Mexican WhiteBoy

by Matt De La Peña

  “Up to you,” Uno says. “I’ll do either one.”

  Danny shrugs again.

  Uno picks up the bucket full of baseballs and stands in front of Danny. He decides he’s not gonna say anything until Danny says something. Uno’s not gonna be the one who decides this time.

  Danny looks up at Uno, holds eye contact for a few long seconds and then looks away.

  Something strange in Danny’s eyes, Uno thinks. But he has no idea what it is. He’s not a shrink. Uno looks around the ghetto Las Palmas field. At the run-down dugouts, the brown grass, the weed-infested mound. The epitome of National City, he thinks. Forgotten. Abandoned. Left to rot. Maybe he and Danny are growing apart. Maybe the kid doesn’t need him anymore. They haven’t done a hustle in weeks, and Sofia told him Danny’s mom’s coming to pick him up in a few days.

  As Uno looks at the caved-in fence he runs through his summer with Danny. The losses at the derby, the punch, the speed gun at the fair, the hustles, the train tracks. But he’d have to say his favorite times have been right here. Working out on this ghetto field. Hundreds of pitches and sit-ups and push-ups. Him going off about anything and everything and Danny barely talking.

  Uno smiles just thinking about it. Danny’s a weird cat. Sitting there all quiet in his Vans. His skater shirt. But he’s all right. He’s Uno’s boy.

  “Hey, D,” Uno finally says, breaking the silence. “Let’s do another round, man. I don’t really feel like goin’ home yet.”

  Danny shrugs. Reaches into the bucket for a ball and walks up on the mound.

  Uno looks at him for a sec, wondering what’s wrong. If it’s something he did. He sets down the bucket and walks toward the plate. Squats and holds out his target. Danny goes into his windup.

  Here I Come

  1

  “I just feel like everybody’s leaving,” Sofia says, holding on to the rusty chain of her swing. “I mean, I’m happy for you. I really am. But it makes me think about my own life.”

  “I know what you sayin’,” Uno says.

  “Like why am I here, you know? And what am I supposed to be doing?”

  Uno and Sofia are in the park part of Las Palmas, sitting on the swings, late at night. The playground is lit only by the full moon in the sky. The park’s lights were long ago shot out by los ratas, and the city never got around to replacing them.

  Uno picks up a rock, tosses it into a dark bush. “You got good grades, right, Sofe? You ever thought about college?”

  “What do I know about college? Nobody I know’s ever been there. Nobody in my family, that’s for sure.” She pushes off, swings back and forth past a still Uno. He watches her lean her head back, her long brown hair grazing the sand on the downswing.

  They’re both quiet for a few minutes. Sofia swinging and Uno tossing rocks into the closest bush. Then Sofia jumps off, walks over to the jungle gym. Uno follows. She does the monkey bars, skipping two at a time. At the end she jumps down right in front of Uno.

  He bends down a little and kisses her forehead. “Anyways,” he says, “you’ll figure it out. You smart and people like you. Maybe you could be a lawyer or somethin’.”

  Sofia laughs. “Could you imagine me tellin’ some judge what’s up about my client? Gettin’ all ghetto on ’im.”

  “I’m just sayin’,” Uno says. He watches Sofia for a few more seconds. He has an urge to kiss her forehead again, but he tells himself to chill. Picks up another rock instead, lobs it into the bush. “What’s up with your cuz?” he says. “He been actin’ mad weird the past couple days.”

  Sofia nods. “Yeah, it’s this thing with his dad.”

  Uno reaches out and rubs Sofia’s back for a sec, then he picks up another rock, twirls it in his fingers. “Thought maybe he was gettin’ tired of my dumb ass.”

  “Nah, he loves you, Uno. Trust me.”

  Uno plays Sofia’s words off, tosses the rock. “What up with his old man?”

  Sofia looks at Uno, says: “It’s a long story. A lot he doesn’t know.”

  “Like what?”

  Sofia’s quiet for a second, staring at the slide. She moves toward it. “Know what’s crazy, Uno?”

  Uno follows her.

