The Universal Laws of Marco

by Carmen Rodrigues

  “Oh.” Mom’s eyes met Pop’s. She spun Jade around, studying her back closely. “Looks like you’ve got quite a few,” Mom said, a note of worry in her voice.

  “I tried to put makeup on them,” Jade said. “Maybe I should put on a sweater or something.”

  “No. It’s fine. They’re faint, but I don’t like the idea of you getting so bruised at practice.”

  “Well, season’s over,” I told Mom. “So, good news is Jade won’t get any more bruises. Right, Jade?”

  “Right,” Jade said, her voice low.

  After pictures, Pop waved me into his bedroom. “Want to give you something before we head out.”

  “Okay,”

  He shut the door behind us and sat down on the bed, patting the empty spot next to him. “Pop, I don’t want to be late.”

  “You won’t be.”

  “Pop.” He had a habit of long sentimental talks.

  “I promise.”

  “Okay.” I sat. “What do you want to give me?”

  “A talk about the birds and the bees.”

  I groaned. “Are you serious? We’ve had this talk.” When I was seven, Pop explained how babies were made, an awkward conversation that involved diagrams from a library book.

  “We’ve had version 1.0, but there are least three more updates in your future, starting with today.”

  “Pop.”

  “Hear me out. With Sally moving and the dance, emotions might be heightened. So, first, girls have to be respected, okay? Let’s say you try to kiss Sally tonight—”

  “Pop.”

  “Marco, listen up—”

  “But—”

  “No. Listen.” He waits for me to nod.

  “Let’s say you try to make a move, like kissing, on any girl, maybe Sally, and she says no or any version of no. She says something like ‘I’m not sure’ or ‘I don’t know,’ or she even hesitates, you back off and say, ‘Okay, no problem.’ And that’s it. You don’t try to convince someone to do something they’re uncomfortable with, okay?” He nods at me, eyes dead serious.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “And the next time you see that girl, you act as nice as always. You don’t hold a grudge because she wasn’t sure or doesn’t like you. Okay?” Again he waits, eyes dead serious.

  “Okay.”

  “And you always be kind no matter what. Don’t take anything personally. You respect whatever you’re being told.”

  “Pop, what do you think is going to happen? This is just a dance.” I stood, anxious for the conversation to be over.

  “I’m planting seeds, young man. And those seeds need time to grow.”

  “Okay, Pop, well . . .” I looked at the floor. “They’re growing. . . . So, we good? Can I go now?”

  “What did I say?” Pop asked. “Say it back to me.”

  I gave him a look.

  “Say it.”

  “That no means no. Any kind of ‘I don’t know’ also means no. Back off. Don’t pressure anyone. Don’t hold grudges. Don’t take anything personally. Be nice afterward.”

  “Exactly.” Pop smiled.

  “I already knew that, Pop.”

  “Then I’m doing my job, because I have to make sure you know it. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll keep doing my job while I’m able to. Okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good.” Pop stood and patted me on the back. “Now, let’s get you to that dance.”

  Senior Year

  25. I LEARNED FROM YOU

  THEY SAY WE ARE BORN free. That freedom is an inherent right. And I believe that. But sometimes I wonder if this country believes it too, because when you have to buy your freedom back, you learn that freedom comes at a steep price. For example, hospitals put a price tag on saving your life. If you survive, you’re expected to pay that price. If you can’t, you’ll go into debt, maybe be sent to collections, incur more penalties and fees, and all of that will cost you your freedom.

  The freedom to make choices, like taking time off from working like a dog to better yourself through school.

  That’s just how this life is.

  Anyway.

  I’ve basically decided to bury a bunch of things—either forever or until later. Most likely later, so I drag myself home, bloated with guilt and the need to interject a little bit of good into the world. That last part is to balance out my . . . lies of omission.

  You know, not telling Diego about Grendel’s conditions.

  Not telling Erika about what happened with Sally.

  Not telling Mom about using most of my savings to pay off the hospital bill.

