The windows are shut and I sneeze from the dust. I finally hit the closet. It’s a sea of clothes, coordinated by color. That’s one thing we both share, a sense of fashion organization. I push aside a row of slacks and reach a back shelf that holds what look like important files. Receipts from dinners and nightclub admission stubs are bundled together with a rubber band. Still not what I want.
Just as I’m about to give up my toe hits something with a loud thump. It’s hidden far back in the closet but after jostling a few items around, I’m able to get a firm grip. I place the long aluminum box on Junior’s bed. There’s no lock on it. I open it.
The box is filled with money, rolls upon rolls of cash. My heart sinks, then pounds. I’ve never seen so much money in one place. There are bills in amounts I’ve never possessed. My hands waver in front of the money as if the bills themselves will turn around and bite me.
“What the fuck.” I take the rolls out one by one and arrange them on the bed.
That’s where I find the unthinkable. Beneath the cash are tiny plastic baggies full of rocks. Rocks and white powder. There are so many.
Jesus. Oh my god. This is how he could afford a Tiffany. Drugs.
Right in the corner of the box are a well-used pipe and several lighters. The room seems to tilt and then everything slants into place. Junior’s sudden weight loss. His extreme actions. His disheveled appearance. It makes sense. He’s the thief.
Papi. I’ve got to tell Papi.
I dial his number but no one answers. It’s close to ten. Papi always locks up by eleven on Saturdays. There’s no way I can keep this in. He’ll know what to do. I scoop up a couple of the baggies, place the money in the box, and put the box back in the closet where I found it. I run downstairs, hop on my bike, and head to the train station.
I can’t think straight.
Chapter 22
The number of times I call Papi borders on stalker territory. Every time, it goes straight to his voice mail. I can’t miss him. I’m trying again when I notice a cop patrolling the platform. He nods hello at me. I’m holding god knows what kind of drugs. My night can’t end with a trip to jail.
I pray for this to be a huge mistake. Maybe Junior’s holding this stuff for someone else or he’s been forced to against his will. But who am I kidding? Junior’s been out of control for some time. What goes through his head? Drugs. There are so many ways to make money. He must have watched Scarface one too many times. I’ve seen the end of that movie. Not pretty.
When the train finally arrives, it goes at a deadly slow pace, stopping at every station. I’m left with my thoughts, running through the signs that pointed to Junior’s problems. It plays out like a corny antidrug PSA. We ignored them. The fact that he lost weight and his insane mood swings. Junior even pulled out that big wad of cash on me like he was Pitbull’s manager. What a joke! I had my suspicions but I denied them.
And Oscar? We both screwed him. From the minute I stepped into the supermarket Oscar made me feel welcome. He was always fair. If Oscar scolded you, you deserved it. But he became our sucker. We both lied through our straight white teeth and let him take the fall for us.
I try Papi again but there’s no cell phone service.
I finally reach the Yankee Stadium station. Only a few more blocks. The rain has stopped and what remains is an imposing heat. The air feels heavy. Dirty. Nothing can combat the intense swelter. I should try to take a bus but there is a small crowd waiting. It’s going to be a while. I decide to walk instead. Smells of gasoline and melting tar hit me as I wait at a red light.
“Where you going, mama?” a man yells from the sidewalk. “I’ll go with you.”
Eager to get away from the pervert, I cross the street and a gypsy cab almost hits me. I’ve got to calm down. Papi will know what to do. Junior is in desperate need of saving. The good news is Oscar can come back. The supermarket can return to normal. No more drama. I’ll soon be back at school and the horrible Sanchez kids with their evil selfish ways will no longer create havoc in the South Bronx. Papi should never have forced us to work there. It’s obvious we can’t handle it.
I finally reach the front of the supermarket. The light from the corner streetlamp reflects off the SANCHEZ & SONS sign. It’s ten past eleven. There’s still a chance that I can catch Papi.
