Historically Inaccurate

by Shay Bravo

  It has been three days since we returned from the lake house. Two days since I filed a report at the police station. Aside from Angela and Ethan, I’ve heard nothing from the other members, nor have I tried to reach out to them.

  On Monday evening, we received a message via Anna through the group chat.

  Anna: So here’s what’s happening. We had a hearing with the Department of Student Involvement here at Westray Community College and are now being dismantled as an organization over the leaked material and the club and its members are now being investigated by the police

  Anna: The police are looking to classify our group as an extralegal organization and this could mean that they could come after any member of the group as a co-conspirator. What’s important to know is that in these types of investigations the focus tends to be around the leadership or people that they can prove without doubt participated in illegal activity. Someone went through my bag and dorm and took some of the members’ items. I have now found out who this person is, but I will not make it publicly known after their request

  Anna: All information had to be turned in to the authorities and they will be cross-referencing for validity the statements given by me and Carlos. Be calm at all times and cooperate with law enforcement. The past members as well as the founder of the club and I will ensure all steps are followed so nothing falls on your shoulders, however this might change based on the scenario and charges pressed by other individuals

  Anna: I’ll keep you in the loop as things come up

  Only Scott answered her messages with a link to Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel.”

  It felt strange reading those messages while brushing my teeth before school that morning. It was a confirmation that this was really happening, and even when she assured us we would be okay, I couldn’t help but feel like the earth was going to crumble underneath my feet at any given time.

  Of course, I called my mom. Our talk went a lot like my talk with Dad, except with fewer tears. She never said she was disappointed in me; in fact, she didn’t say much aside from mentioning things would work themselves out.

  Now we are all waiting, wondering what might happen next. For the last couple of days all I’ve been waiting for is for someone in a uniform to come to talk to me about everything.

  “Hey, Sol.”

  Miranda peeks her head over the edge of the aisle. Slowly, a police officer walks around her. “This gentleman would like to speak with you.”

  It is bizarre how I was mentally preparing for this already, and yet seeing him standing in front of me again is as nerve-racking as the first time.

  “Absolutely,” I say as if I have never seen him in my life before, putting my book on the shelf and walking toward them, making sure to keep a safe and nonthreatening distance. “Soledad Gutierrez at your service, sir.”

  He’s in his late twenties, and despite the circumstances I have to admit he’s good looking. Light-brown skin, well shaved, and with a buzz cut that suits him very well.

  “Ms. Gutierrez, I am Officer Salazar. My partner and I are here to ask you a few questions about an organization you were allegedly a part of.” He’s holding up a little notepad. I wonder how many members they’ve interrogated already. Or if he still has the notes from Monday. “Is all of this okay with you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Dad mentioned how police need warrants if they want to arrest you at home or work. He also went into what to expect in an interrogation. Sometimes the places he worked at got raided by ICE and he would get asked if he worked with any illegal immigrants, but aside from your identification the police can’t ask you for answers you don’t want to give.

  “Just say, I don’t wish to answer, pero calmadamente, and they legally can’t make you say anything.”

  “You are not being arrested, Ms. Gutierrez, and you are free to leave at any time, and do not have to answer any questions. Do you still wish to talk with us?” He knows I do, after all he’s the same person who took my statement at the station.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Please follow me, Ms. Gutierrez.” The officer smiles and I wonder if it’s supposed to bring me some sort of comfort. I’ve never truly trusted the police, considering how risky it was to have my mom around; after she got deported I felt the same. While I understand they are doing their job, I can’t help but feel slightly uneasy as we walk between the shelves that usually are my sanctuary.

  As we walk through the library, the other students stare at us. Would any of them figure out a way to take another video of me? Who knows? At this point, if the worst is that I lose my job, I’ll consider myself lucky.

  He takes me to a study room where another officer, a woman who looks like she could be a student here, and who has high cheekbones and piercing hazel eyes, is waiting.

  The male officer says, “Please take a seat, this won’t take long. We’ve gotten most of the information needed from you already.”

  I choose a chair against the wall so he won’t think I’m trying to escape. He takes a seat as well, pulling his little notebook and a black ballpoint pen from one of his pockets once more. I thought this was going to be a good cop-bad cop scenario, but the female officer leaves and stands in front of the door.

  I guess that kills any chance of escaping.

  “My partner and I have been investigating a case regarding the history club here at WCC. As you mentioned before, you are a member and were part of some of said activities, however we still have further details to iron out.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll try to answer them as best as I can.”

  “Thank you.” He clicks his pen once and flips over his notes. How many people has he questioned already? I imagine him at the Winstons’ house, or maybe at Ethan’s work. Even though I was the one who cut things off, I hope he’s okay.

  “We’ve been informed that you joined the organization earlier this winter, after one of your friends recruited you last December. Your ‘trial’ as they called it was to break into the oldest house in town and steal something from said property. Is that correct?”

  I knot my fingers underneath the table. “Yes, sir, it is.”

