The Living

by Matt De La Peña

  “Know what’s weird, though?” Carmen said. “We still haven’t talked about my papi. Me and Brett.”

  “Seriously?”

  Carmen nodded. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s always been there for me. And he handled all the stuff for the funeral. But I don’t know. He’s never once stopped and asked me how I feel.”

  Carmen’s eyes were fixed on the wine inside the cup for a few long seconds, like she was thinking. Then she looked up and said: “He’s buried under them law school books, though. The first year is supposedly the hardest so they can weed out all the fakers.”

  Shy nodded. He always felt sort of jealous hearing about Carmen and her man. But if they were gonna be friends, he figured he had to occasionally ask about shit like that.

  And that was what he wanted, right?

  For him and Carmen to be friends?

  Or was it impossible to be friends with a girl you thought was mellow and smart and beautiful?

  Shy snatched the wine out of her hand and downed the last of it in one go. Handed back an empty cup.

  Carmen went to refill it again, but there was only a tiny bit left. As she held the bottle upside down, letting the last few drops fall into the cup, she changed the subject to their current voyage. Neither of them had ever been to Hawaii, and since they’d both have half a day off, she made him promise he’d take a surfing lesson with her. And go with her to get real shave ice on the north shore. Then she looked at him all concerned-like and said: “Could I ask you a personal question, Shy?”

  “Go ’head.” He was feeling so buzzed now he was willing to answer pretty much anything. Even if she asked something crazy like how long it took him to stop wetting the bed as a kid.

  “Do you think about it all the time?” she said. “How that guy fell with you right there?”

  Shy shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “What was it like?”

  Shy could picture the comb-over man now. His eyes darting all over the place. His arms and legs going as he fell toward the blackness. “He let go of my arm,” Shy told her. “He wanted his life to be over. It’s what he chose. With that disease, though, you don’t get no choice.”

  Carmen looked down at the cup, nodding.

  It went quiet between them for a few long seconds. A shared feeling of loss hanging in the air like a gas. Then Carmen cleared her throat and switched the subject back to Hawaii.

  6

  Space Sancho

  They talked a while longer before Shy said: “Anyways, I should probably let you get back to bed.”

  “I don’t work till later on,” Carmen said. “So it’s on you, dude.”

  “I’m supposed to be at the pool by seven. Guess I should at least try for a couple hours.” He poked the top of her bare foot, said: “Thanks for talking.”

  “No worries.” She picked up the empty bottle and spun it so the label was facing her. “Before you go, though. You know the rules. Tell me one new thing about you.”

  Shy stared at the wine bottle, thinking.

  Carmen ended all their one-on-one conversation this way. It was her thing. He usually told her something basic. Like he didn’t have a middle name. Or he’d lived in LA for a year with his old man. Or his Spanish was the worst of anyone in his family and sometimes he laughed at a joke even when he didn’t understand. But tonight he was feeling confident from the wine, and he wanted to say something important.

  “Well?” she said.

  Shy looked up at her, trying to think. But he didn’t know what to say. It all seemed too dumb for the moment.

  “Come on, Shy,” Carmen said. “We only met each other like two weeks ago. There’s a million things you could probably tell me.”

  He shrugged. If he couldn’t think of anything cool, he’d just say what was in his head. “I was on the Honeymoon Deck a while ago, looking at the water, and I thought of something.”

  “What?” she said.

  “I don’t know. In the grand scheme of things, we’re like little specks of dust.”

  Carmen smiled. “Check out Shy getting all deep.”

  “For real,” he said, wanting to explain himself. “At one point I was staring up at the sky, and you know what I realized? There’s no way we’re the only living humans in the universe. It’s impossible.”

  Carmen put a hand on one of Shy’s shell tops, said: “Don’t tell me you’re one of those UFO people.”

  He shrugged. Now that he was talking, he wanted to keep going. Maybe that was the only way he’d understand what he felt. “I’m talking about planets we can’t even see with the highest-powered telescopes. Ones in completely different solar systems.”