A group of guys lean against the wall. It’s so strange to see them out here at night and to see the supermarket so desolate. Everything seems so out of place. My eyes still search for Moises, a stupid habit that does nothing to comfort me. He can’t help. No one can. This is a family affair and for once I totally understand what Papi and Mami constantly drill into us: There is only the family and no one else.
A boy from the group recognizes me. “It’s closed,” he says.
“Did you see my father leave?” I ask. “Mr. Sanchez?”
The guy shakes his head. Even with the doors locked, I pound away in the hope that Papi’s still in the office. I press my face to the window. There’s no answer. I start the long walk around the block to the back of the store. He might be still parked, about to drive home. Why doesn’t he answer his damn phone? I don’t understand people who have a cell phone and refuse to check it every five minutes like a normal person. This trip can’t be a complete waste of time. I pick up the pace.
Relief comes over me as I notice Papi’s car at the far end of the lot. Thank god. I can just about make out his head in the car. He’s probably listening to the roughly twenty phone messages I left him and wondering what the hell is wrong.
“Papi!”
I wave to him but he doesn’t move. I walk even faster. His car windows are closed. It’s too hot for that. He must be suffocating. Has he fallen asleep? Maybe he’s sick. I run to the car, ready to smash the window open. But as I get nearer I see that he’s not alone. There’s someone else in the car.
And his hand . . . His hand is caressing the person’s cheek.
My feet turn to cement. I fight to register what’s going on, for my brain to make the connection with what my eyes see. I can’t look away. I know exactly what’s happening. He is kissing this person and I can’t move although everything inside me screams to. My cell phone slips from my hand and crashes to the ground. The sound startles Jasmine.
Oh my god. It’s Jasmine. She’s in the car.
My feet turn to take me as far away as possible from that, from them. My name is called. Footsteps. Papi catches up to me.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. He struggles to tuck his shirt back into his pants. “Margot, answer me.”
I’m going to be sick. A car door slams shut. Jasmine is either out of the car or has closed the door to stay in. I want to get out of here. I don’t want to answer his questions and watch him adjusts his pants. Where do I look? Not at him. Not at the floor. He grips my arm and jerks me. I yank back. The anger finally reaches the surface and joins the present moment.
“How could you do this?” I scream. “To Mami? To us?”
“There’s no reason for you to be here at this hour,” he says. “Why aren’t you home?”
“Stop asking me questions!” I’m furious.
“Calm down. This is a private matter. You need to go home. It’s late.”
“Private? You’re in a parking lot!” I’m so loud that the boys from out front stroll back to check the commotion. “She works for you. Do you pay her extra for this? Is this what overtime means? At least pay for a hotel.”
“Keep your voice down. Let’s go inside and talk about this.” Papi’s unable to look me in the eye. Instead, he walks toward me as if diminishing the distance between us will keep the outrage from spilling out. But I can’t be contained.
“You’re married. Does that mean anything to you? You’re disgusting. A cerdo. A pig.” The insults tumble out as quickly as the tears.
“Hey, are you all right?” the boy from earlier asks. His buddies surround us now. An audience to witness Papi’s vulgar ways.
“Everything is fin
e. Just an argument,” Papi says like a true showman. He can’t afford any public embarrassments. I completely lose it and curse at him, something I’ve never done before.
“Enough, Princesa,” he says. “I want you inside the supermarket right now.” He’s mad but he has no right. I won’t let him hide behind his stupid reputation. I’m peeling off his bullshit of a mask, of being the loving father and husband. With each step Papi takes I let out another string of insults.
“You liar. You piece of shit. You are nothing but a sucio.”
He tries his best to shush me. The neighborhood guys don’t turn away even when Papi tells them this is a personal matter. Why should they? This is better than TV, better than watching the cars drive by.
“What’s it like, Papi? Huh?” I say. “What’s it like to have your employee fuck you in your car?”
Papi lunges at me. I try to avoid him but I trip and fall to the ground.
A collective hush falls over everyone until a guy from the group says, “Damn, that’s fucked up.”
“Margot, let’s go inside,” Papi pleads, desperate to conceal this scene from the people he serves. He offers me a hand to help me back up on my feet.
