Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

  I nodded.

  “He didn’t know you worked. He said you never mentioned anything about that in your letters.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  She shook her head. “Guess it doesn’t.” I knew she was doing some math in her head about this, but she was keeping the math to herself. That was okay with me. That was when the phone rang again. “It’s probably Dante,” she said.

  It was Dante.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  “Did it snow in Chicago?”

  “No. Just cold. And gray. I mean really cold.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “I kind of like it. But I’m tired of the gray days. They say it will be worse in January. February too, probably.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, it does suck.”

  There was a little silence on the phone.

  “So you’re working?”

  “Yeah, flipping burgers at the Charcoaler. Trying to save up some money.”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “Yeah, it’s not important. Just a shitty job.”

  “Well, you’re not going to save too much money buying nice art books for your friends.” I could tell he was smiling.

  “So you got the book?”

  “I’m holding it in my lap. Gericault’s Raft of the Medusa by Lorenz E. A. Eitner. It’s a beautiful book, Ari.”

  I thought he was going to cry. And I whispered in my own brain, don’t cry don’t cry. And it was like he heard me—and he didn’t cry. And then he said, “How many burgers did you flip to buy the book?”

  “That’s a very Dante question,” I said.

  “That’s a very Ari answer,” he said.

  And then we started laughing and couldn’t stop. And I missed him so much.

  When I hung up the phone, I felt a little sad. And a little happy. For a few minutes I wished that Dante and I lived in the universe of boys instead of the universe of almost-men.

  I went out for a slow run. Legs and me. It’s true what they say that every guy should have a dog. Gina says every boy is a dog. That Gina. She was like my mother. I had her voice in my head.

  Halfway through the run, it started to rain. The movie of the accident played through my brain. For a few seconds, there was a pain in my legs.

  Twenty-Six

  ON NEW YEAR’S EVE, I GOT CALLED IN TO WORK AT THE Charcoaler. I was good with that. I didn’t have any plans and I didn’t feel like being in my head.

  “You’re going in to work?” My mom wasn’t happy.

  “Social interaction,” I said.

  She shot me a look. “Everybody’s coming over.”

  Yeah, the family thing. Uncles. Cousins. My mom’s menudo and more tamales. I was burnt out on tamales. Beer. Wine for my mom and my sisters. I wasn’t big on family gatherings. Too many intimate strangers. I smiled a lot, but really I never knew what to say.

  I smiled at my mom. “1987. Glad that’s over.”

  She shot me another look. “It was a good year, Ari.”

  “Well, there was that small incident in the rain.”

  She smiled. “Why is it so hard for you to give yourself some credit?”

  “Because I’m like my father.” I raised my cup of coffee toward her in a toast. “Here’s to ’88. And to Dad.”

  My mother reached over and combed my hair with her fingers. She hadn’t done that in a while. “You’re looking more and more like a man,” she said.

  I raised my cup of coffee again. “Well, here’s to manhood.”

  Work wasn’t so busy. The rain kept people away, so the four of us who were working took turns trying to sing our favorite songs of 1987. The Los Lobos version of “La Bamba” was my favorite, hands down. I couldn’t sing worth a damn so I sang it on purpose because I knew everyone would tell me, don’t sing don’t sing, which is exactly what they said. So I was off the hook. Alma kept singing “Faith.” Didn’t care for George Michael. Lucy kept pretending she was Madonna and even though she had a good voice, I was not into Madonna. Somewhere toward the end of the shift we all started singing U2 songs. “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” Yeah, that was a good song. My theme song. But really I thought it was everybody’s theme song.

  At five minutes to ten, I heard a voice at the drive-in ordering a burger and fries. Gina Navarro. I’d know that voice anywhere. I couldn’t decide if I really liked her or I was just used to her. When her order was done, I took it out to her beat-up Volkswagen Beetle, where she and Susie Byrd were parked.

  “You guys going out with each other?”

  “Hardee-har, you asshole.”

  “Happy New Year to you too.”

  “You almost done?”

  “We gotta clean up before I get off.”

  Susie Byrd smiled. I gotta say she had a sweet smile. “We came to invite you to a party.”

  “Party. I don’t think so,” I said.

  “There’s beer,” Gina said.

  “And girls you might want to kiss,” Susie said.

  My own personal dating service. Just what I wanted for the new year. “Maybe,” I said.

  “No maybes,” Gina said. “Loosen up.”

  I don’t know why I said yes, but that’s just what I said. “Just give me the address and I’ll meet you there. I have to go home and tell my parents.”

  I was hoping my mom and dad would say “no way.” But that’s not what happened. “You’re actually going to a party?” my mother said.

  “Surprised that I’m invited, Mom?”

  “No. Just surprised that you want to go.”

  “It’s New Year’s.”

  “Will there be drinking?”

  “I don’t know, Mom.”

  “You’re not driving your truck there. Period.”

  “Guess I can’t go.”

  “Where’s the party?”

