“Hey, I’m not a bum. I wanna work. I can’t help it if nobody will hire me. I mean, even your boss won’t give me a job.”
She looked at him wearily. “I’ve told you, Richard. You can’t work as a security guard unless you’re trained and certified.”
“Trained and certified. Big deal. All you do is drive around the apartment complex in a security car. How much training does it take to do that? Maybe you think I oughta enroll in the police academy just to learn how to—”
“Did you buy the ground beef?” she interrupted.
Lonnie’s dad calmed down, and his face turned sheepish. “I didn’t know you wanted me to buy ground beef.”
“It was on the list, Richard. That, and a bottle of ketchup. I told you I was making meatloaf for dinner tonight.”
“Ah, well, don’t worry about that.” He pulled out the box of taquitos from one of the plastic bags. “I bought plenty of stuff for me and Lonnie to eat.”
His wife scowled at him. Then without saying another word, she put away the groceries. Lonnie’s dad retreated to the den to watch TV, and Lonnie headed to his room, relieved that they hadn’t gotten into another fight.
His parents met when they worked at a Mexican restaurant called Mateo’s. At the time, his mother was taking basic courses at Lake West Community College, still undecided about her major. On the weekends, she waited tables at the restaurant. His dad had recently moved to Marsville from Abilene, Texas.
Lonnie’s grandpa Rodríguez worked as the superintendent of buildings and grounds at Hardin-Simmons University in Abilene, and as an employee of the school, his children were eligible to attend the university, tuition-free. But Lonnie’s dad had no interest in continuing his education and refused to take advantage of the opportunity. After a heated argument with his family over his decision, he left home to start a new life in Marsville.
In addition to working at Mateo’s, Lonnie’s dad played the guitar and sang lead in a Chicano rock band called Los Brujos. On occasion, the band performed in clubs and bars, as well as for weddings and quinceañeras.
One night, he invited Becky Salinas to a gig at a club called The Bright Star. According to her, that’s when she fell in love with him. After that, she tried to accompany him whenever Los Brujos performed.
The band leader, Gilly Sandoval, converted his garage into a recording studio, and he helped the band record a demo CD, which he then sent to various recording companies.
Richard convinced his girlfriend that a recording contract was around the corner, and that Los Brujos were going to rock the Latino music world. It was also during that time that he proposed marriage to her. Believing their days of waiting tables would soon be over, she agreed to marry him.
Six years later, Lonnie’s mother, having long dropped out of college, was still waiting tables at Mateo’s. Los Brujos had broken up, and Lonnie’s dad had just begun working at the Merriday Trucking Company. By then, Lonnie was four years old, and his parents were struggling to pay the bills.
Wanting to better her life, Lonnie’s mother applied for a job with the Marsville Police Department. Her father was a retired cop, so she decided to follow his career path. Unfortunately, she didn’t meet the MPD’s physical requirements and was rejected. She applied with other departments in the area, but for one reason or another, each one turned her down.
Undaunted, she enrolled in a police academy program at Lake West Community, and upon graduation, received her TCLEOSE license, which certified her as a Texas peace officer. Even with her certification, she still couldn’t get a job in law enforcement.
With every police department door seemingly shut, Lonnie’s mother settled for a job with the Wyndham Security Company, and she was assigned to the Sherwood Forest Apartments, where she worked the night shift. Still, she never gave up hope of one day becoming a cop and had planned to reapply with the Marsville P.D. when she felt the time was right.
At six-thirty, Lonnie and his dad sat in the den to watch the pre-game show, while a tray of taquitos heated in the oven.
Lonnie’s mother walked out of her bedroom, dressed in her uniform: a white, short-sleeved shirt, black pants and a Wyndham Security badge. She opened the foyer closet, brought down her gun belt from the top shelf and strapped it around her waist.
Smelling the taquitos, she called out, “Richard, I don’t want to see any dirty dishes in the sink when I come home from work.”
Her husband didn’t respond.
“Did you hear what I said?”
More silence.
