“WHY CAN’T I do my driving with Dad? His car’s smaller,” Ethan whined.
Miss sighed. “You ask such easy questions. Your dad’s not going to let you drive his precious car. Ask me something hard — like, Hey, Mom, why don’t you drop me off at the nearest bus stop?”
Ethan snorted. French was a private language between Miss and me, but Ethan and his mom spoke in sarcasm. Behind the steering wheel, his head swiveled, scanning the street in front of our apartment. The turn signal continued its click-click-click, counting off the seconds. In the seat next to him, Miss sat with her “patient” look.
He eased the van into the street. “This thing’s a boat. It’s like trying to pilot the USS Enterprise.”
At sixteen, Ethan looked too small to be driving, especially something as large as the van. But that’s not why I was amazed.
Ethan was afraid to drive. And he didn’t care that we knew. Boys in our neighborhood could be scared sometimes, but only little ones would admit it.
Rosa grinned. “Ethan, you are such a weenie!”
Miss shot her a look, and Rosa’s grin disappeared.
I was glad Miss made Rosa “put a sock in it,” as Ethan would say. No other boy I knew was brave enough to be afraid.
But if driving a car was the scariest thing Ethan had to do, he was lucky. Even after months with Miss, I still had fears, but not about stupid stuff like taking French or girls in gymnastics class. Real fears.
Mamá had tried to cross la línea once already. She was looking for another guide to help her, because the first one got shot in the knee. When they took Mamá back to Mexico, la migra — the border police — brought the injured man to a hospital. His joint was shattered. He’d live, but he might not walk again.
No one said it. Not Papi, or Rosa, or Tía, or me. But we all thought it. That could’ve been Mamá who was shot.
I was afraid to go to bed. The last several mornings, Papi found Rosa and me asleep on the sofa with the television on. Each time we lied and told him we got caught up in a movie. He bawled us out, telling us we needed our sleep for school. I couldn’t tell him the truth — that I’d been having nightmares about men in uniforms with guns.
Rosa and I wouldn’t talk about our dreams. Not even to each other. That would make them too real. We walked around with fear in our bellies and worry in our minds.
Miss leaned forward from the passenger seat and tapped the middle of the windshield with her left hand.
Ethan flicked on the turn signal and took the next left.
She leaned forward and tapped the right side of the windshield. Ethan turned right.
It went on like that. No one said anything until we got to the recreation center. Miss took the keys and walked inside. Rosa and Ethan followed.
I blocked Cody’s path. “Why did your mom do that? Tap on the window? Why wouldn’t she talk to him?”
“Ethan has ADD — Attention Deficit Disorder.” Cody said it like that explained everything. But he must’ve read the confusion in my face. “He has trouble focusing, remembering right, left, east, west. So Mom taps on the glass.”
“Ethan told me he’s a genius. He’s — disabled?”
“He’s both.”
I didn’t know what to think about that. Ethan seemed so smart sometimes. Like when he was making movies or inventing new games. But it was true that other times his big ideas got us into trouble. Those were the times when Miss said he was impulsive. But I still didn’t understand what that meant.
Cody read my face. He shrugged. “Ethan is Ethan.”
Inside the rec center, Rosa went swimming with Ethan and Cody. Miss watched as I did gymnastics.
It’d begun as something fun to do, but gymnastics had become something more. It took my mind off my fears when days passed with no word from Mamá. You can’t do a forward roll on the balance beam and be thinking of something else. A human brain isn’t big enough.
It seemed wrong to force Mamá from my mind. But thinking about her made me curl into a ball of pain. Papi found me once, hiding under his bedcovers. He gathered me into his arms, like I was still little. For that moment, I was completely safe. I wanted him to hold me like that forever.
He told me not to worry. “Your mamá’s smart. She’s crossed la línea many times, sí? We need to be patient — to be strong like your mamá.”
But afterward he stayed in his room with the door closed for a long time. His eyes were red when he came out.
I wanted to be strong. For him. I tried to wait.