  “Corner of Silver and Elm.”

  “That’s just down the street. You can walk.”

  “It’s raining.”

  “It stopped.”

  My mom was practically throwing me out of the house. “Go. Have a good time.”

  Shit. A good time.

  And guess what? I did have a good time.

  I kissed a girl. No, she kissed me. Ileana. She was there. Ileana. She just walked up to me and said, “It’s New Year’s. So Happy New Year.” And then she just leaned into me and kissed me.

  We kissed. For a long time. And then she whispered, “You’re the best kisser in the world.”

  “No,” I said, “I’m not.”

  “Don’t argue with me. I know about these things.”

  “Okay,” I said, “I won’t argue with you.” And then we kissed again.

  And then she said, “I gotta go.” And then she just left.

  I didn’t even have time to take the whole thing in before Gina was standing in front of me. “I saw that,” she said.

  “So fucking what?”

  “How was it?”

  I just looked at her. “Happy New Year.” And then I hugged her. “I have a New Year’s resolution for you.”

  That made her laugh. “I have a whole list for you, Ari.”

  We stood there laughing our asses off.

  It was strange to have a good time.

  Twenty-Seven

  ONE DAY, WHEN I WAS ALONE IN THE HOUSE, I OPENED the drawer. The drawer with the large manila envelope marked BERNARDO. I wanted to open it. I wanted to know all the secrets that were contained there.

  Maybe I would be free. But why wasn’t I free? I wasn’t in prison, was I?

  I put the envelope back.

  I didn’t want to do it this way. I wanted my mother to hand it to me. To say, “This is the story of your brother.”

  Maybe I wanted too much.

  Twenty-Eight

  DANTE WROTE ME A SHORT LETTER.

  Ari,

  Do you masturbate? I’m thinking you think that’s a fu
nny question. But it’s a very serious question. I mean, you’re pretty normal. At least, you’re more normal than me.

  So maybe you masturbate or maybe you don’t. Maybe I’m a little obsessed with this topic lately. Maybe it’s just a phase. But, Ari, if you do masturbate, what do you think about?

  I know I should ask my dad about this, but I don’t feel like it. I love my dad—but do I have to tell him everything?

  Sixteen-year-olds masturbate, right? How many times a week is normal?

  Your friend,

  Dante

  It really made me mad that he sent that letter. Not that he wrote it, but that he sent it. I was really embarrassed by the whole thing. I am not interested in having a conversation about masturbation with Dante.

  I am not interested in having a conversation about masturbation with anyone.

  What the hell was wrong with that guy?

  Twenty-Nine

  JANUARY, FEBRUARY, MARCH, APRIL. THE MONTHS SORT of ran together. School was okay. I studied. I worked out. I ran with Legs. I worked at the Charcoaler. I played hide-and-seek with Ileana. Or rather she played hide-and-seek with me. I just didn’t get her.

  Some Friday nights, I’d drive my truck out into the desert after work. I’d lie in the bed of my pickup and look out at the stars.

  One day I just flat out asked Ileana to go out on a date. I was tired of the flirting thing. It wasn’t working anymore. “Let’s just go to a movie,” I said. “You know, maybe hold hands.”

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “You can’t?”

  “Not ever.”

  “So why’d you kiss me then?”

  “Because you’re good-looking.”

  “That’s the only reason?”

  “And you’re nice.”

  “So what’s the problem?” I was beginning to figure out that Ileana was playing a game that I just didn’t like.

  Sometimes she would come by the Charcoaler on Friday nights when I was closing up and we would sit in my pickup and talk. But we really didn’t talk about anything important. She was even more private than I was.

  There was this prom thing coming up and I thought maybe I’d ask her to go. It didn’t matter that she’d turned me down already. And wasn’t she the one coming to see me at the Charcoaler? A couple of weeks before the prom, she showed up at the Charcoaler as I was closing up. We sat in my truck. “So you want to go the prom with me?” I said. I was trying to sound confident but I don’t think it came out exactly right.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s okay.”

  “Don’t you want to know why, Ari?”

  “If you wanted to tell me why, you’d tell me.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you why I can’t go.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I have a boyfriend, Ari.”

  “Oh,” I said. I said it like nothing. “So I’m just, this, well, what am I, Ileana?”

  “You’re a guy I like.”

  “Okay,” I said. I heard Gina’s voice in my head. She’s just toying with you.

  “He’s in a gang, Ari.”

  “Your boyfriend?”

  “Yeah. And if he knew I was here, something bad would happen to you.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “You should be.”

  “Why don’t you just break up with him?”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re a good boy, you know that, Ari?”

  “Yeah, well, that sucks, Ileana. I don’t want to be a good boy.”

  “Well, you are. I love that about you.”

  “Well, here’s the thing,” I said, “I get to be the good boy. And the gang guy gets the girl. I don’t like this movie.”

  “You’re mad. Don’t be mad.”

  “Don’t tell me not to be mad.”