  Carmen was grinning now. “I’m gonna go ’head and put this on the wine.”

  She was right, Shy was seriously buzzing now. He felt like he could say anything that popped into his brain. “And you know what my theory is?”

  “Please, enlighten me.”

  “I think on one of those faraway planets there’s a space version of me and there’s a space version of you. And I bet our space versions met earlier in life. In junior high. On the swings at the park or something. And they probably hit it off in about two point five. Like love at first sight or whatever. And since that day they’ve been all about each other.”

  “Oh, is that right?” Carmen looked like she was about to bust out laughing, but Shy didn’t even care. Now that he was flowing, he didn’t want to stop.

  “I bet they’re on a ship right now,” he continued. “Just like us. Only billions of miles away. And they’re drinking wine and talking about life.”

  Carmen shook her head and tried to pour more wine into the empty cup. Nothing came out, though, so she set the bottle back down. “So technically,” she said, “you’re like my space Sancho, right? My other man in another world.”

  “On that distant planet,” Shy heard himself say, “I’m your only man.”

  Carmen leaned back against the hall wall and crossed her arms, looking all skeptical. “How do you even know if the space us gets along? We probably fight all the time.”

  “Nah, we never fight,” Shy said.

  “You sure?”

  He nodded. “’Cause we talk about everything. Even sad stuff. And the space me always asks how you feel.”

  Carmen grinned at Shy and shook her head.

  He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore. Shit was just popping into his brain. “There’s actually a test people can do,” he told her. “Right here on earth. To find out if their space versions are compatible.”

  “I’m sure there is.”

  “See, most people get caught up in the kissing and the feeling on each other. But really it’s more simple than that. It’s about how two people fit when they hold hands.”

  “You’re like a fifth grader,” Carmen said, rolling her eyes. “You know that, right?”

  But Shy also saw her glance down at his hands. And now that he thought about it, he honestly believed you could decide if you were right with a girl by how it felt holding her hand. “Maybe we should check our fit,” he suggested. “Just to see.”

  Carmen laughed him off and changed the song playing on her computer. When she looked up again, and saw that Shy was still staring at her, she said: “You’re being serious?”

  Shy shrugged.

  He couldn’t believe it. She was actually considering his test. Butterflies started flapping all around in his stomach. He never thought she’d really do it.

  “Fine,” Carmen said, acting like it was no big deal. She held her right hand out to him, palm up.

  Shy took it gently into his, pulled a nervous breath and said: “It’s a three-part test, all right? First we gotta check things out the regular way, like two people watching a movie in the theater.”

  They held hands on Shy’s knee.

  It felt more alive than anything he’d ever known.

  “Okay,” he said, nodding. “That’s pretty soft right there. I’m not gonna lie.” His heart was now t
rying to leap right out of his body. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t see no fireworks, if that’s what you mean.”

  Shy smiled a little, but quickly forced his face back to being regular. “Next we gotta check it with our fingers linked.” He slipped his fingers into hers and held her hand softly, looking in her eyes. The warmth of her skin spreading through his hand and into his arm, into his entire body.

  “Yeah,” he said. “That’s a pretty solid match. You feel it, right?”

  Carmen didn’t answer this time.

  Her face seemed serious all of a sudden.

  Shy swallowed down hard on his nerves. He was sort of in over his head now.

  “Okay, one last test,” he told her. “But it’s maybe the most important. You slip your index finger into my pinkie. Like this.”

  He hooked Carmen’s index with his pinkie, their fingers now dangling there together. Shy’s breaths short and quick and uncertain. Both of them staring down at their hands.

  They looked up at each other at the exact same time.

  “Hmmm,” Shy said, rubbing on his chin, wondering if she could tell his whole body was actually shaking. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe our space versions are messing up—”

  Carmen cut him off cold when she leaned forward suddenly and kissed him on the lips, kissed his words right back into his mouth.