But I found myself checking my watch, counting days on the calendar, acting just like Miss. I realized why she hated waiting. The terrible thing about waiting is there’s no way to do it faster.
Miss’s influence took over other parts of my life, too. The fun and freedom of flipping around in gymnastics gave way to a different feeling — the power of making my body perform.
My hunger for control spilled into the rest of my life. I did not want to be someone things just happened to. I wanted to be the one to make them happen.
Someone like my mentor.
Life was about to remind me that feeling in control and actually having control are two different things.
When Rosa and I walked into our apartment after getting home from the recreation center, everything seemed normal.
But Suelita should’ve been sitting in the living room with animal crackers and a juice box. There should’ve been cartoons on the TV. The smell of rice and beans should’ve been hanging in the air. We should’ve heard the soft rumbling of Papi’s sleep as he rested between his day and night jobs.
Our apartment had forgotten us. It’d been home when we’d left, a couple of hours before, but the rooms were suddenly strangers. We walked through the silence to find Papi’s bed empty.
Rosa swallowed her panic. I watched the lump slide right down her throat. Then she said, “Papi’s probably still at Tía’s.”
So I gulped down my panic, too. The fear hitting my stomach almost made me sick. But it was easier than facing the truth.
For almost one whole day we pretended that everything was fine. Rosa called Tía to see if Papi was there. Maybe he has to fix something? Isn’t Tía’s faucet leaking?
When Tía said he hadn’t come for Suelita, we pretended he had to pick up a few things at the store. When we tried to call and he didn’t answer, we told each other his phone needed charging.
Rosa and I walked to Tia’s to get Suelita. After we made dinner, we left Papi’s meal on a plate with another plate over it so he could eat it when he got home.
We pretended to do our homework, glancing out of the corners of our eyes at the phone. Our ears strained to hear his footsteps coming down the stairwell. We went to bed and pretended to sleep.
The next morning his cold plate of food was still on the table. Neither of us moved it. That would be bad luck.
Rosa scrambled some eggs for breakfast, but that was the only thing that was normal. She brewed coffee as a special treat, but we couldn’t drink it. It stayed bitter even with the milk and sugar she stirred into it. We each took a sip and pushed it away.
Same kitchen, same breakfast. But without Mamá and Papi, it wasn’t home.
Papi would’ve taken Suelita to Tía’s, then gone to his day job. We should’ve done that — taken Suelita to Tía Carmen’s and gone to school. But we decided to stay home, watch Suelita, and wait for Papi. We gave ourselves the excuse that we hadn’t slept well. Maybe we’re coming down with colds?
It was good that we were tired. Otherwise anyone who came down the stairwell could’ve looked through our front window and seen us watching TV. If we’d been talking, they would’ve heard us through the apartment walls.
But my sisters and I were cuddled together on Mamá and Papi’s bed, asleep.
BAM! BAM! BAM! “POLICE! ANYBODY HOME?”
I sat up, too scared to cry out.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Suelita filled her lungs to emit a shriek.
&nb
sp; Rosa clamped her hand over our sister’s mouth. Suelita clawed Rosa’s arm with her sharp little nails, but Rosa hung on.
Like our lives depended on it.
The pounding on the door stopped, but my heart kept hammering. The three of us froze.
“HELLO? ANYONE THERE?”
Rosa and I stared at each other, eyes wild, not breathing.
“MAPLEWOOD POLICE, LOOKING FOR THE JUÁREZ RESIDENCE?”
Suelita thrashed.
“¡Silencio!” Rosa hissed.
I grabbed Suelita’s hands to stop her from tearing Rosa’s skin.
The pounding on the door continued.
I winced at each blow. Will he kick the door open? Like on television?
Silence.
Slowly Rosa removed her hand from our sister’s red face. Suelita drew a long, gasping breath. She whimpered but stifled the sound and turned away when Rosa moved to cover her mouth again.
Heavy footfalls reverberated up the stairwell, the sound dying away.
We waited. I felt dizzy until I remembered to breathe.
