Read Online Everything Begins and Ends at the Kentucky Club by Benjamin Alire Sáenz - Free Book Online Page B

a bad guy. He wasn’t nice like Jorge’s father, but he was getting stuff for me and making sure I had my own room and I knew he was going to give me rules that I had to follow, and if I followed them, then he’d take care of me.
    When I woke up in the morning, we moved the furniture in. He hung up my curtains. He told me to sweep and mop the floor.
    I nodded.
    “So do it then,” he said. “Then make your bed.”
    He looked around the room and nodded. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said.
    I walked around the house. There was a nice big room with lots of windows that faced the backyard. It had a brick floor and I liked the room a lot but it didn’t have anything in it. It was empty and that’s how I felt—empty. I walked into the backyard. It was just dirt and weeds and a nice big tree.
    I walked to the living room and thought about watching television but I didn’t feel like it, so I walked out to the front porch and sat on the front steps. There was a newspaper in the front yard and I sat on the steps and started to read it.
    I could hear the bells of the cathedral and then I heard my father’s voice. “You’re going to church. I’ll let you skip this Sunday. But starting next Sunday, you’re going to church every week. Have you made your communion?”
    “No,” I said.
    “How old are you?”
    “Ten.”
    “You should have made your communion,” he said.
    “Mom didn’t go to church,” I said.
    “I don’t go to church either,” he said. “But that’s no excuse.” He shook his head. Then he looked at me, like he was studying me. “What’s your name?”
    “Maximiliano.”
    “They call you Max?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What’s your last name?”
    “Gonzalez.”
    “That’s your mother’s name. We’ll have to fix that. Your last name’s McDonald.”
    “McDonald? You’re not Mexican?”
    “Yeah, I’m Mexican. Look, not every Mexican has a Mexican name.” He laughed. “Maximiliano McDonald.” He laughed again. “It’s got a ring to it. Where were you born?”
    I shrugged. “Here. El Paso. But I don’t know where.”
    “Guess I’ll have to do some paperwork. Have that name changed. Legally, I mean.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll be gone for the day. I have some business.” He took out a twenty dollar bill. “Get yourself some food. If you walk down that way,” he pointed directly ahead of us, “and you walk up Mesa Street, you’ll find places.” He put a key in my hand. “Don’t lose it or I’ll kick your ass.” He started walking toward his pickup truck in the driveway. He turned back, “And don’t ever walk into my room. Not ever.”
    When my father left, I cleaned the bathroom. That took a while. Then I took a shower. I looked through my clothes, hung them up in my closet. They were a little wrinkled. I looked everywhere but I couldn’t find an iron. I’d been ironing my own clothes since I started school. Besides teaching me to read and write in English, it was the only other thing my mother had taught me how to do.
    My mother had put a picture of herself in my suitcase. She was smiling and she looked like she was happy. But photographs lied. They always lied. I put the picture in my desk drawer.
    I put on a T-shirt and I decided to take a walk. I walked all day in every direction. I had nowhere to go and I didn’t have my aunt’s phone number and didn’t know how to get there on my own. I thought of walking over to Juárez but I was afraid of getting lost.
    I bought a yellow pad and some pens and a drawing pad and some pencils and a pencil sharpener. I wasn’t hungry and I didn’t eat anything. I got home before dark and sat at my desk and wrote down all my father’s rules.
    1. Make straight A’s at school.
    2. Clean bathroom and kitchen once a week.
    3. Go to church on Sundays and make my first communion.
    4. Never go into his room.
    5. Don’t lose the key to the house.
    I knew there would be more rules. And I was ready to write them down. So that