“That’s half, Papi,” I answer in Spanish like always. “You know how I had to cut back my hours to help Ceci with Anita during the week.”
“Every time, it’s less that you give us. What used to be $150 turned into $100 last time, and now just $80? You have a responsibility, mija.”
“I know, Papi.”
“This Mr. Vargas said you could get as many hours as you want.”
“How can I watch Anita and work at el supermercado at the same time? I work whatever shifts I can, but I can’t put extra hours in the day.” I think for a second that my mom might back me up, but she just stares down at the table.
“Mr. Vargas said you quit working Saturday mornings,” he says. I can feel how hungry he is to catch me lying.
“It’s because of my grades. I was falling behind in some classes and I needed to go up to school for extra help, and—”
“Or so that you could run around with that desgraciada Brenda. And your novio.” He spits that last word out like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, even though he’s never even bothered to talk to Alan. “We need at least $75 to pay for the gas bill. And $45 to make the payment on the credit card.”
“But that’d only leave $40 for me. I gave you half already,” I say. I try to keep my voice calm, but inside I’m screaming in protest. I used to save for college every month, but lately it’s impossible.
“Are you part of this family?”
“It’s just that next year I’m going to have school to pay for—”
He slaps one hand hard against the other. “No importa. Worry about that later. Right now we need to pay the gas bill.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, but I just can’t hold myself back. “Does Gustavo give more than half?” I say. “And does he take care of Anita for two, three hours every day?”
Mami finally looks at me, her eyes flashing a warning. But I don’t stop. “That is half, Papi.”
“It’s not enough.” He crumples the wad of bills and tosses it onto the table.
“Oh, OK. Qué tonta, what was I thinking?” I grab my wallet out of my backpack and pull out the two fives that are in it. I slap them down and then unzip the wallet’s side pouch. A rain of coins clatters over the table. I shake the wallet to prove that it’s empty.
“Is that better, Papi? Is that what you want?”
“You’d better be finished, hija.”
“I don’t know, are you satisfied? Or should I find something of mine to sell? Maybe just quit school altogether so I can work as many hours as you want?”
“Marisa!” my mom gasps. Her hands shoot up to the crucifix hanging from a chain around her neck.
I fold my arms over my chest so Papi won’t be able to see how badly my hands are shaking. I’ve never crossed him like this.
“Ingrata. You will do your part.”
“I am, Papi, I already am,” I say. “I swear I do my best. I watch Anita, I cook, I work at the store, I don’t complain, I—”
“Call Mr. Vargas. Ask for more hours.”
“Omar,” Mami starts to say, but Papi ignores her.
“Marisa.” He points at the telephone.
“I can’t take on more hours. I have to keep up with school, and I need the tutorials on Saturdays.”
“You need to act like the daughter you were raised to be.” The vein in his forehead pulses blue.
I turn my back to him and start chopping an onion, an onion for his supper. An onion like a thousand others I’ve chopped before. I watch each row of tiny white cubes fall before I make the next slice.
Then I get an idea. I set down the knife and reach into the drawer where I stick all the report cards my parents have ignored over the years. I cross the room with a handful of them. “Look. See this?” I thump the top report card. “See these?” I say, fanning the rest right in front of Papi’s face. “These are almost all A’s. The best grades. The highest. They are worth something, at least to other people, they show how hard I work in school.”
He doesn’t look at the report cards. He just points to the phone again.
“It’s nothing to you, I guess. I’m nada to you, one big nothing. I get it.” I start to rip up the cards.
“Now are you finished?” he says when I drop the papers in front of him. He grabs my arm and puts his face close to mine. “We need you to help with the money. You will work more hours.”
His hand feels like a steel band on my arm, and I can smell the beer on his breath. “What about you? What if you stopped drinking? That would free up some funds.”
Now I’ve really done it, said the thing nobody’s supposed to say.
He stares straight at me. “I am ashamed that you are my daughter.”