What’s happened to Papi? Will they take us to foster care?
I whispered, “What do they want?”
“Shh!” Rosa hissed, listening to the stillness.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The bed bounced as we jumped. A small squeal escaped my lips. We turned to see a shadow on the sheet covering the high basement window across the room from us.
“POLICE! ANYONE HOME? LOOKING FOR THE JUÁREZ FAMILY!”
Rosa and I stared in terror. Suelita clapped her hands over her eyes. Except for our racing hearts, we were paralyzed. Statues.
My blood whooshed in my ears. Like a washing machine.
The shadow on the curtain hesitated. Then moved away.
Minutes passed. We didn’t speak, didn’t move. Finally our muscles loosened and we lay back against the softness of our parents’ bed. Suelita rolled to her side, into Rosa’s warmth, burrowing there, whimpering.
Tears dripped down my face.
Rosa reached out and rubbed my shoulder. I saw the scratches from Suelita’s nails on her arm.
“We need to call Miss,” I said.
Rosa shook her head. “We need to go to Tía’s.”
BUT THE NEXT DAY I did call Miss. Papi told me to. And that shows how desperate he was.
He’d been arrested for a burned-out taillight. He’d tried calling our apartment from the jail and was worried when we didn’t answer. He sounded relieved to find us at Tía’s.
I was so relieved, just hearing his voice, that my eyes started leaking. When I’d finally fallen asleep the night before, lying head to toe with Rosa on Tía’s sofa, I dreamed of the porch at Angélica’s old apartment. The place where her papá died.
It was splattered in red.
We told Papi we’d gone to Tia’s because the police had come to our door. He worried and wondered how they’d known where to find us. He was careful not to carry anything with our address on it.
We huddled together — my aunt, my sisters, and me — straining to hear him through Tía’s ancient speakerphone. Waiting for him to tell us what to do.
“Call Miss,” he’d said.
Rosa and I exchanged looks. Did I hear right? Papi had warned me many times not to tell Miss anything. Now he wants me to call her? But when I thought about it, it made sense. The thing we’d been afraid of had already happened. And if anyone could fix it, that person was Miss.
Tears streamed down our faces as Papi said he loved us. I wanted to say so many things, but my words stuck like a chicken bone, tearing the inside of my throat.
When Tía said good-bye to Papi, her voice broke with fear. I’d always thought of her as a grown-up, but just then I realized that she was younger than Papi — a lot younger — and that being left alone with the six of us kids was too much for anyone.
She pushed the phone at me as she echoed Papi’s words. “Call Miss.”
My hands shook when I took the handset from her. I wanted to take it to another room, but the phone was the old-fashioned kind, with a cord attached to the base. So I took it off speakerphone and called Miss’s cell. I turned away from Rosa, worried that she might still overhear.
From far away I heard the tinny version of Miss’s musical voice. “Carmen?”
“No, Miss, it’s me. I — we need your help. Papi’s in jail.”
A pause.
“What! Why?”
“He — his car had a burned-out taillight.”
Miss snorted. “They don’t —”
Nothing.
“Miss? Are you there?”
Her voice choked. “You — you lied? To me? Why?”
Rosa clapped her hands to her forehead. Even without the speakerphone on, she heard every word.
My face burned. I let Miss’s question hang in the air until the answer became obvious.
“You didn’t trust me.” Her voice was full of hurt. The pain traveled through the phone line, into my ears.
I knew I should feel guilty, but right then I was mad. This wasn’t about Miss. It was about my family. “We need to save Papi! Are you going to help us, or not?”
I listened to Miss breathe. “I need to think about this.”
I heard the click as she hung up.
Rosa shouted, “You lied? Miss will never help us now! All because of you!”
I was afraid Rosa was right. Miss hated being lied to. I worried that she wouldn’t come.
But she did. In minutes she stood at Tía’s door.
“What about your work?” I asked.
“Maury will have to get over it.” But her face was worried.
Then she paced around Tía’s living room all morning, making phone calls, trying to get answers to what was happening to Papi. But we still had only questions.