She marched to the den and stood in front of the TV with her arms crossed. “Richard, are you listening to me?”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard you.”
“I’m serious. I’m tired of coming home and seeing the house in a mess. As long as you’re not working, the least you can do is help me keep it clean.”
Lonnie’s dad narrowed his eyes. “How am I supposed to clean the house and look for a job at same time?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Richard. You know what I mean.”
“I’m trying to watch the game,” he said, even though the game hadn’t started yet.
His wife shook her head testily. She turned to Lonnie and asked, “How are you doing with your book project?”
“It’s coming along.”
“Lonnie, you can’t keep bringing home low grades,” she said, frustrated. “You barely passed last year and …”
“Mom, my book project’s almost finished. I just need to answer a few more questions, and I’ll be done.”
“I hope so.” She grabbed an umbrella from the utility room and started out the door. Lonnie rose from the couch and followed her outside. His mother lingered on the porch, staring at the rain. Finally, she opened her umbrella and hurried to her car.
“Be safe,” Lonnie called out.
The rain didn’t let up all evening. Thunder boomed and cracks of lightning lit up the sky. Lonnie thought about Mr. Treviño. He wouldn’t be cooking burgers outside. He and his wife and their friends would probably be sitting around the dining table, laughing and joking, enjoying oven-baked burgers, not caring that the Rangers were playing in Oakland before a rowdy crowd.
He also thought about Moses, huddled under the bridge, trying to stay dry. Or, if it was true what his dad had said, maybe Moses was still standing at his corner, looking pitiful, but secretly relishing the rain because it would help him pick up more money.
Thinking back to Mr. Treviño’s fourth-grade class, Lonnie recalled him asking, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
Some kids answered, “I want to be a doctor. I want to be a lawyer. I want to be a police officer. I want to be a football player.”
Lonnie told Mr. Treviño he wanted to be a horror film actor like his namesake, Lon Chaney.
It occurred to Lonnie that Moses had once been a fourth grader, too. He had sat in a classroom and had studied math, reading, history and science. He had played in the school yard with his friends. Room mothers had served him cookies and red punch during classroom parties. He had gone on field trips and had worked on book projects. Moses might have even participated in school stage productions, like Lonnie did, when he was in the third grade, and had danced in their school’s Cinco de Mayo program.
Lonnie wondered what happened that caused Moses to end up homeless. Did he once have dreams of becoming a doctor, a lawyer, a football player, a police officer or an actor in monster movies? If so, when did his dreams die? At what point did he realize he wasn’t going to be any of those things? When Moses was in the fourth grade, did his teacher ask him what he wanted to be when he grew up? If so, what did he answer?
Did he say: “Forty years from now I want to be standing at the corner of I-27 and Peyton Avenue, on a stormy September night, stripped of all my dignity, begging for spare change”?
CHAPTER FOUR
LONNIE DIDN’T GET OUT OF BED until nine-thirty. The ball game, which the Rangers won in overtime, 7 to 6, ended after eleve
n o’clock.
His mother was asleep, and his dad was spending Labor Day at Gilly Sandoval’s house, jamming with Gilly, Joe Lara and Mario Hernández. Though Los Brujos no longer performed publicly, they still got together to jam on occasion and to reminisce about what might have been.
After a quick shower, Lonnie served himself a bowl of corn flakes and a glass of orange juice. He thumbed through the pages of The Dumfrees Move In, hoping he could gather enough information to fake a book report.
He still hadn’t heard from Axel, but it was early. Maybe he’d call later. In the meantime, Lonnie got started trying to answer some of the questions for his project.
The first one read: Who is the author of the book?
No wonder Progressive Reading was known as “reading for dummies.” What was so challenging about asking who the author was? Anybody could look at the book cover to find out. Even Mr. Treviño never asked such easy questions.
Lonnie jotted down: Violet Sparks.
Question #2: Who are the main characters?
He listed each one, including Elmo the dog. Ms. Kowalski might disagree, saying that Elmo couldn’t be a main character since he didn’t talk. If she did, Lonnie was prepared to answer that Elmo had a name and was treated like a member of the Dumfree family, so he was as much of a main character as everyone else.
