by Jaime Cortez
“Surprise!” he says. He’s a little drunk, but he’s not mad, so even though my ma’s not home, I think I’ll be okay. Maybe. He puts a big box down on the floor right next to my bed. It’s wrapped up with rope tied in a messed-up bow on top. My nickname, “Gordo,” is written on it in my pa’s big, ugly letters.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“A present,” says Pa. It’s not my birthday and it’s not Christmas. I’m surprised to get a present.
“Really, Pa? For me?” I ask.
“Correcto. It’s yours, Gordo.”
“Why?”
“Just because,” says Pa. Oh my God. My first just-because present! I shake the box. It’s heavy and it sounds like there’s all kinds of things in there.
“Can I open it?” I ask. Pa smiles and nods his head. I pull and pull on the rope, and even though it’s not thick, it’s really strong and I can’t get it off the box. Pa starts laughing, takes out his pocketknife, and pulls out the blade.
“Here. Use this, Gordo,” says Pa. “Pero cuidado, don’t cut yourself.” I get the knife and hold it in my hand. The handle is made of chrome and red wood. It feels warm and heavy. It’s super beautiful, and I’ve always wanted to hold it. Pa’s knife is really sharp, and in one swipe, I cut the rope off the box and open the top.
Oooooh. All kinds of things are in the box. It’s a present full of more presents! I see bags, boxes, and stuff wrapped in plastic. I pull out the first thing. It’s a black, leather … thing. It looks like a flat pear.
“All right!” I say.
“You like it?” asks my pa.
“I think so. What is it?”
“It’s a speed bag. Like a punching bag, hijo,” says Pa. “We gotta put some air in it, hang it up, and then you can start punching with theeeeese,” he says. He rips open a blue paper bag and pulls out two puffy red gloves that make me think of clown shoes. I laugh at them.
“What’s so funny?” asks Pa.
“Nothing. They look kind of funny. Puffy.”
“They’re not funny. They’re boxing gloves. You can use them to hit the punching bag and maybe hit somebody in the ring one day.” He punches the air and says, “Poom!”
“Oh,” I say.
So far, this is a bad present.
“Where’d you get all this boxing stuff?” I ask Pa.
“At the pulga, of course. The árabes, they having new things for the boys today. Boxing and lucha libre wrestling things. People were buying it like pan caliente. Look in the box, hijo, there’s more,” he says. Inside the big box, there is a smaller box. I open it up. Shiny white boxer boots with silver stripes and shoelaces and little dangly pom-poms on the side!
“Thank you,” I say. “These are soooo pretty!” Pa gets real quiet. He opens his mouth like he’s gonna say something, but he don’t say nothing. He shakes his head like something bad just happened. I’m holding my boots like little twin babies, telling him they’re so pretty, and then he breathes like he’s really tired and says, “Keep going, hijo.”
I reach into the box, grab a folded-up bag, and open it up. Yeeeessss! A lucha libre mask of my favorite wrestler, El Santo! The mask covers your whole head and face in sparkly silver. Even the mouth hole and eyeholes are sparkly.
“It’s all for you, hijo! Keep going,” he says. There is a bag in the box, and I open it up.
“A jump rope! Wow, Pa! This is the best thing!” I feel like maybe I’m going to cry. I look up at Pa. I almost can’t say it, but finally I say, “Gracias, Papi. I’ve been wanting my own jump rope forever. Sylvie never wants to loan me hers. But now, anytime I want to, I can play jump rope.”
“It’s not for playing,” says Pa. “It’s for ejercicio. Understand? You start training and training, so your heart and your legs can get fuerte, and you can burn off the fat, get strong to do boxing. Lucha libre. Entiendes?”
“I understand, Pa.”
“Hijo, you know how Muhammad Ali is the black Superman?”
“Yeah, he’s the best.”
“Well, Gordo, you can be the brown Superman. ‘Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee’! Un gran campeón!”
“Okay.”
“All you need to do is train hard. You want to put on your Santo mask?”
“Yes, Pa!”