  I start simple. I make Pop a cup of decaffeinated tea because the caffeine in coffee might set off his seizures. Then I round up the boys for a quick game of Clue. I dust off the box and set up the board at the kitchen table, near Pop.

  “You’re playing with us?” Lil’ Jay asks suspiciously.

  “Yeah, why?” asks Domingo.

  “I play with you all the time,” I say, but they shake their heads hard, like they’re suffering from a jammed neurotransmitter.

  I split the stack into threes—weapons, locations, party guests—shuffle the deck, and slide a clue from each stack into the CONFIDENTIAL envelope. When I’m done, I glance at Pop, who’s quietly sipping his tea while leafing through an old magazine. He has that look of comprehension in his eyes; so today is a “good day.” At least for him.

  Halfway through the game, Pop is watching us, like he wants to play. When I was younger and the twins were still babies, we used to play Clue all the time. Pop was always Colonel Mustard; Mom, Ms. White; me, Mr. Green; and Jade, when she was around, was Ms. Scarlet.

  “Want me to deal you in?” I ask Pop.

  “No . . . I’m good . . . watching,” he says, resting an elbow on the table. He leans forward. A second later he ruffles my hair, and for a moment I am seven and he is twenty-four. And we’re still okay.

  “Are we gonna play or what?” Domingo whines.

  “Yeah,” I say, taking my eyes off Pop. “Hand me the die.”

  By the time Mom gets home, we’ve solved two mysteries—Mr. Green with the Rope in the Billiard Room and Ms. Scarlett with the Revolver in the Dining Room—and Pop has just done his “impression” of a “rich British dude.” But, honestly, it sounds more like Madonna reading the announcement that precedes tests for the Emergency Broadcasting System.

  Either way, it makes us laugh.

  “Good day?” Mom sits beside Pop, giving his knee a squeeze.

  “Good afternoon,” I say, because the rest of this day—the bad parts—I could have done without. But that’s the thing about good and bad: The distance between them isn’t that far apart.

  • • •

  My plan to “bury my problems” doesn’t work. Because, man, the truth really does have a way of finding you. That’s the hard lesson Diego’s dad had to learn after his arrest, that the theory behind “prisoner’s dilemma” can only take you so far.

  Truth came for me at two a.m. I was tossing and turning under my patchwork quilt when I heard its first tap. It took a second for my brain to register that someone was out there. Another second to hypothesize who that someone might be.

  Sally was the first name that popped up. After all, a pattern had formed, with her showing up two nights in a row.

  I’ve missed you.

  I’ve missed you too.

  But I knew that it couldn’t be her. Because I saw her earlier today as I headed toward the school parking lot. And she saw me. With Erika. Holding hands. And the answer to her question—“Are you guys gonna stay on a break? Do you want to?”—was clear.

  Because done is done is done. And even those words—I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you too—can’t fix over.

  No, this Truth had a shaved head and freshly laundered Grendel’s shirt with the collar popped. This Truth was a gangster from a 1970s movie.

  And he had come ready to fight.

  • • •

  The firs
t thing I work out the next morning is that I can’t bring myself to get ready for school. It’s five a.m. and after tossing and turning for the last three hours in my bed, I’ve relieved two cases of the anxiety you-know-whats. Now I’m leaning on the countertop in the kitchen, staring at water dripping into the coffeepot. Not a good move, given my current condition, but this coffee will be the crane that pulls my eyelids open. So what else am I gonna do, besides drink coffee and replay last night?

  DIEGO

  So you’re not taking the job?

  ME

  No. I just want my raise. I need it, man, to get some of my savings back, to save up again.

  DIEGO

  And you were gonna tell me? Even if your name hadn’t appeared on that list for second-round interviews, you were gonna own up?

  ME

  Dude, I tried to own up already. At lunch. Remember? I said there was a condition, but then—

  DIEGO

  But then Erika came.

  ME

  Then Erika came. . . .

  DIEGO

  And now you’re back together?

  ME

  Yep.

  DIEGO

  And I know that because I saw you later in the day and you told me about that.