  Gently, though.

  And quick.

  Her lips slightly parted and her eyes closed and then it was over—Shy sitting there stunned, holding his breath, staring at her perfect brown face. Perfect soft lips. Her big brown eyes reaching deep into his chest, uncovering his lonely heart.

  He let go of her finger and placed his hands on the sides of her face. And he looked at her for a few seconds. The way he’d always wanted to look at her.

  Carmen.

  His blood marching through his veins like a New Year’s parade and his breaths now quick and desperate.

  He leaned forward and kissed her again. Longer this time. And more powerfully. Carmen’s fingers going through his hair and then her lips brushing against his ear as she breathed out his name.

  “Shy.”

  It came out quietly, sending sharp tingles all across his skin.

  She pulled back to look at him again.

  Shy’s chest going in and out and in and out as he tried to think about what was happening. But it was impossible to think.

  He was here. With Carmen.

  But at the same time it felt like he was far, far away, out on the ocean somewhere, bobbing on the surface, listening to its ceaseless chatter. Or farther still, all the way on that distant planet he’d just told her about.

  She shoved him against the wall and kissed him again. Desperately this time. With an urgency he’d never experienced. Like they were wrestling. Gripping each other’s wrists and pushing and clawing, and Shy was lost in this fight, kissing her back with everything he felt and feeling her body against his body and breathing her into his lungs.

  They toppled over, onto the floor.

  Carmen above him now.

  He accidentally kicked over the wine bottle, heard it slowly rolling down the hall. Her hair covering his face like a secret hiding place. Her hands gripping at his skin.

  And then she stopped.

  Just like that.

  She pushed away and looked at him, out of breath.

  Face of confusion.

  Shy sat up, too. He started to say her name, to try and bring her back, but she covered her mouth and quickly turned away from him.

  And that was when Shy knew.

  He’d messed up everything with the only girl who understood.

  Day 2

  7

  Towel Boy

  Shy felt like he’d been asleep for about three seconds when his alarm started blaring in his ear.

  He sat up quick and shut it off.

  Six-thirty in the morning.

  His first thought as he held his throbbing head: no way he’d make it through work today. He was too exhausted. Too hungover.

  Then a second thought: Carmen.

  His stomach dropped.

  Last night when he said he was sorry, she had ducked back into her room without a word. He had to talk to her as soon as possible. Clear the air. Go back to being just friends or whatever they were supposed to be.

  Rodney turned over on his cot, eyes still crusted closed, drool pooling on his pillow. Massive sock-covered feet hanging off the end of his cot. Seemed like the guy didn’t have a care in the world. Why couldn’t it be like that for everyone?

  Shy forced himself out of bed to pop some aspirin. Then he dragged his Paradise polo and shorts into the tiny bathroom for a cold shower.

  The sun was just starting to rise into the cloudy sky when Shy reopened his towel stand on the empty Lido Deck. Early mornings at sea were breathtaking, and they usually made him feel brand-new. But today all Shy felt was used up and stressed out.

  As he placed a folded towel at the foot of all two hundred deck chairs he replayed his night with Carmen. He felt sick about it. Damn liquid courage. All that space shit he’d talked. The hand holding. Hooking up with Carmen was both everything he wanted and the worst thing that could’ve happened.

  He mopped the deck and removed the Jacuzzi cover and turned on the heat and the jets, and then he fished a few more bugs out of the pool with the skimmer and treated the water. The whole time he kept his eyes peeled for Carmen. Usually she’d cut through the pool area at some point with her morning coffee. On her way to the Normandie Theater. And they’d kick it for a few minutes.

  But he was over an hour into his shift now.

  And still no sign of Carmen.

  Shy forced himself to think of other things instead. Like the suit guy Kevin warned him about. He’d go talk to Paolo between his shift here and his afternoon shift at the gym. Then there was the Skype he was supposed to do with his mom. If something bad had really happened back home, he didn’t know what he’d do. He was stuck way out here on a ship. Middle of the ocean. No help to anyone.