A muffled cry comes from Mami.
“Cállate, Patricia. Her ingratitude is worse than anything she could do. This girl is not the one we raised.”
When he says this, a new wave of anger crashes over me. I turn away, wondering what to do, where to go. I grab my backpack and run to the door. It’s cold outside, but I can’t go back for my jacket now.
“Mija, don’t,” Mami says. Her face makes me think of a crumpled paper bag.
“Let her go,” Papi says. “She can come back when she is ready to be a true daughter.”
chapter 20
I hunch against the cold and tap on the window. A gust of wind blows through the backyard, rustling dry leaves against the steps. I shiver and knock again.
“Alan!”
Finally I hear movement inside and Alan opens the door to his bedroom.
“Hey,” he says, squinting at me. “You OK?”
I shake my head.
“Come here, baby.” He eases me inside, and I’m crying before he even sits me down on the bed. He holds me close and leans back so that we’re nestled together against the wall. He strokes my hair with one hand and rubs my back with the other.
“What happened?” he asks softly.
“My dad ...”
“Did he hurt you?” Alan’s voice gets hard.
“He said... cosas tan feas. And I made it worse, I—I never should have said . . . I didn’t think. I can’t go back now.”
I bury my face in his pillow, which is soft and cool against my hot cheeks.
“It’ll be OK. I’m here, I’m here,” he whispers.
He stays close and talks to me like that until I fall asleep.
When I wake up a few hours later, I wish I hadn’t. Everything I’ve tried so hard to do is gone like some stupid sandcastle swept away with one wave. I swear I’m done wanting a life that’ll never be mine.
What I want is to stop thinking, to be real in my body and free from my mind.
I want to feel that I’m not alone.
I pull my T-shirt off so that when I lie down next to Alan, I can feel skin against skin. Then I slide my hands up the leg holes of his boxers. I close my eyes and pretend I’m Brenda. I pretend I’m beautiful and funny and totally in control as I start to touch Alan. I close my eyes and move my hands gently. It’s working, working like magic, erasing Mami and Papi and my report cards and Kroger.
Until Alan wakes up.
His eyes open extra wide, and his mouth does, too. He stares at me and blinks, like maybe that’ll make me disappear. So I tug down his boxers to prove that this is real and so am I. I’m lowering my head when a feel his whole body tremble. His hand shoots out and stops me.
“Marisa, no,” he says. He pulls my hands away from where I’m touching him.
“I want to,” I say. “What’s wrong with that?” But I already know what. I’m not Brenda, not beautiful.
He shifts his boxers around, digs for my T-shirt, and throws it over my chest.
“You don’t want me,” I say. I curl up on my side and start to cry.
“That’s not true.” He hugs me stiffly, like I’m a crazy person he doesn’t really want to be close to.
“Then why not?”
“You’re upset; you’re not thinking straight.”
“I’m thinking fine! You’re my boyfriend; I want to be with you.” I start to move back toward him. Let’s just do it, that’s what I’m thinking.
He wraps his arms tighter around me so that I can’t move. “I don’t want you to have regrets. You’re too special to me for it to be like this.”
“I know what I want. You just don’t understand me.” My voice is getting louder, but I can’t help it. “I feel, I feel like I’ve got nothing to hold onto. I need you.” Now I’m crying into the wall. “Please, I need you.” When his arms relax a little, I try to turn and put my body against his the right way. I want him to hold me like my boyfriend, not like a straightjacket.
“Don’t, Marisa,” he says. He stops me again. “I know that things have been bad. But I’m here, and I promise it’s going to be OK.”
I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about. I want to scream. If he wants to, he can make it OK right now. He could hold me, touch me, tell me he loves me.
“I need to feel you.” I press against him again. The hardness is still there. His body wants me, but he doesn’t.
“It’s not the right way,” he says, “Later we can talk, but try to think. I mean, think about Ceci—and Jess . . .”