  He writes something down on the notepad and I notice that one of his fingers is callused from what I assume is the way he holds the pen. “Ms. Gutierrez, were you fully aware you were committing a criminal activity while fulfilling your duty to this club, specifically a misdemeanor by breaking and entering private property?”

  One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . I could bolt

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ms. Gutierrez, were you at any point complicit with any other illegal activities performed by other members of this organization?”

  I think of Ethan. Of the way he held me against the wall at the archive, keeping us from being caught. Why did he do that if he wanted all of this to be found out?

  “Yes, sir.” I clear my throat. “We stayed past closing time at the historical archive to ring the bell. It wasn’t breaking and entering, though.”

  “Who was with you that night, Ms. Gutierrez?”

  Ethan, who so delicately brushed his fingers against my cheek, saying how I made him happy. The press on top of my head as we watched the lake from the cliff. Him laughing when I made him pinkie promise. Checking on me at the pool party to make sure I was okay.

  “I choose not to answer that question, sir.”

  He looks at me for a moment, and my stomach tenses. Then he nods, writes on the paper, and puts it inside the folder.

  “Were you part of any of the following club initiation processes including, but not limited to: vandalism to WCC property, vandalism to City of Westray property, desecration of graves at the local cemetery, disorderly conduct, trespassing on private property, or unlawful break-ins at WCC?” He taps the pen at each of these mentions.

  I glance at the glass door of the study room. The other cop is still guarding
the door. How much have the other members told him? I told him all I could the first time I met him, so are most of these questions simply routine?

  “Before you answer that question, I would like to mention that one of the chemicals used to deface the photograph of Chairman Warwick is also a precursor chemical in the manufacturing of explosives.” He pauses, holding my gaze as his tapping stops. “If I wanted to, I could involve the Department of Homeland Security and have each and every one of you wrapped up as being a part of a terrorist organization.”

  My mouth parts. This escalated really quickly from being a mere precursor chemical to the t word being dropped. I can’t imagine the thought of Xiu sitting down where I am today, going over the possibility of having my life ruined by a liquid in a bottle. Then again, she was one of the ones who turned us over, and maybe did that on purpose.

  “Now, I don’t want to do that. I would like to think that this was a prank that got wildly out of hand, but I need you to be candid with me and tell me what I need to know.”

  I shake my head. The prank was a completely different mess that I was not involved with, and I plan to keep it that way.

  “No, sir, I was only involved in the first one you asked me about and the one I mentioned.”

  “Any involvement in the planning of such events?”

  “No, sir.”

  He looks at me and makes sure I maintain eye contact. Whether he sees another college student doing something dumb to impress their friends or a petty criminal who’ll one day do something like this again and will amount to nothing in life, I can’t tell. Maybe he sees a sister or a cousin, or perhaps he’s thinking about lunch. No matter what, I try to keep my expression at ease.

  “I think this wraps up our interview. We might have more questions in the future. Why don’t you let us know if you plan on leaving the state.” He closes his notebook and stands up.

  I’m a bit shaken by that, and without being able to help myself, a question flies out of me.

  “Wait, that’s all?”

  Officer Salazar turns to me, hand on his breast pocket as he puts his pen away once more, notebook still in his other hand.

  “Is it? Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

  “I, no, I don’t know how to react. What happens now?”

  “No one filed a police report for your break-in, Ms. Gutierrez. The victims refuse to press charges. As for your club, someone came forward and assumed all responsibility for their members. We’re making sure all the facts line up. Contact us if there are any more details you would like to share. And if you ever do anything like that again, you won’t get off with just a warning. You broke the law—do you know how serious that is?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I get up and follow him out of the room. My limbs feel like lead but also shake a little as we leave the little study room behind. The world is swaying around me as I try to regain my composure.

  This was good—this was really freaking good—and yet I felt like something didn’t add up.

  The female cop looks at her partner and they both nod.

  “Thank you for your time, Ms. Gutierrez,” she says and they both walk away.

  Someone assumed all responsibility for the members.

  “Anna,” I whisper. The lawyers and her assurance that everything would be okay still linger in the back of my mind, but as I see the cops walk away I wonder if there’s something else at play.

  I forgot how hard it is to bike under the sun just past midday. Weeks of rides to and from school have spoiled me. The good thing is Carlos’s apartment is not too far, so I’ve only broken into a light sweat by the time I arrive.

  Carlos is lucky he doesn’t live with his parents anymore. He had offered to room together after we graduated from high school, but I couldn’t afford to move out of Dad’s place.

  I knock on his door, three strong knocks followed by two short ones. Because I have to be annoying, I also send him a text.

  Me: I’m outside your place, are you home?