I grab it and try to put it on, but I can’t. Pa takes it from me and unties the laces on the back of the mask and opens it up. Then he puts it on my head and pulls it down hard. I can feel him tying the laces in the back. When he finishes, it’s really tight, and it’s pulling my hair, and my ear is kind of bent, and it hurts, but I don’t care. I love it.
“Turn around, Gordo,” says Pa. “Look at yourself.” I walk over to the mirror. Wow. I’m pretty sure I look cool. My pa stands behind me. I hold up my arms and make a muscle, and he reaches down and tries to pull off my shirt. I don’t want to take off my shirt in front of him or nobody, and I grab it and yank it back down.
“Gordo,” he says. “Take it off.”
“I don’t want—”
“Take it off. Now.”
With my shirt off, I feel naked, and I don’t like it. He tells me to look in the mirror again, so I do. I look even more like El Santo now! He is smiling. I feel like El Santo. This is boss.
“You wanna try on your boots?” he asks.
“Yes.” I sit down on my bed, and Pa takes off my shoes, opens up the laces of the boots, and puts them on my feet. Then he tightens them up and ties them. I stand up. I bounce up and down, and they don’t weigh nothing. I feel like an astronaut, like I can jump up to the top of the house like Lee Majors, the Bionic Man. And they’re so pretty. I’ve never had such a beautiful thing before. I jump up and down some more because it feels so good, and my pa grabs me and hugs me and lifts me up like I was a little boy or something.
“Let’s go outside so I can teach you jumping the rope,” says Pa.
“I already know how to jump rope, Pa,” I say. “When I play with Sylvie and the girls, I can beat them sometimes.” I grab my rope and follow him. I don’t ever go outside with my shirt off, even at the beach. It’s embarrassing to be fat. I don’t like the way people look at me. But today, I don’t care. I’m El Santo, and I’m the best. I pick a spot in front of the house, and I begin jumping rope.
My pa looks pretty excited when he sees me jump. My dog, Lobo, comes running to see what’s going on.
“Caramba, Gordo! You got good reflexes, mijo, good feet!” he says. I never seen my father so happy before. And I start to jump faster and faster, and when the rope hits the ground, little rocks and dust pop right up. My papi is watching me, and he’s laughing and so excited. He even jumps up and down a few times. Lobo is excited too. His tail is wagging and he starts barking. I start to sing my favorite jump rope song that I learned from Sylvie.
I’m a little princess
Dressed in blue.
Here are the things
I like to do:
Salute to the captain,
Bow to the queen,
Turn my back
On the submarine.
I can do the tap dance,
I can do the splits—
“DON’T!” he yells. I stop.
“Don’t what?” I ask.
“Don’t sing that song.” I’m breathing hard from the jumping, but I’m also thinking hard. I look at his face. If the next thing I say is the wrong thing, I’m gonna get hit.
“Should I sing a different song?” I ask.
“No, hijo. No singing. All you do is jump and count, jump and count, okay? Every day you training, you trying to jump a little more.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll count.” I jump faster and count like he told me to. Now I’m starting to get nervous, and I start to miss. Every time I miss, I start again and try harder and harder. My face feels hot in the Santo mask, and I want to take it off, but I don’t stop jumping. My legs are burning, and I am in a cloud of dust, but Pa looks happier now, and I think he’s not gonna hit me, and he’s not
gonna shout. That’s not bad.
“Caramba,” he says. “That’s good. You’re big, but you’re fast, hijo. Practice, practice. If you jump fifty times today, jump sixty tomorrow, then one hundred, then one day one thousand. I think you can be a good boxer. You want to box?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Try. You can do it.”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
“I gotta take a shower now, hijo. You keep training, okay?”
“Yes.”
I start jumping rope and counting. It’s not as fun as singing, but it’s okay. Lobo lies down in the dirt. I think he’s bored with the counting, like me. After Pa walks away, I start singing instead. I whisper at first. I can’t tell you the name of the song. It’s only for me.
It’s getting hotter and hotter in the mask. I stop jumping, and I’m starting to untie the laces in the back. It’s hard because they’re so tight. I’m getting frustrated, and I want to get a knife and cut it off. I wish someone could help me. Then I hear somebody behind me say, “Hey, you!”