Question #3: Which character do you identify with the most? Why?
Lonnie wrote: I identify with Mr. Robinson the most because he was caring and compassionate toward his friends, and that’s how my parents have raised me to be, caring and compassionate. And as Jesus said, love one another as I have loved you.
He couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculous response. Yet, it was the kind of answer Ms. Kowalski would eat up. At least he hoped she would.
He wished Axel would call, so he could rescue him from this insanity. The book project was frying his brain. Lonnie needed to get out of the house before he went completely bonkers.
He looked up at the wall clock. It was eleven-forty. Rather than waiting any longer, he called Axel. The line went to automatic voice mail, which probably meant that his cell phone wasn’t charged. Lonnie considered trying the house phone but decided to drop by instead.
When he arrived and rang the doorbell, he heard Axel’s little sister Daisy shout from inside, “I’ll get it!” Seconds later, she opened the door. A ring of spaghetti sauce circled her mouth.
“Hi, Daisy. Is Axel home?” Lonnie asked.
“Who is it, Daisy?” her mother called.
She turned around. “It’s el vago.”
Lonnie felt his face grow hot. Was that his new name at the Torres household? El vago? Mrs. Torres walked up behind Daisy and greeted him with a withering smile.
He didn’t smile back. Where did she get off calling him el vago? And worse, teaching her daughter to call him that, too?
Axel joined his mom and sister at the door. “Hey, Lonnie. I can’t talk to you right now. We’re eating.”
“That’s okay. I’ll wait out here until you’re done.”
Axel looked at his mom. Her mouth tightened, and she crooked an eyebrow.
“Hold on a second,” he said and shut the door.
Although their voices were muffled, Lonnie could still make out their conversation.
“You just saw each other yesterday.”
“Yeah, but it was church, Ma. You can’t talk in church.”
“I can’t believe that boy even goes to church.”
“Lonnie’s not a bad kid, Ma. Really. He’s one of the few friends I have at school.”
There was a pause. Then: “I don’t want you gone all day. Maybe his parents don’t care what he does, but I’m not going to have you roaming the streets, like that vago.”
Axel opened the door. “I’ll be out as soon as I’m done.”
Lonnie sat on the porch swing and waited. The aroma of spaghetti hung in the air, causing his stomach to growl. The cornflakes had long gone through his system. Axel’s mom could have invited him to join them for lunch, but she probably didn’t want el vago leeching off them.
A few minutes later, Axel walked out. “Okay, I’m ready. What do you want to do?”
“Like I told you yesterday, I want to go the paper company,” Lonnie said.
Axel gazed up at the sky. “Think we’ll be able to find anything good? I mean, it rained pretty hard last night.”
“Let’s check it out anyway.”
The Martex Paper Company was a recycling center two miles from Lonnie’s house. The side lots of the warehouse were filled with mountains of cardboard boxes, newspapers, office papers, paperback novels, magazines, as well as dozens of other paper products. In time, they would be bulldozed into a concrete pit, where they would be crunched up to form huge bales. Later, they would be shipped to a paper mill.
Lonnie liked to go the paper company to look for comic books. Most of the comics were duplicates or had pages missing, but he could generally find a few in good condition.
They crossed the street and walked past their school, which reminded Lonnie of his book project. “Do you know what a dee-now-ment is?” he asked Axel.
“How do you spell it?”
“D-e-n-o-u-e-m-e-n-t.”
Axel laughed. “It’s pronounced day-noo-moh.”
Lonnie looked at him, confused.
“It’s a French word,” he explained.
“So what does it mean?”
“Is this for your reading class?”
“Yeah. I have to tell what the dee-now-ment is for a project I’m working on.”
“Say it right, man,” Axel said. “It’s day-noo-moh.”
Lonnie pronounced the word correctly.
“The dénouement is the resolution of a story,” Axel said. “You know, how the story ends.”