  “A few weeks ago, Carmen and me were swingin’ here and I was watchin’ this little Mexican girl play. Probably three or four years old. Had the cutest little pink dress on. And her parents totally loved her. You could tell.”

  “What’s this got to do with D’s old man?” Uno says.

  “Shhh, I’m tellin’ you something important, all right? I’ll explain about Danny’s dad in a minute.”

  Uno smiles, says: “All right, all right. Go on.”

  “And when I tell you about my uncle Javier, you can’t say nothin’ to Danny, okay?”

  “Ain’t my place.”

  “Exactly.” Sofia puts her hands on the ladder leading up to the slide. She looks up. “Anyways, this girl climbs up the ladder real slow, right? But her parents let her do it all by herself. And the whole time she gots this huge smile on her face. And when she gets to the top of the slide, she sits there for a sec, clapping her hands and laughing. Her parents hustle around to the bottom of the slide and wait for her. And she looks down at them and says in her little-kid voice, ‘Here I come.’ And she slides into her parents’ arms.”

  Uno gives Sofia a weird look, says: “What the hell you talkin’ ’bout, girl?”

  Sofia climbs the ladder and sits at the top. “It was like she was saying it to more than just her parents, though. She was saying it to everybody around her that day. To the whole world, even. ‘Here I come.’ And I kept thinking, Man, I bet I was like that when I was little, too. What’s happened to me since then? We all start out believing we can do anything. Even Mexican kids that grow up here. But at some point we lose it. It totally disappears. Like me, for example. Why is that?”

  Uno walks around to the front of the slide, says: “You talkin’ nonsense, Sofe.”

  “Am I?”

  “I mean, I’m tryin’ to get what you mean. I think I do, but I ain’t sure.”

  They’re both quiet for a few seconds, and then Sofia claps a couple times, says: “Here I come.” And she slides into Uno’s waiting arms.

  Uno pulls her up, kisses her on the lips.

  She laughs, wipes her hands on the sides of her jeans.

  Uno brushes off her backside, shaking his head. He laughs, says: “You crazy, Sofe.”

  “I’m just me.”

  “That’s enough, girl. Trust me.” They stare into each other’s eyes for a sec and then Sofia makes a face at him.

  “Now come on, Sofe,” Uno says. “Tell me what’s up with D’s old man.”

  Danny and Uno at Petco Park

  1

  Six days before his mom is supposed to come for him, Danny and Uno take a bus downtown, hop off at the stop in front of San Diego’s Petco Park, where the Padres play. They join the line to get inside and both stare up in awe at the brick-and-stucco outside of the huge baseball stadium.

  “Yo, D,” Uno says. “This my first time ever goin’ to a game.”

  Danny nods. “Me too.”

  “I mean, in any sport.” Uno holds out his hands, says: “Look at me, D, I’m so excited I’m shakin’.”

  Inside, they race up several flights of stairs and emerge from the concourse. Their mouths drop at the sight of the pristine baseball diamond. The manicured grass and sculpted infield. The uniformed players tossing long rainbows to each other in the outfield. Taking grounders at second and short and third in the infield dirt. The pitcher standing on top of the mound like a king, looking in at his catcher, going into a warm-up windup. Uno and Danny cruise through the various bleacher sections, Danny feeling excited for the first time in more than a week. Uno talking nonstop but saying nothing. Oddly nice to Danny. Not even one crack at his expense.

  They ride an elevator up to the top of the giant tower, take in the breathtaking view of Balboa Park and the downtown skyline, Coronado I
sland, and off in the distance the mountains. They ride the elevator back down and walk around the entire food loop, checking out the vast concession options. They sneak past a pair of gray-haired ushers and make their way right down to the home dugout, where they hang their faces over the railing to get a glimpse of their favorite players.

  When the game is about to start they find their seats and stand up for the national anthem and sit down when the organ sounds and the voice of the stadium announcer booms. The first Dodger batter steps to the plate to boos and they watch the first pitch rip right past his slow bat, and everybody in the crowd cheers. The giant scoreboard lights up in bright colors.

  Food vendors circulate through the narrow aisles holding up their goods and shouting.

  “Peanuts here! Peanuts!”

  “Popcorn!”