I stop untying the mask and look behind me. It’s Miguelito from across the camp. He has a Santo mask too and kneepads and a blue cape! He is not wearing no shirt and you can see all his bones in his chest. But the cape is really shiny and pretty, and he looks good, standing there with his bony legs open like a superhero’s.
“You think you’re the best,” says Miguelito. “But you’re not, Gordo.”
“I didn’t say I was the best,” I tell him.
“But you think you’re the best. Training with your rope. You think you’re the boss. But you’re not.”
“I didn’t say I was the best.”
“But you’re wearing the Santo mask, ese,” says Miguelito. “And Santo is the best, so you think you’re the best.”
“You’re wearing the same mask, pendejo,” I tell Miguelito. “Where did you get your mask?”
“My dad got it for me at the flea today,” he says.
“My pa did too. Did he get you boots and a jump rope and a punching bag?” I ask.
“No. I got the mask, cape, kneepads, so I’m ready to fight. Man, we have to have a battle. You know that old mattress someone threw out behind the tractor barn?” asks Miguelito.
“Yeah, the one we jump on?”
“Yup. We can have a championship fight on that mattress. I challenge you. You’re El Gordo.”
“I’m not El Gordo,” I tell Miguelito. “I’m El Santo. Can’t you see my mask?”
“No you’re not,” says Miguelito. “We both got the same mask, but we can’t both be El Santo. If we have a championship fight of the world on the mattress, we can see who gets to be El Santo of … the Gyrich Farms Worker Camp. If you lose, you’re El Gordo forever.”
“Okay, but if I’m El Gordo then you’re El Flaco, cuz you’re so skinny.”
“Okay, I’ll be El Flaco. I don’t care what you call me, man, because I’m calling you out right now. I’m going to beat you,” says Miguelito. “Then I’ll rip off your mask so everyone will see who you really are: big, fat, greasy Gordo.” Now I’m mad.
“I’m going to break your nose and your femur.” I tell him.
“What the fuck is a femur?” says Miguelito.
“It’s your leg bone, idiot,” I tell him. “Don’t you know nothing? I’m gonna tear off your femur and hit you with it like a caveman.” Miguelito is getting mad too, and he starts to shout.
“You ain’t no big deal, man, just because you’re always lying on your butt reading books. Nobody thinks you’re a big deal with your books.”
We walk out together to the mattress. My dog, Lobo, follows us. The mattress is leaning on the back wall of the tractor barn. We drag it to a place where the ground is flat. Then we begin jumping around on the mattress. The mattress is big, so we have room to move around. My boots feel great. I feel great.
“You ready, Flaco?” I ask him.
“I’m ready for round one,” he says. “Ding ding ding!” He begins making animal noises at me, like a bear or something. Lobo looks up at our faces, and he begins growling. Miguelito says, “WOOF!” at Lobo, real loud. Lobo jumps back a little bit like he’s scared, then he starts barking, and he starts going around the mattress in circles, barking at us. Me and Miguelito walk around each other and then he backs up into a corner and points to the middle of the mattress.
“You see that big stain in the middle of the mattress?” he says to me. “Someone peed there, probably some drunk old hobo, and when I beat you, I’m gonna mash your face in his pee.”
“You wish,” I say. “I’m going to make you lick it up like a dog!”
He puts his hands out in front of him. He bends his fingers so they look like claws. He charges at me and pushes his head into my stomach. I go “oof!” and then I fall back on the mattress. He jumps on me and grabs me by the neck and starts strangling me. Dang. Miguelito is fast! I roll and he rolls with me and now I’m on top! I grab him by the hands and start pushing them down till I have him crucified on the mattress. His blue cape is all twisted up around his neck, but he never stops fighting. Miguelito is super strong for a skinny little dude. He jams his knee against my stomach, then his feet, and he pushes me back. I fall back and suddenly he’s on top of me and trying to crucify me. Lobo is barking and barking, and I roll myself over and start to get up, and he jumps on my back and wraps his arms around my neck like a monkey. I fall on my knees and try to get his arms off of me, but I can’t. He’s really got me now. I stand up, and he’s still holding on with his arms and knees. Then I fall backward and land on top of him, and he rips a big fart.
Everything stops.