  (pauses)

  Like that was your only big news.

  The conversation nosedived after that.

  To stop my ruminating, I skim old physics books and watch the sky lighten.

  “I thought I smelled coffee,” Mom says when she finds me around six a.m. She wipes the sleep from her eyes. “How long have you been up?”

  “Too long,” I grumble.

  “Big project?”

  I hold up a book. “One. Physics. But mostly movies in my other classes.”

  “Ah, the calm before the storm. But you’ll see college will be different. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. No wasting time, no feeling like you’re being babysat. It’ll be exciting.”

  “Would you be excited?” I ask, curious.

  “Huh?” Mom selects her favorite mug from the cabinet—white veneer, blue waves, squiggly lines for birds, a cartoonish sun, my six-year-old “artist” signature on the bottom. “For what?”

  “For college. Would you be happy to go?”

  “Well . . .” She pauses to pour coffee. “I might still. Don’t act like I’m ancient here. Who knows? Maybe after your brothers are grown.”

  “What would you study?”

  “Hmm . . . Lots of questions this morning, huh?”

  “Sorry.” I twirl my physics book around, feeling that anxiety rise up.

  “It’s okay, but . . .” Mom studies my face, her eyes like an elevator. “You okay?”

  I shrug. “Sure.”

  “Are you having second thoughts about cosmology?”

  “No . . .” I spin the physics book again. “Not exactly.”

  Mom sits in the squeaky chair opposite me. “So what, then?”

  “Just thinking . . .”

  “About?”

  “About this offer Mr. Grendel made me.”

  “For what?”

  “Well, he’s hiring a new manager trainee, and he thinks I’d be good for it.”

  “You would be, of course. You’re good at anything you set your mind to. But that’s not the plan, right? You told him about college, right?”

  “I did, and he knows that’s still my plan, but . . .” I clear my throat, deciding to drop some truth bombs. “But maybe . . . maybe I should.” I wait for her to say, “No, you shouldn’t. You should go to Wayne. You should live out your dreams.” But she just holds that cup and sighs.

  “I’d have a college degree no matter what. . . .” I continue. “There are, like, four universities here to choose from—”

  “I know,” she says with another sigh.

  “And Mr. Grendel says this would give me options to help out with you, and dad, and the boys—”

  “I know.”

  “So what do I do?”

  She takes a deep breath. “Honestly? I don’t know. When I was your age, I gave up everything to have my family—to have you. And I don’t regret my decisions. But you have more options. I want you to have more. You know? But . . .”

  “But?”

  “But,” she repeats, like she understands my doubts.

  We’re quiet for a while. Mom calls this “thinking on things.” Eventually she walks over to me, crouching down until we’re eye to eye. “Listen,” she says, resting a firm hand on my shoulder. “You’re the smartest kid I know. When you try to explain your homework to me, I have no idea what you’re saying—”

  “That’s impossible, Mom,” I say quietly. “Studies show that all my cognitive abilities are located in the X chromosome, and that came from you, not Pop.”

  “Well, there must be possibilities inside me that I’ve never explored. . . . And see? I didn’t know that. You knew that, Marco.” She rests her head on my knee, trying to keep our connection the way she did when I was child, those slender fingers always reaching for me. “I see how hard this is on you. I do. But you can’t give up your future for us, okay? I know you keep trying to, but you just can’t.” She looks up at me, her eyes a little wet. “Okay?”

  To be honest, mine are a little wet too. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” She stands, reaching for my cup. “Where’d you learn to make such good coffee?”

  Maybe it takes a while, but I answer, “I learned from you, Mom.”

  Middle School

  26. THE DANCE

  THE DANCE WAS HELD AT the school. The student decorating committee, led by our very own Sookie, had turned our stinky cafeteria into “a magical undersea paradise,” a transformation that involved gold, blue, and silver streamers blowing in the wind of strategically placed box fans. Taped to the walls were ocean scenes—giant fish and mermaids swimming through coral reef and above sandy ocean floors.