“Don’t touch me.” I pick myself up and storm away. Papi runs after me. He looks insane as he pulls my arm. I wrestle to try to break free.
“Leave her alone!” someone yells. And with that, Papi comes to his senses and lets go of me. He can’t be seen this way. Unraveled. He has a rep to uphold. I barrel out of there. I don’t know where I’m going but I need to get away.
Images flash in my head. Jasmine. Papi. I can’t even begin to process it. A car alarm goes off and I jump from the noise. My heart is about to come out of my body. I’m so upset but I just keep walking. I don’t know where I am. Nothing looks familiar. I finally stop in front of a community garden. The heat is so oppressive that it’s hard for me to breathe. I find a bench and sit.
Unlike my father, I have no qualms about showing random people who walk by how I feel. They stare as if whatever ails me might also contaminate them. I try to calm down but it’s impossible. I reach inside my purse and realize that my phone is still on the ground in the supermarket parking lot. But who would I even call? Serena and Camille wouldn’t understand. It’s too embarrassing.
I sit there crying, reimagining my life into a more favorable conclusion. In my ideal, my brother stays in college and graduates. Oscar still works for us and I spend my summer far away from here. But no matter how hard I try to reconfigure the events, Jasmine still ends up in the front seat of Papi’s car.
What a hypocrite. Papi hides behind long-winded speeches showing how perfect he is. He looked down on Moises while fucking Jasmine. What a fool I was to listen to her sob story the other day. I’m the clueless girl who couldn’t figure out that her brother is a thief and an addict while her father is the true player of the family.
Wait.
I’m a liar too. I used Nick that night. Maybe I did him a favor with the beers but the rest of it? That was me. Truth be told, I used Moises too. I tried to play him the night we hung out on the roof. I knew deep down my friends and family would never accept him. And when I got to know him, I wasn’t brave enough to allow myself to get closer. Instead, I turned to Nick. How different am I than my father, than my brother? I’m well on my way to following in their footsteps.
I don’t want this family history. I have to believe I have a choice. But what if it’s in my blood? Can I keep from making the same mistakes? I’m not sure.
There’s no way of telling what time it is. It must be late. I search for the nearest train station. I don’t know what I’m doing.
Chapter 23
The streets are desolate. Barely anyone around. I need to unburden myself, to share what happened with someone else, because right now it feels like a bad dream. I lean my bike in front of Elizabeth’s house but fear keeps me from entering. Why am I hesitating? Humiliation. My family is a joke and a part of me wants to deny what happened. It would be easier to pretend everything is fine. Simpler to head back home, but only more heartache awaits me there.
Elizabeth is dabbing a bit of paint onto a canvas in her studio. She takes a few steps back to look at her work and then continues. The Boogaloo Bad Boys are playing on her radio. I knew she’d be up. She always likes to paint at night. I’m sort of gambling here. She can turn me away. I deserve the brush-off but I pray she doesn’t give it to me because I need her.
I gather what little courage I can and knock on the door.
“Ma, I’m working.” Elizabeth doesn’t turn away from her canvas. I’ve always been jealous of how much time she dedicates to her art. “I’m an artist,” she’d say with such conviction. I’ve never been sure of anything.
“Elizabeth,” I mumble. My throat is raw. I’m raw right down to my fingertips. Elizabeth doesn’t conceal her shock.
“What happened?” she asks. “Are you okay?”
Everything wells up again. Where to begin? It’s too painful. I’m taken right back to the supermarket. To him. To Jasmine’s face.
“I’m not hurt. Can I please sit here?” I say. “I won’t bother you.”
Elizabeth turns the music down.
“Sure,” she says, and places a bottle of water on the table next to the futon sofa. There’s a box of tissues and I proceed to empty it. After a few minutes, Elizabeth returns to her canvas and paints. The canvas displays the outline of kids splashing around in front of a hydrant. Their wide grins posed in screams of delight. I recognize the area. It’s Poe Park, the park she took me to the day we ran into Moises. It was the last time she and I spoke.
