she’s looking at me … The way she looked at me last night … when I was the most lost …

  We might be broken up. But she’s here. And I’m here. And if we’re working and we keep on working, then maybe my mind can get unstuck from seeing stuff I can’t stop seeing. “Yeah, Wendy. If it’s okay.”

  “I want to, Teodoro.”

  “Me, too, Wendy.”

  “I’ll get our stuff.”

  “Just work,” I say.

  “Yes, Teodoro. Just work.”

  * * *

  Wendy heads out to get set up. I can’t get started till I call home.

  Mami picks up.

  “I wasn’t expecting you this early,” she says.

  My heart pounds. I swallow a lump in my throat.

  “Are you there, Teodoro?”

  “Mami, yeah, I’m here. How are you and Papi?”

  “Good. I no longer work for Walmart. Papi and I are headed to the Depot in a while. We’re both on ten to six.”

  “Wow, Mami. How is that?”

  “I’m going to learn a lot about paint. Your papi likes it.”

  “Mami?”

  “Yes, Teodoro?”

  “I miss you guys.”

  “Are you all right, mijo? You sound—”

  “I’m good. I’m fine. Just missing you. Wendy’s waiting, so … I love you, Mami.”

  “We love you, too, Teodoro.”

  I hang up and dial again.

  Caleb picks right up.

  “Brah from another mah! What is up?”

  I tell him I’m going to stay in New Mexico. And I’m gonna step in all the possible crap.

  I ask him if he’ll check in on Mami and Papi.

  They sound good on the phone, but I need to know for sure.

  “Of course, T. I’ll check in on your folks.”

  “Thanks. And, Caleb?”

  “Yeah, man?”

  “I’m gonna call more often.”

  “You okay?” Caleb says.

  “Yeah.”

  “You sure?”

  “No.”

  “I get it, T. Breakups suck.”

  “It’s Manny. He’s in the hospital. I can’t talk now, but I’ll tell you soon.”

  “Tell me soon. I’m gonna be worrying.”

  “I promise. Love you, brother.”

  “Love you, brother. Take care.”

  “Oh, and, Caleb?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t tell my parents yet. They don’t know.”

  * * *

  When I’m distracted, Wendy is patient with me. When I have to take a break, we take a break. It feels messed up doing the same stuff we did before, but it’s what I need.

  At some point, Wendy’s talking logarithmic functions and I can’t keep my lids open any longer. I brush my notebook aside and rest my head on the table. “Five minutes,” I say, without even looking up.

  “You sure that’s it?” she says.

  When I wake up, Wendy’s head is on the table. Her eyes are closed and she’s breathing deep. Her chair is scooted right up next to mine. And her arm is resting on my shoulders.

  I have no idea how long we been sleeping like that.

  “Five more minutes,” I whisper.

  * * *

  It’s midafternoon when we finally get up. Wendy says she thought she should let me sleep.

  I thank her for that. And I thank her for the sleep hug.

  “If there was ever a time to sleep-hug a buddy,” she says, “that was it.”

  We skip the afternoon shack work and put on hats and sunscreen and go out and help Xochitl and Hector in the fields. We weed. Adjust the drip line. Fix it where it’s leaking too bad. Wendy and I work hard together.

  At some point, Xochitl’s working one side of a row and I’m on the other. She tells me she’s been calling the hospital throughout the day. Tío Ed and the group guys are coming at Manny in shifts. Always one of them there.

  Ed says Manny’s mostly sleeping. But when he’s not, he’s finally talking. Really talking.

  “That’s good,” I tell her. “That’s real good, Xoch. What about you? You okay?”

  “Nothing prepares you, T.”

  “You think it’s all right, him getting out so soon?”

  “I talked to Dr. Fuentes and Dr. Chapman. They think they have a solid plan. And Tío Ed is on a mission. He’s says he’s never lost a group guy. And he’s not gonna lose one now.”

  “That’s good, Xoch.”

  “I’m not giving up on this summer—and whatever comes after. I’m not giving up on our tío. And I’m not giving up on Manny. We can do this. Right?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “We can do this.”

  “My God, T, the world would be a different place today if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Don’t even say that, Xoch.”

  “What?”

  “I was just there, okay? And I did it. And that’s fine. But I can’t handle thinking about it, so let’s not talk about it. Ever. All right?”

  “All right.”

  “Let’s just work.”

  “Yeah, T. You’re right. Let’s work.”

  We get back to pulling weeds and checking hose and spotting bugs.

  And fighting to stop my brain from thinking about how different the world woulda been.

  TUESDAY, JUNE 30, 2009

  In the shack, on the bench, trying to focus on numbers and symbols.

  I can’t do it. I got images I can’t shake. Sounds I can’t stop hearing. And tears dripping on the page.

  Wendy puts a hand on my back. I know she’s telling me to let it all out.

  I do that.

  And when I’m done, I look up at her, and she’s wiping her own tears.
/>   “Enough for today?” she asks.

  “Let’s keep going,” I say.

  “I’m worried about you, Teodoro.”

  “I don’t know what would make me feel better than keeping on.”

  “If that’s how you feel.” She says it serious, but she’s got snot rolling out her nose.

  Her eyes get big and she points at my nose. “Teodoro, you got a snot stream flowing.”

  I reach a finger to her face and wipe her snot with it. I hold that finger up to her eyes, busting a crazy-ass laugh. “That makes two of us, Snotty McMocos.”

  “Gross, Teodoro!” She busts out a wild laugh.

  “I’m gross?” I say, pointing the moco-covered finger at myself.

  “Stop laughing!” she says.

  “You stop laughing!” I say.

  We cannot stop. Wendy grabs a towel and throws it at me.

  I wipe my finger off. And I finally get tired and stop laughing.

  Wendy stops laughing, too.

  I pick up my notebook. Pick up my pencil.

  She flips a page in the book. Points at a graph and says, “Look at this. Can you define the slope for me?”

  I try to figure it out, but the images and sounds come again. Manny in the field. Manny raising the gun. The explosion. My fist blasting his jaw.

  The tears roll again. I shake my head. I fight the pictures. And I work through that graph. I’m real slow. But I figure it out. I wipe tears and snot and I tell Wendy the answer.

  “I’m ready to listen when you’re ready to talk,” she says. “Whatever you need.”

  “I need to do the next problem.”

  “All right, Teodoro.”

  * * *

  After lunch, I ask Wendy to come upstairs to Luci’s office. I sit in the desk chair and boot up the design program.

  She says it’s cool. And she likes what I’ve done so far.

  I stand and have her take the seat. “Your turn,” I say.

  I pull up another chair and tutor Wendy on how to use the program. She picks it up real fast and starts working on the entrances where I’d left off. She asks me questions. I answer them. She has ideas. I tell her what I think. Working together. It’s good.

  The whole time, we’re sitting so close. Arms brushing each other as we point at the screen. Faces close, hands close as we sketch on a notepad and exchange ideas.

  I do not feel the need to kiss Wendy.

  I don’t feel the need to hug her the way I did before.

  I just need her.

  I just need her here.