  After the fourth dance, we collapsed on benches lining the walls, and Jade said, “It looks good in here, Sookie. I like it!”

  Diego pointed to a far wall. “That mermaid is legit, Sooks. I ain’t ever seen a Korean mermaid before.”

  “Actually,” Sally said, closing her eyes like she was trying to remember a detail. “I read an article once on Korean mermaids, only they aren’t real mermaids. They’re women, some of them almost seventy, and they can dive up to sixty-five feet without taking a breath for two minutes.”

  “Seriously?” Sookie said, looking impressed.

  “Yep, they’re called the . . .” Sally paused, retrieving that picture from her photographic memory. “Haenyo and they’re from . . . Gijang County. You should check them out if you go this summer, Sookie.”

  “So, you’re going?” Jade asked.

  “Yeah, I think so,” Sookie said.

  “So, is the mermaid supposed to look exactly like you?” Sally asked, laughing.

  The mermaid was dark haired and pale skinned, with Sookie’s big, almond-colored eyes. The smudgy dot of a beauty mark hovered above the mouth.

  “Why not?” Sookie smiled, her own beauty mark rising. “I drew the mermaid three times before I got it right.”

  Sookie’s date, Ari, said, “It’s really cool, but why aren’t there any mermen?”

  “Mermen?” It was clear Sookie hadn’t thought of that.

  “Yeah, you could’ve made one with glasses and ears that stick out a little but is handsome, you know.”

  We laughed. Ari had just described himself.

  “What?” Ari asked, playing up the joke.

  Diego chuckled. “You got them ears right, though. . . .” He tugged on the lapel of his new suit. “Or you could have made a merman fly like me—a little macked-out ’fro, a little ebony skin, handsome as sure as that sun rises.”

  Everyone laughed but Jade, who stared at Diego with adoring eyes.

  A slow song came on.

  “Now, that’s it right there.” Diego looked around the room for a partner.

  “I li
ke it, too,” Jade said, standing. “Let’s go!”

  “Um . . . ,” Diego glanced from her to the dance floor, but Jade didn’t wait. She nudged him forward, the whole time Diego going, “Damn, girl, be gentle.”

  Sally whispered, “Jade is not playing tonight.”

  Ari turned to Sookie. “Risk the Care Bear test?”

  Sookie laughed and took his hand. “You know I came up with that,” she said as they walked off.

  “You want to?” I asked Sally, but she shook her head. “I’m still worn out from all your dad moves.”

  “What? This?” I shifted my hips left and right before shuffling back and forth on my feet.

  Sally covered her eyes. “I can’t look. It’s so bad, even your dad would be embarrassed for you.”

  “Nah, as long as I got this covered. . . .” I waited for Sally to peek. Then I gave her the Suarez wink, stadium style: left, right, left, right.

  Sally laughed, lowering her hands. “If you’re my future, I’m in trouble.”

  I smiled all the way down to my heart.

  “You’re gawking,” Sally said.

  “Maybe . . . maybe not.”

  But the real answer was absolutely. She looked different tonight—a new version of Sally, one who wore charcoal eyeliner that made her gray eyes pop and a silver dress that fit her like nothing before. When I looked at her in that dress, all I could think about was the curve of those hips, and . . .

  So many ands.

  “You keep staring,” Sally said.

  I shrugged. “Not staring . . .” I searched for the right words and decided on something Pop always said to Mom. “I’m appreciating you.”

  “Appreciating?” She smiled, her cheeks glowing. “Well . . .” She took a deep breath. “I’m appreciating you, too.”

  The song changed, another slow jam. On the dance floor, Diego and Jade kept dancing. One of the chaperones tapped Diego on the back, motioning for him to step away from Jade until he could fit a Care Bear between them. Then he left them with their chaperone-approved space.

  Sally nodded to Diego and Jade. “Something’s happening there.”

  “What?” I watched Jade and Diego try to maintain their distance.

  Sally smiled. “Love.”

  “See?” I said. “Nothing bad happened.”

  Sally looked at me, her smile fading.