  “Ice cold beer! Get your ice cold beer here!”

  “Hot dogs! Foot-long and regular! Polish sausage! Hot dogs!”

  Uno points out every subtle gesture between pitcher and catcher. Every head nod and smack of the glove. Every understated tap on the inside of a shin guard. But Danny hardly hears him. He’s too busy dreaming about how it would feel to stand atop a big-league mound. To go into a windup in front of thousands of screaming fans. Wing a fastball past an all-star centerfielder and have a close-up of his face flash across a scoreboard. The baritone announcer drawing out his name for everybody in the house: “Daaaaannnny Loooooooooppppeezzz!” The shirtless bleacher bums hanging another K over the right field fence, next to a giant replica of the back of his jersey.

  During the second inning the Padres score two runs. During the fourth, the Dodgers score one. During the fifth, Uno reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. He waves down the beer guy and shouts: “Yo, lemme get a couple drafts, money. Whatever you got in a light.”

  The guy shouts back: “Still got a couple years yet, chief. Tell you what, I’ll send up the guy sellin’ apple juice.”

  Everybody around them laughs—including Uno, who settles for a couple Cokes off the Coke guy.

  They both turn back to the game. A Dodger hitter pops a pitch straight up in the infield. The third baseman and shortstop almost run into each other going for it, but at the last second the shortstop sidesteps his teammate and comes away with the catch. The crowd cheers as the San Diego infielders throw the ball around the horn. Lob it back to their pitcher.

  Danny hears the voice of the hot dog guy coming their way. He nudges Uno. “Want one?”

  “Wha’chu think?” Uno says, pulling out his wallet.

  “I got it,” Danny says, waving him off. “Keep it for Oxnard.”

  Uno nods at him, says: “You gonna be all right, too, D.”

  Danny gives him a strange look. What the heck is Uno talking about?

  “I’m just sayin’,” Uno says. “You a good kid. That’s all that matters in the end.”

  Danny shoots Uno another look. He turns to the hot dog vendor, watches him kneel in front of a family of four and squirt catsup onto five dogs, one right after the other. The guy twirls the dispenser in his fingers like a gunslinger and sticks it back in his catsup holster. The family cheers. When he stands up, turns around, Danny signals for him.

  The vendor spots Danny and starts toward him. But then he freezes. The two of them lock eyes, stare at each other for a few long seconds.

  At first the vendor’s just a familiar face under a familiar Padres cap. A memory Danny can’t quite place. But then he realizes it’s the big Mexican scout.

  But what’s he doing slinging hot dogs? Shouldn’t he be up in the press box? At the end of the dugout writing things down about opposing pitchers?

  The scout lowers his head and slowly backs out of Danny’s aisle. A couple hungry college kids whistle for his attention, but he doesn’t acknowledge them. He walks out of the section and heads down into the concourse.

  Danny turns to Uno, makes sure that he’s still staring at the action on the field. “Be right back,” he says quickly, and makes his way out of the row.

  2

  Danny moves toward the concourse, spots the scout walking with his case of hot dogs about twenty yards ahead and calls out: “Hey!”

  The scout keeps walking, doesn’t turn around.

  Danny jogs to catch up, touches the guy on his arm. “Hey. You’re the scout we always see, right?”

  He slows a bit, turns to Danny.

  Danny points to the hot dogs. “Why you selling hot dogs?”

  “It’s my job,” the scout says in a slight Mexican accent.

  Danny shoves his hands in his pockets. “I thought you were a scout.”

  The guy shakes his head.

  “But you go to games. I remember you were always in the bleachers at my school, watching Kyle Sorenson.”

  “I was there to watch you.”

  “Me? I wasn’t even playing.”

  The guy nods, looks around. He motions for Danny to follow him.

  They weave through the long lines at the concession stands and duck through an unmarked door. The scout sets down his hot dog harness next to a few others, leans against a big steel table and folds his arms. Stacked neatly behind him are hundreds of packages of hot dog buns.

  He shakes his head, stares down at the black-and-white checkered tiles, sighs. “He asked me if I could watch over you. While he’s away.”

  Danny looks back at the scout, a frown coming over his face.