I scream. He screams. And we both start laughing. While he’s still laughing, I flip around and grab him by the neck like I’m going to strangle him, and I say, “You’re not El Flaco, you’re the Stinkbug! Lobo runs onto the mattress and starts licking Miguelito’s mask.
“NO! Stop it, Lobo. Go away. Bad boy!” Lobo stops licking his face and backs off. Miguelito gets up. His mask is crooked now, and his eyeholes are all wrong. He fixes his mask.
“Hey,” says Miguelito. “You know how to do the airplane?”
“Yeah, I know,” I say.
“Let’s do the airplane then!”
“I grab him by one arm and one leg, and I lift him off the ground and begin to spin in circles. He is shouting: “You’ll never beat me!” I spin him around faster and faster, and he’s laughing and screaming, and Lobo is going crazy, barking and barking. I feel strong, like a big giant superhero, like we’re both flying! Then it’s too fast and my hands aren’t strong enough, and I lose my grip. Miguelito goes flying past the mattress and he skids into the dirt on his face and chest. Poor Miguelito says, “UGH!” And then worst of all, Lobo runs up behind him and bites him on the shoulder. Miguelito screams. I jump in and grab Lobo by the neck and try to pull him off, but it’s hard because Lobo is big and angry and when he looks at me, it’s like he doesn’t know me anymore. When I get Lobo off of Miguelito, Lobo’s mouth is bleeding. Oh no. Maybe that’s Miguelito’s blood. Maybe Lobo bit himself on the tongue. I don’t know. This is bad. “Bad boy!” I say to Lobo, and slap him on the head. He escapes out of my hands and runs away. I go to Miguelito. His mask is all crooked, but I can see part of his mouth. It is wide open. He is crying.
“Lobo bit me. Your fucking dog bit me. Did you see all that blood on Lobo’s mouth?”
“I think maybe the blood was Lobo’s blood. He bit his own tongue.”
I stand on the mattress, breathing hard. Miguelito is still lying down and crying, but he’s hardly making any sounds. His brand-new mask has blood around the mouth and nose holes, and he has a big raspberry on his chest from skidding in the dirt and two little bloody marks that look like vampire bites on his shoulder, where Lobo bit him.
Miguelito fixes his mask. I can see his eyes are red.
“Why’d you drop me, Gordo?”
“I’m sorry, man,” I say. My voice is tiny. “It
was an accident. I couldn’t hold on. I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t of dropped me. I think I broke my shoulder.”
“You can’t break your shoulder. Shoulders don’t break.”
“I’m bleeding.”
“I tried to hold on to you,” I say. “But I couldn’t.”
“I’m going to tell my dad on you, Gordo.”
“Don’t Miguelito. I’ll fix you up, okay? Don’t tell him, man. Your dad is the meanest of all the dads. If you tell him what happened, he’ll probably hit you instead of me.” Miguelito thinks for a moment, and we’re both quiet, then someone shouts at us.
“Hey! What the hell happened?” It’s my pa. He’s walking to us. His hair is still wet from the shower. When he gets close, I can see Pa has a little bloody tissue on his chin from shaving.
“Get up, Miguelito,” says my pa. Miguelito stands up. Pa takes the laces off Miguelito’s mask and pulls it off. Pa holds Miguelito’s face and looks at it, like a doctor. Miguelito has a little blood under his nose and his lip has a cut. Pa looks at me and asks, “What happened?” I’m about to tell him what happened, but Miguelito goes first.
“I told Gordo we had to have a fight to see who is the champion of Gyrich Farms. We started fighting, then we were doing the airplane, and Gordo let go of me and I crashed into the dirt and broke my shoulder and cut my face. And stupid Lobo bit me.”
“So you asked for a fight, Flaco?” asks my pa.
“Gordo dropped me and—”
“Did you ask for a fight?”
“I guess so,” says Miguelito.
“Yes he did,” I say. “I wasn’t doing nothing and Miguelito called me out and I had to fight him, and we had an accident.”
“Miguelito,” says my pa. “Gordo’s about twenty pounds more heavier than you. He’s taller too. If a little guy like you tells a big guy he wants to fight, what do you think happens?”