“I don’t want to think!” I yank my body free of him and shove him. “Why are you playing with me? I thought you understood me, I thought you wanted . . .”
“Not like this.”
“I hate you,” I hear myself whisper. I pound my fist against his chest. “I hate you!”
Alan grabs my hands and stops me from hitting, but he doesn’t try to hug me anymore. “Shhh,” he says.
I clench my teeth and press my body back against the wall. I lie there, not moving, until Alan falls back asleep. All the anger in me is gone. All I can feel is how alone I am, even with Alan beside me. I needed him to make me forget, to use his touch to erase everything. But he doesn’t want me.
I’ve got to get out of here.
I wait as long as I can. When I count to a hundred twice without hearing Alan’s breathing change, I tiptoe to the door. I don’t turn around to look at him.
I stumble out into the backyard, shoes and backpack clutched in my arms. Partway down the block, I sit on the curb and pull on my tennis shoes. There’s no music, no shouting, no dogs barking. My world is going to hell, but the neighborhood is perfectly quiet. I want to scream.
Instead, I dig out my cell phone. It’s 2:10 A.M. My fingers shake when I call Brenda.
“Please pick up,” I whisper into the darkness.
She does.
“Sorry, I know it’s late,” I say.
“Shit, forget that. What’s the matter?”
“Everything.” I can barely squeeze the word out past the tears. “It’s . . . I had to leave my house.”
“Where are you?”
“On Alan’s street, near the corner. Can you . . .”
“Stay right there,” Brenda says. “Give me ten minutes.”
I’m still sitting on the curb when Brenda drives up. I feel dizzy and queasy when I get up, like somebody just kicked me in the gut.
“What happened?” Brenda’s eyes search my face.
“A fight with Papi, and then . . .” I start crying again.
Brenda tries to get me to come home with her, but I don’t want to talk about anything, not today, not tomorrow, not ever. I just keep telling her to take me to Ceci’s, and finally she does.
I wave good-bye, then walk up to my sister’s apartment. I slip my fingers around the right key, then hold the rest carefully so they don’t make any noise.
Once I’m inside, I ease my backpack to the floor and find the couch with my hands. I’ve never wanted so badly to disappear. I bury my head in my arms and fall asleep with my shoes still on.
chapter 21
The nonsense chatter of cartoons wakes me up. When I groan and roll over, Anita jumps up onto the couch.
“Tía Marisa!”
“Hi, chiquita.” My voice comes out in a croak, and my mouth is so dry I can’t even lick my lips.
“What’s wrong with you?” Anita looks me over. “You sick?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Is your mommy up?”
“Nope, just me.”
I sit up. I want some water, but first I reach out to Anita. I know she won’t turn me away.
She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses my birthmark. “Oye, Tía, sabes qué? I can make my own breakfast.”
I go to the kitchen and get my glass of water. I also find out that Anita’s “making breakfast” means getting the Lucky Charms out of the cabinet.
We snuggle down in front of the couch and watch an hour’s worth of PBS cartoons. Anita picks the marshmallows out of the cereal and complains about not getting to see Dora the Explorer on Nickelodeon. I try not to think about anything.
“Marisa?” Cecilia is standing in the doorway of the bedroom she shares with Anita now. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Ceci,” I say, getting up from the floor. I try to smile.
Cecilia gives me a questioning look then bends down to hug Anita. “Go get dressed. I’ll check on you in a minute.”
Anita closes up the box of cereal before running back to her bedroom. Breakfast is over.
“What the hell happened?”
“I had a big fight with Papi. I can’t go back,” I say.
“Shit, I thought it was my job to be the screw-up daughter. You’re supposed to stay on his good side.”
“I guess those days are over. Now he thinks I’m a disgrace.”
“Welcome to the club,” Cecilia says, yanking my ponytail. “But being a bad girl is no good for you. You look awful.”
“Thanks.”
“Sorry, but it’s true. What are you going to do?”