Miss dropped her phone into her bag and sighed. “We’re going to have to drive down to the holding facility. One of you needs to go with me. I want to talk to your dad, and I might need a translator.”
Both Rosa and I wanted to help rescue Papi. I saw the hurt in Rosa’s eyes when Miss said my English skills were a bit better.
I wore the Christmas sweater they bought me. Even though it was pink, I didn’t want to wear it. Not until Mamá came home. But I had no choice. When I’d slipped into Mamá’s old sweater, Miss said, “I’m not taking you to a federal office wearing that grungy thing. Those people need to know your dad’s a good parent.”
She told Tía and Rosa to keep trying to reach Mamá, even though we’d explained we had to wait until Mamá called us.
Then we rumbled away in a cloud of blue smoke. After we left Tía’s, Miss insisted that we stop by our apartment to get my passport. I didn’t want to take the time to look for the stupid thing. I’d only used the little blue booklet once, on my visit to Mexico. We finally found it in the cookie jar on top of the refrigerator.
Once we were on our way again, I used the button to open the van window. The icy blast made it feel like we were racing. Rushing to rescue Papi. For once I was glad Miss had a lead foot.
“Roll that window up. You’ll mess my hair.”
Nothing but a hurricane could’ve made her hair move, but I rolled up the window.
She was wearing her TV clothes. A skinny brown skirt and a copper jacket that matched her hair. She looked ready to burst into flame, rich and important.
When I told her, she said, “Good. Maybe they’ll think I’m a lawyer.”
“It won’t work. They’ll recognize you.”
“Even better. These ICE officials are a scary bunch.”
“Ice?”
“Immigration and Customs Enforcement.”
Ice was the right name for people who’d take Papi away.
The snow had mostly melted, sucked back into the dry Colorado air, but piles of dirty slush lined the streets. The sun beat down on the dead grass and naked trees.
Except for Christmas and snow days, I never liked winter. It was messy, muddy, full
of ugly shades of brown.
But the golden sunshine, water-blue skies, and Miss in her fiery colors filled me with hope. She would fix this.
We rolled up to a flat building with a metal roof. It didn’t look like a jail. More like a warehouse. A warehouse filled with people waiting to be shipped out.
I tiptoed past the heavy metal door. Like the cowardly lion who asked the wizard for courage in that movie.
The door clanged shut behind us. The fluorescent light made everything look cold. Like ice. My knees started knocking into each other, something I’d thought only happened in cartoons. Maybe I should’ve let Rosa come instead.
The guard stood over me — a man with a gun on his hip and a badge on his uniform. Standing in the cold light of a room with no air in it, his creamy light brown skin looked blue-white. I clutched my pink purse to my chest, now glad to have my passport inside it. I didn’t feel like an American, but the blue book was proof.
“We’re looking for Miguel Juárez,” Miss said to the guard.
“You know his number?”
She frowned. “No.”
“We might have several detainees named Miguel Juárez.”
Miss sighed. “I called this morning and was told I had to come here to get his number.”
“Are you a relative?”
Her throat turned red, but it looked purple in the blue light. “This is his daughter.”
He did something unexpected. He smiled at me. A warm, reassuring smile. I didn’t think an ICE man could smile like that. Suddenly he looked like Mr. Flores, my Language Arts teacher. Then the smile melted like the snow. “We could try looking up his birth date.”
Miss looked at me, and I told them Papi’s birthday. But when the man asked, I didn’t know what year he was born.
“How old is he?” the guard asked.
“Thirty-three.”
The guard typed numbers into his computer while I listened to the hum of the flickering lights. I tried to look through the window of another metal door but couldn’t see past the glare and the chicken wire in the glass.
How can someone so close be so far away?
It turned out that he wasn’t even back there, but at the time I was ready to break down the door with my fists. Instead I slipped a hand into Miss’s, wrapping my pinkie around her pointer finger. She gave me a grimace that was not reassuring. The guard stopped typing and stared at the screen.
Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco Page 10