  Carlos: Just missed me, I went to get some stuff but I’ll be back soon. You can get my key from the usual spot if you want

  Me: I’m good, I’ll hang out by the park until you get here

  Carlos: Cool, I’ll be back in like fifteen mins

  Me: Bring me something to make up for it

  Me: Preferably sweet

  Carlos: Oh you know I will ;)

  Carlos’s apartment building has a little playground for kids, as well as a dog park. Sometimes after a late-night IHOP run we go to the playground to stargaze or play on the monkey bars.

  I sit on one of the empty swings. The metal chains creak with the weight of my body as I push my feet back and let momentum move me back and forth a little. The park is well covered by the canopies of the trees, which makes the heat of the sun more bearable.

  Picking up my phone, I call my mom via WhatsApp. Her last morning class is at noon, and it’s currently two thirty in the afternoon. Night classes don’t start until six.

  “Hola, mi amor.”

  I smile, not sure why I expected her to still be mad. Mom has never been a very strict parent, that was more so Dad’s job in the family, but even then he gave me a lot of space to stretch my wings. Whenever I’d see angry representations of Latino parents in movies and social media it made me wonder if I grew up different because of how distanced I was from my other relatives, because my parents have been nothing but kind and understanding throughout all the phases of my life.

  “Hola, mami.” A bird that looks a lot like the one at the lake sweeps down and lands on top of the monkey bars. “The police came to talk to me. I’m not going to jail.”

  “Thank God.” She sounds like she’s released all the air in her body. “I was praying to the virgencita these last few days, I was so worried.”

  “I know I disappointed you and Dad. I know that while trying to be the best I could be I became the worst I could be.” I kick at the pebbles underneath the swing set. “I know I’ve failed you.”

  “Sol, you didn’t fail us. I never expected you to be a perfect daughter, I love that you’re imperfect.”

  The pebbles under my feet blur together as I blink.

  “You wore yourself thin trying to do all these things you thought would make me proud that you didn’t see you were failing yourself. That’s what hurts me the most, Soledad, the fact you never spoke about how you felt to me and your dad.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “I know you are. It’ll take a while to earn our trust back, but know we’re not angry at you. We’re just hurt.”

  “I know.” I wipe my face with the back of my free hand. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, darling.”

  “I wish you were here.”

  “I wish I was there with you, too, honey. No matter how far away I am, know I still adore you and so does your dad, okay? Don’t be afraid to talk with us.” She sighs. “I have to go, I’m going to grab some lunch with a few of the teachers.”

  “That’s okay. I’m meeting Carlos to talk about all of this.”

  “Y le dices que no se junten con mala gente.” Don’t hang out with bad people. I know I can’t tell her the people I hung out with weren’t bad people; in fact, they were great folks to be around.

  “Okay.” The black bird flies away, which is a bit sad again. “Talk to you soon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was that your mom?” Carlos leans on one of the poles of the swing set, three grocery bags hanging from each hand. He has a slight tan after the two days at the lake house, but it looks good on him.

  “Yep.” I jump off the swing. “Need a hand?”

  “That’d be nice.” I take a hold of one of his bags and we move through the park and walk back to his apartment.

  “Can we have the appetizer sampler,
the New York cheesecake pancakes for me, and some chocolate chip for her?”

  The waitress writes down our order, having left two vanilla iced coffees on the table.

  “What’s going to happen?” I ask, swirling away at the sugary syrup in the glass.

  Carlos shrugs. “Legal stuff—Anna still sounds positive that we’ll be okay. I might be called in to testify in court but members who didn’t hold a position are not required to. Unless you’re a key component like Angela and Xiu, maybe even Ethan. I’m worried about Anna most of all.”

  “I feel like I made a mistake.”

  Ethan has kept his distance, as I asked, which I appreciate yet grieve.

  “My mom said my not talking to her or Dad hurt more than my mistakes. I told Ethan I felt hurt because he hadn’t confided in me about his plans to bring the club down.” IHOP’s vanilla iced coffee triples your blood sugar levels, but I can’t help but drink a quarter of it in one sip. “I blame him for doing exactly what I did. Maybe I made a mistake by breaking up with him on the spot.”

  “You know I feel responsible for everything that happened, right?” Carlos flicks a piece of his napkin at me. “I was the one who recruited you. Your parents will hate me for the rest of their lives.”

  “No, they love you.” I smack his foot with mine. “Besides, I’ve already forgiven you. In the end, it was my choice to join. The mistakes I made were mine from the very beginning.”

  Carlos holds up one finger, then reaches inside his jacket and extracts an envelope.

  “Anna gave me this a day ago, said it was the only thing they didn’t take as evidence and that you’d know what to do with it.” He places the envelope in the middle of the table. “As far as I’m concerned, meeting Ethan was not a mistake. You seemed happier, more in the moment, even.”

  Slowly I trace the outline of the waxy paper of the envelope.

  “I really was.”

  As far as my friendship with Carlos is concerned, I wouldn’t change anything about it. He’s always tried to help, even if the choices weren’t stellar per se. He’s been through the hardest thing to hit me before, and I’ll be there for him no matter what. “How have your parents taken it by the way?”