I play with a Pop-Tart wrapper on the coffee table. Last night I couldn’t think past finding a place to sleep. Now I know there’s no way I can face Alan at school.
“Can I stay here for a while? You could call Mami before she comes over, tell her I can watch Anita today. Give her a break.”
“You’re not going to school?”
I poke at a ripped spot in the carpet with my toe and ignore the question. Who is Ceci to give me a hard time about cutting one day of school?
“All right, I know I owe you,” she says finally. She sticks her head into the kitchen to look at the clock on the microwave. “Damn it, I’m running late already. Look, I’m worried about you. We’re going to talk for real tonight, got it?”
I nod.
“I’ll call Ma.” Cecilia hugs me and then digs the phone out from between the couch cushions.
Before she leaves, Cecilia explains Jose’s schedule. A nurse comes at 10:30, and today is his day to go to the physical therapy center at 1:00.
“They’ll come and pick him up; they even put him in the wheelchair and take him to the van. Other than that, you can pretty much just ignore him. He sleeps all day anyway, and the nurse takes care of his pee bag. All he really needs is lunch. Ma usually brings him something when she drops Anita off next door, but he can eat whatever.” Ceci tucks her Stop-N-Go shirt into her black pants with one hand and grabs her purse with the other. “Anything else?”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Let’s make lunch for Daddy!” Anita tugs on my arm.
We just got done with the nurse. Before that we read about fifty books and made a whole stack of houses out of cut-up construction paper and tape. I’m tired, but I say OK.
“You pick the menu, chica.”
“Hmmm . . . apples and marshmallows and Kool-Aid?” she says.
“Let’s add some quesadillas to that, and it’s a deal.”
Anita sprinkles cheese on tortillas, and I slice the apples. Even with my hands busy, my thoughts keep drifting. I can just see Brenda running up to Alan during lunch, all worried and full of questions. What will he say? What does he think of me now?
We put the food on a tray, and I’m halfway through the liv
ing room with it when Anita stops me.
“What about dessert?” she frowns. “No tenemos dessert for Daddy.”
“You already have marshmallows,” I point out.
“Tía! Marshmallows is a vegetable.”
“Who told you that?”
“I know, a pudding!” she runs to the fridge and comes back with a little plastic tub and a spoon. She sticks them both on the tray. “Now we’re ready.”
Anita opens the door to Jose’s room and I start to cough. It smells like he just finished smoking his tenth joint. But she doesn’t seem to notice. She slides easily around the medical equipment everywhere and climbs onto a box so she can kiss him without jostling his bed.
“How’s my beautiful girl?” he asks, his voice raspy. Every time I see him, I’m surprised all over again by how different he looks. He used to keep his body built up, but now his arms and chest are super thin. The worst bruises are still healing, and his face is shades of pale yellow and green, the way people look on TV when you mess with the color balance. His eyes are sunken and watery, and he hasn’t shaved.
“We made you lunch!” Anita says. She runs over to me and picks up the glass of Kool-Aid. “It’s cherry, the best kind.”
“Thanks, baby,” he says. “You know what? Daddy really wants one of his silver cans from the fridge. Be a good girl and go get one for me.”
Anita’s face falls a little, but she carries the Kool-Aid out.
“I’ll drink it,” I shout. “I love cherry.” I give Jose a look. “You don’t got to be such an ass,” I say when Anita is out of earshot. I put the tray in front of Jose and help him elevate the top half of the bed. “You want a beer, let me get it for you.”
“Back off, OK? The last thing I need is another bitch telling me what to do.”
I start to talk back, but he raises a hand.
“I’m not trying to get into it with you, Marisa, I’m just saying. I hear it cada día from Ceci; I hear it from your ma; I hear it from the damn nurses. Por favor, just give it a rest.”
Anita comes bouncing back in with a can of Coors Light.
“Qué te dije about how to carry those?” he says when he sees her. “Now I got to wait a long time or it’ll spray everywhere.”
What Can't Wait Page 9