We stay like this for a long time.
“Sometimes it’s better to say whatever is on your mind really quick,” Elizabeth eventually says. “Mom swears it’s bad for your body to keep it in. Like a cancer. You have to get it out as soon as possible.”
I take a couple of deep breaths.
Elizabeth is the only person I can trust right now. Not Serena and Camille. Papi’s disgusting act and Junior’s addiction are a reflection of the type of family I come from. I could never admit any of this to them. Elizabeth won’t judge. I gulp down some water and begin.
“I caught Papi kissing some girl from work.” Elizabeth puts down her paintbrush and motions for me to give her the bottle.
“Wow,” she says, then takes a sip.
“Yeah.” I can’t even make a joke about it. How he offers a full benefits package for the workers there. How the “S” in “Sanchez” stands for “suck.” The jokes are there but I’m too numb to offer any punch lines.
“Does your mom know?”
“I think she knows something. The way she treated Jasmine the other day. Like dirt. Worse than dirt,” I say. “Jasmine. That’s her name.”
Who knows how long this thing has been going on, but there’s no doubt that Mami knew about it. That trip to the supermarket had everything to do with Papi. The way she tossed that money to Jasmine like she was a whore and those late-night talks to her sisters in Puerto Rico. The arguments and the sadness. I’m probably the only person in the family who hasn’t figured out that their marriage is falling apart. Somewhere inside I knew things were bad but I thought they weren’t getting along because of the missing money and the problems with Junior. I didn’t think past that.
“When I caught him, Papi got angry with me. Can you believe it?”
Elizabeth shakes her head but she doesn’t offer anything more than that. No exclamations. She listens but her expression is bland or maybe guarded. I want her to be as floored as I am. I keep giving her more details. Maybe it’s the way I present the story.
“Jasmine has been working at the supermarket for years. She’s older than us but not by much. Papi always warned me not to get too close to the people there, that we’re better than them, and look at what he does. In the parking lot of all places.”
The longer Elizabeth stays quiet, the more worked up I get. When will she freak ou
t about it like I’m freaking out right now? Anything but this blank expression.
“I’ve been walking around with blinders on,” I say. “Not really seeing what’s going on right in front of me. I’ve been clueless.”
Still nothing. I can’t take it. Why is Elizabeth acting so cold? The sadness I felt before I came into her studio transforms into anger. If Elizabeth doesn’t say something soon I’ll go crazy.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I’m listening,” she says.
“Then why are you acting as if I’m reading a history book to you?” I’m so upset. I want her to be my friend. Why can’t she do that? “Maybe you knew Papi was banging Jasmine. Is that it? This isn’t news to you? If you know something, tell me. A friend is supposed to share everything. No matter what.”
“A friend.” Elizabeth repeats the word. “You come over here after I don’t know how many days of not speaking to me. And now you accuse me of not being a good friend. But friendship isn’t about that.”
I can’t believe Elizabeth’s turning my drama around to attack me. It’s true that I haven’t been around but it’s not my fault.
“You’ve been acting like such a user,” she says.
“I’m not a user.”
“What do you call that whole thing that went down with Freddie and the cases of beer?” she says.
“What did he say?” I can’t believe Freddie told her my business. That party will forever haunt me. “It was nothing. I didn’t make him do anything. It was a stupid mistake.”
“You never even bothered to ask if I wanted to go to that party but you invited Freddie, who you just met the other day. I’m so tired of trying.”
She says this with a calm voice.
“You don’t understand the pressure I’ve been under. It’s been hard to keep up the . . .” I stop talking. I sound like Junior. Excuses are meaningless. I don’t know how to be a friend without the act somehow benefiting me.
“You’re not the only person in this world,” Elizabeth says. “Everyone hurts and everyone messes up. I just never thought you would be one of those people who would hurt me. You know, you never once introduced me to your new friends. And that day at the park? You just left.”
The Education of Margot Sanchez Page 17