  The scout pulls off his Padres cap, smoothes his thick black hair peppered with gray and pulls the cap back on. “Your dad asked me if I could. I said yes, of course.”

  Danny’s stomach drops. His entire body goes numb, limp. Like he’s paralyzed. His dad? He feels light, like he could just float away at any second. He sits down in a metal chair by the door and stares at the stacks of hot dog buns.

  “He saved my life one time, your dad,” the scout says.

  Danny can feel his heart banging against his chest, climbing into his throat. He wonders if the scout can hear his heart, too. He looks up at him, leaning against the table there. Not a scout but a hot dog vendor. Somebody who knows his dad. Maybe knows where he is right now. Today. He wants to ask, but he can’t get the words out. He doesn’t want to know the answer.

  The scout shakes his head, raps his knuckles on the table. He takes a deep breath and looks down at his huge hands.

  Danny doesn’t move. He stares up at the guy with a blank expression now. There’s a long silence and then Danny says: “How’d he save you?”

  The scout picks up a pack of buns. He looks down at Danny, wipes a hand across his face. “He always brags on you, you know. Goes on and on about what a great kid you are. A great player, too, he tells everybody.”

  Danny stares back, hardly able to listen and hanging on every word.

  “But everyone says this about their kids. You get pulled away like that you only remember what you wanna remember. He’s right, though, your dad. I been watching, you really are a good kid. A great ballplayer.”

  Danny looks away. His thoughts are scattered all over the place. Or maybe he has no thoughts. An empty head. Nothing. He stares at the packs of buns piled on the table. There must be hundreds of them. How many people get to see something like this? he wonders. All these buns behind the scenes. He stands up, walks over to the end of the table and picks up a pack, squeezes. Sets it down. He remains very still for a couple seconds, feeling the blood moving through his veins. Hearing the sound he makes as he swallows. Like there’s a tiny microphone in there. “How’d he save you?” he says, focusing on the buns.

  The scout runs his hands down his face again. “You will move back to Leucadia soon. He told me your mom is coming back.”

  Danny nods.

  “Tell you what, you ask her these questions.”

  Danny turns to face the scout. “I don’t wanna ask her.”

  The scout looks into Danny’s glassy eyes, nodding.

  “Okay,” he says. “Okay. This is the truth, Danny. One day
I got jumped by a bunch of black guys. In front of everybody. They tried to kill me. Your dad was the only one who stepped in. He beat two of them real bad and the others backed away. They never did this to me again. And me and your dad turned into friends.”

  Danny sits back down in his chair.

  “This happened in prison,” the scout says. “I will never forget this.”

  Danny focuses on the buns. His chest is hardly moving with his breaths. He pictures his dad’s face the last time he saw him. Wouldn’t make eye contact. Hung his head as they sat in silence. Said he was going away. Ensenada, Mexico.

  Someone rattles the doorknob from outside, but it’s locked. They knock.

  Neither Danny nor the Mexican scout moves. After a few more seconds the person walks away.

  Danny looks up at the guy, says: “He never went to Mexico.”

  The scout looks at Danny. He sighs, shakes his head. “He’s still in prison.”

  Danny stares back at the scout for a while, trying to think. But no thoughts come.

  3

  Danny scoots past the people in row D and sits back down next to Uno. He doesn’t say anything. Simply watches the game like everybody else. Except he’s not really watching the game. His head is flooded with words he doesn’t know how to process. And he’s exhausted for some reason. Completely drained. Like he could curl up on his cot and sleep for days.

  Two Padres are on base—first and second. The Dodger pitcher spins around and throws the ball to the shortstop, who has snuck behind the lead runner at second base. The base runner slides in just under the tag and the ump calls him safe. The crowd reacts when the replay on the scoreboard shows how close it was.

  Uno turns to Danny, gives him a quick nod, goes back to the game. “What took you so long, D? You droppin’ a deuce?”

  Danny shakes his head.

  “And I thought you was supposed to get us some dogs, man. How you gonna come back here all empty-handed?”

  “I forgot.”

  “You forgot?” Uno turns to him with a frown. “Hey, man, you all right?”