  “Ari, please don’t be mad.”

  “Why did you kiss me? Why did you kiss me, Ileana?”

  “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” She just looked at me. Before I could say anything else, she got out of my truck.

  On Monday, I looked for her at school. But I could never find her. I got Gina and Susie on the case. They were good detectives. Gina came back with a report, “Ileana dropped out of school.”

  “Why?”

  “She just did, Ari.”

  “Can she do that? Isn’t it against the law or something?”

  “She’s a senior, Ari. She’s eighteen. She’s an adult. She can do whatever she wants.”

  “She doesn’t know what she wants.”

  I found her address. Her dad’s number was listed in the book. I went to her house and knocked on her door. Her brother came out. “Yeah?” He just looked at me.

  “I’m looking for Ileana.”

  “What do you want her for?”

  “She’s a friend. From school.”

  “Friend?” He just kept nodding his head. “Look, vato, she got married.”

  “What?”

  “She got knocked up. She married the guy.”

  I didn’t know what to say. So I didn’t say anything at all.

  I sat in my truck that night with Legs. I kept thinking that I took this kissing way too seriously. I promised myself that I was going to become the world’s most casual kisser.

  Kissing didn’t mean a damn thing.

  Thirty

  DEAR ARI,

  Seven to one. That’s the ratio of Dante Letters to Ari Letters. Just so you know. When I get back this summer, I’m going to take you swimming and drown you. Almost drown you. Then I’ll give you mouth-to-mouth and revive you. How does that sound? Sounds good to me. Am I freaking you out yet?

  So on the business of kissing. This girl who’ve I’ve been experimenting with. I mean with the kisses. She’s a good kisser. She’s taught me a lot in that department. But she finally said to me, “Dante, I think that when you kiss me, you’re kissing someone else.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Guess so.”

  “Are you kissing another girl? Or are you kissing a boy?”

  I thought that was a very interesting and forward question.

  “A boy,” I said.

  “Anyone I know?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I think I’m just making up a boy in my head.”

  “Any boy?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “A good-looking boy.”

  “Well, yeah,” she said. “As good-looking as you?”

  I shrugged. It’s nice that she thought I was good-looking. We’re friends now. And it’s nice because now I don’t feel like I’m leading her on. And anyway, she confessed to me that the only reason she liked kissing me at all those parties was because she was trying to make this guy she really likes jealous. That made me laugh. She said it wasn’t working. “Maybe he’d rather be kissing you than me,” she said. Ha, ha, I said. I didn’t know which guy she was talking about but to tell you the honest truth, Ari, even though it’s been a real trip hanging out with privileged Chicago kids who can afford lots of beer and liquor and pot, they’re really not all that interesting. Not to me anyway.

  I want to go back home.

  That’s what I told my mom and dad. “Can we go now? Are we done here?” Of course, my dad, who can be a real wise ass, looks me straight in the eyes and says: “I thought you hated El Paso? Isn’t that what you said when I told you we were moving to El Paso? You said: “Just shoot me, Dad.”

  I know what he was after. He wanted me to say I was wrong. Well, I looked right back at him and said: “I was wrong, Dad. Are you happy?”

  He gets this grin on his face. “Happy about what, Dante?”

  “Happy that I was wrong?”

  He kissed me on the cheek and said, “Yeah, I’m happy, Dante.”

  The thing is I love my dad. My mom too. And I keep wondering what they’re going to say when I tell them that someday I want to marry a boy. I wonder how t
hat’s going to go over? I’m the only son. What’s going to happen with the grandchildren thing? I hate that I’m going to disappoint them, Ari. I know I’ve disappointed you too.

  I’m a little worried that we won’t be friends when I get back. I guess I have to deal with these things. I hate lying to people, Ari. I especially hate lying to my parents. You know how I feel about them.

  I guess I’m just going to tell my dad. I have this little speech. It starts something like this. “Dad, I have something to say to you. I like boys. Don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. I mean, Dad, you’re a boy too.” The speech doesn’t really fit together very well. It needs some work. It sounds too needy. I hate that. I don’t want to be needy. Just because I’m playing for the other team doesn’t mean that I’m this pathetic human being who’s begging to be loved. I have more self-respect than that.

  Yeah, I know, I’m droning on and on. Three more weeks and I’ll be home. Home. Another summer, Ari. You think we’re too old to play in the streets? Probably. Maybe not. Look, I just want you to know that I don’t want you to feel like you have to be my friend when I get back. I’m not exactly best-friend material, am I?

  Your friend,

  Dante

  P.S. It would be very weird not be friends with the guy who saved your life, don’t you think? Am I breaking the rules?

  Thirty-One

  ON THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL, GINA ACTUALLY GAVE me a compliment. “You know all that working out has turned you into a hunk.”

  I smiled at her. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “So how are you going to celebrate the beginning of summer?”

  “I’m working tonight.”

  She smiled. “So serious.”

  “You and Susie going to a party?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t you get tired of parties?”