  Soon scattered passengers began trickling out onto the deck. A few shivering kids lining up for the water slide, their moms and dads standing around sipping coffee, introducing themselves to one another. An old couple under a Paradise umbrella rocking old-people sunglasses and reading electronic books.

  Across the deck, the Island Café had opened and the smell of bacon and sausage and waffles filled the air. The clinking sound of silverware on plates and early-morning chatter. The aspirin was finally working on Shy’s headache. He scored a coffee from the café and took it back to his stand, where he sipped at it and studied the dark clouds in the distance and watched people.

  By ten the pool area was half full.

  Shy handed out fresh towels, miniature golf equipment, Ping-Pong paddles, swimmies, scuba masks. Cocktail waitresses moved through the rows of lounge chairs, taking orders for espressos, Bloody Marys, mimosas. The ship emcee announced the day’s activities and reminded passengers that the duty-free shops had just opened in the main promenade.

  Still no sign of Carmen.

  And nobody in a black suit—though Shy doubted anyone would wear a suit out by the pool when it was like ninety degrees. The guy would probably have changed into shorts or something. Which meant Shy didn’t even know what he was looking for.

  By noon the deck was humming and the sun beat down in front of clustered rain clouds. Almost every lounge chair had been claimed. Elegant women in wide-brimmed hats and bikinis, reading magazines, eating the fruit out of their tropical drinks. Men sleeping in sunglasses or watching the pool, bulging stomachs already bright red from the sun.

  Just like on Shy’s first voyage, the women were all better-looking than the men. And younger. But this group was a little quicker to tip. He already had a small wad of cash in his pocket as he made another pass through the crowd, replacing used towels with freshly laundered ones.

  Whenever the used bin filled up he’d cart it acr
oss the deck to housekeeping and hurry back with fresh warm stacks.

  He was so busy now he hardly had time to think.

  And not thinking was clutch—like somebody should bottle the shit and sell it ten bucks a pop.

  On his third trip back from housekeeping, though, he stopped cold.

  Carmen.

  8

  The Glare Off a Diamond

  She was on the other side of the pool, maybe twenty yards away, wheeling an amp and a microphone stand toward the far staircase, which would lead her down to the theater.

  Shy parked his towel cart by his stand and started toward her, brainstorming how to best present his apology. But just as he rounded the Jacuzzi a passenger in a cowboy hat flagged him down.

  “Hey there, bud,” the man said. “Wanna check out the ring I’m about to give my soon-to-be-better-half?”

  Shy tried to muster a Paradise-worthy smile even though the question had caught him totally off guard, and he was in a hurry. “Uh, okay, sir.” He glanced in Carmen’s direction, saw that she had stopped at the outdoor bar to talk to one of the cocktail waitresses. Katrina.

  The man unzipped the leather fanny pack resting underneath his stiff-looking beer gut and reached inside. He had a little gray mixed into his mustache and sideburns. Legs so spindly and white Shy wondered if it was the first time he’d ever stepped into a pair of shorts.

  He pulled out a small blue box. “Springing this on her tonight at dinner,” he said, looking all proud of himself. “She doesn’t have a clue.” He flipped open the box, and the knuckle-sized diamond caught the sun, nearly blinding Shy.

  “Wow, sir. It’s really big.”

  “Impressive, right?”

  “Very.” Shy glanced at Carmen again—still talking to Katrina. He needed to wrap up the big show-and-tell session and go catch her before she left.

  “Over seven carats,” the man said. “I’m guessing you’ve never seen a seven-carat diamond before.”

  “Not even on TV,” Shy told him, leaving out the part about him not giving a shit.

  “Well, I’m in oil, boy. Big oil, just like my daddy. We’re oilmen. And you know what all the top oilmen have in common?”