“Why don’t they just call it the resolution?” Lonnie asked. “Or better yet, the ending?”
“I don’t know. I guess teachers want to fancy up the words ’cause we’re in middle school.”
They passed by the Ice House skating rink and the post office. Both were closed. Down the street stood El Farolito, a Mexican bakery shop.
“You want to pick up some pan dulce to eat on the way?” Lonnie asked.
“Nah, I just ate. But you go ahead, if you want.”
Lonnie was hungry, but he didn’t want to buy Mexican sweet bread if Axel wasn’t going to eat it with him. “Maybe on the way back,” he said.
“So what book do you have to read for your project?” Axel asked.
“It’s called The Dumfrees Move In by Violet Sparks.”
Axel stopped and gaped at him. “Dude, that’s a baby book!”
“Yeah, I know,” Lonnie said dully.
“I read that book when I was like, in the third grade.” Axel started to tease him about it, but he sensed Lonnie’s mood, so he held back. “Is that the kind of stuff they give you in Progressive Reading?” he asked, now sounding serious.
“Well, school just started, and I think my teacher wants to give us something easy to read so we won’t get discouraged and not read at all.”
“I don’t get it,” Axel said. “What are you doing in Progressive Reading, anyway? You read way better than I do, and I’m in an advanced reading class.”
“I don’t know. I just can’t seem to get my work done,” Lonnie admitted. “And I doubt I’ll have my project finished by tomorrow.”
“What do you have to do?”
Lonnie told Axel about the story elements that needed to be included in his report, as well as the questions he had to answer.
“Look, all your teacher wants is for you to tell what happened at the beginning, the middle and at the end of the story, so you can show that you read the book,” Axel said. Cracking a smile, he added, “And don’t forget to include the dee-now-ment.”
“What about the questions?” Lonnie asked, ignoring his dumb joke.
“Have you finished reading the book?”
Lonnie let ou
t a sigh of frustration. “Torres, trying to get through that stupid book is harder than swimming in quicksand. I just can’t keep my mind on it. It’s so boring.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Axel said. “I’ve read The Dumfrees Move In. Call me tonight, and I’ll help you with the answers.”
Lonnie appreciated Axel’s offer, but he felt he was demeaning himself by accepting his help. There was no logical reason for him to be struggling with a third-grade level chapter book. Running into Mr. Treviño had reminded him that he was capable of making much better grades. When Lonnie was in his class, he made the A honor roll once and the B honor roll three times. And he had the ribbons and certificates to prove it.
It was after he left Mr. Treviño’s class that his grades began to tank. In fifth grade, students were departmentalized, and Lonnie was assigned to Ms. Menchaca for reading, which made him feel apprehensive because he had heard kids say she was a lazy teacher. The rumors about her weren’t far from the truth. Their reading consisted mainly of following along in their basal reader, while a voice on a CD read the text to them. When they weren’t doing that, Ms. Menchaca handed out reading comprehension worksheets so her students could practice answering questions in preparation for the standardized reading test they would take at the end of the year. They didn’t read chapter books, and she never read aloud to them. It wasn’t long before Lonnie started bombing out, not only in her class, but in his others, too.
In sixth grade, he was placed in Mr. Dreyfus’ class for reading. His lessons, much like Ms. Menchaca’s, consisted primarily of a basal reader and reading worksheets.
Mr. Treviño used to have a bulletin board in his classroom with book covers stapled on it and a caption above that said: DISCOVER THE JOY OF READING! Lonnie’s problem was that basal readers, reading worksheets and baby books didn’t bring him any joy.
As they neared the paper company, Lonnie groaned. “Aw, man, look who’s there.”
Slurpee was yanking on the chain and padlock that held the wire gate shut, cursing and grunting, because he couldn’t get the gate open.
Herman “Slurpee” Gilmore was in Lonnie’s Progressive Reading class, and he easily fell into all three categories that qualified him to be there: he had flunked the seventh grade, he was a low reader and he definitely had “reading motivation” issues.
On the Other Side of the Bridge Page 3
