Read Online Last Summer of the Death Warriors by Francesco X Stork - Free Book Online
Authors: Francesco X Stork
Tags: Fiction
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paying customers. It was all right, living here. We never lacked anything. I went to sleep tired every night.” He stood up. There was something about the way D.Q. asked questions that lulled him into saying more than he wanted. He waited for D.Q. to stand and then he opened the plastic toy box where they had been sitting. “Let’s take these,” he said.
“Jockstraps?”
“Groin protectors,” Pancho corrected him. “In case we have some more matches. I don’t want my pecans getting cracked.”
CHAPTER 9
H e waited until all the lights in the dormitory were out. Then he waited some more. After they got back from the trailer, he and Memo had painted the storage room, so it had been a long day and it was hard to stay awake. When he thought everyone was asleep, he sat up in bed and turned on the lamp. He dug out Rosa’s diary from the backpack and held it in front of him. He searched for the tiny key in his wallet pocket and found it. He paused again for a second before he inserted the key in the lock and turned it. He opened the diary to the first page.
He read: “My DAIRY by ROSA SANCHEZ.”
He smiled at the misspelling. There were so many times when he had felt like grabbing the diary from Rosa’s hands and tossing it outside. He’d be on the sofa trying to watch television, and Rosa would be sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter asking him how to spell this and how to spell that. “If no one’s gonna read it, what difference does it make?” he would say to her irritably. “Oh, Pancho,” she would say without looking up, waiting for him to give her the right spelling, knowing that he would. Fortunately,the words she asked about were easy words. He wasn’t a great speller himself.
Rosa had learned how to write and read at a school for so-called special students. A light blue van with round yellow lights on top would pull up in front of the trailer at seven twenty-five A.M. to pick her up. His father had already left for work, so it was up to him to make sure she got in the van. Mostly, he hurried her along by counting down the minutes until the van arrived. “Five more minutes,” he would say to her. “Thirty seconds,” he’d yell, as she ran around looking for a shoe. When the van came, he opened the door to the trailer to let the driver know that Rosa was on her way. He’d watch the van pull away and then he’d walk to the entrance of the trailer park, where he would wait for the regular school bus, the one for students who were not “special” like Rosa. He thanked his lucky stars that he and Rosa did not get on the same bus.
The special school that Rosa attended was a fifteen-mile drive from their trailer park. The first time he went there with his father, he was surprised to see that not all the students looked like the ones he saw in the back of the blue van. Rosa’s school was a regular elementary school large enough to have special-education classes. The hope was that at some point, the special students would catch up to the regular students and join them in their classes. But that would never be the case with Rosa. According to her teachers, Rosa’s mind would remain forever at the level of a not-very-bright ten-year-old. But a ten-year-old mind could read and write and add and subtract and work certain jobs, and so could Rosa.
Below her name, Rosa had written her address and telephonenumber. Below that, she had written in pencil in small letters, trying not to waste any available space on the page:
The story of Rosa Sanchez life. My mother died when I was 8. I have a father that takes care of me now and I have one brother his name is Pancho. I am disebeld and go to special ed class every day. My brother Pancho tells me hurry up Rosa here comes the van. At school I like when missus Chavez reads to us. My papa gave me this dairy today. I will write to you and tell you my secrets I have. Well night now.
He thought that it must have taken her an hour to write those few lines. He
“Jockstraps?”
“Groin protectors,” Pancho corrected him. “In case we have some more matches. I don’t want my pecans getting cracked.”
CHAPTER 9
H e waited until all the lights in the dormitory were out. Then he waited some more. After they got back from the trailer, he and Memo had painted the storage room, so it had been a long day and it was hard to stay awake. When he thought everyone was asleep, he sat up in bed and turned on the lamp. He dug out Rosa’s diary from the backpack and held it in front of him. He searched for the tiny key in his wallet pocket and found it. He paused again for a second before he inserted the key in the lock and turned it. He opened the diary to the first page.
He read: “My DAIRY by ROSA SANCHEZ.”
He smiled at the misspelling. There were so many times when he had felt like grabbing the diary from Rosa’s hands and tossing it outside. He’d be on the sofa trying to watch television, and Rosa would be sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter asking him how to spell this and how to spell that. “If no one’s gonna read it, what difference does it make?” he would say to her irritably. “Oh, Pancho,” she would say without looking up, waiting for him to give her the right spelling, knowing that he would. Fortunately,the words she asked about were easy words. He wasn’t a great speller himself.
Rosa had learned how to write and read at a school for so-called special students. A light blue van with round yellow lights on top would pull up in front of the trailer at seven twenty-five A.M. to pick her up. His father had already left for work, so it was up to him to make sure she got in the van. Mostly, he hurried her along by counting down the minutes until the van arrived. “Five more minutes,” he would say to her. “Thirty seconds,” he’d yell, as she ran around looking for a shoe. When the van came, he opened the door to the trailer to let the driver know that Rosa was on her way. He’d watch the van pull away and then he’d walk to the entrance of the trailer park, where he would wait for the regular school bus, the one for students who were not “special” like Rosa. He thanked his lucky stars that he and Rosa did not get on the same bus.
The special school that Rosa attended was a fifteen-mile drive from their trailer park. The first time he went there with his father, he was surprised to see that not all the students looked like the ones he saw in the back of the blue van. Rosa’s school was a regular elementary school large enough to have special-education classes. The hope was that at some point, the special students would catch up to the regular students and join them in their classes. But that would never be the case with Rosa. According to her teachers, Rosa’s mind would remain forever at the level of a not-very-bright ten-year-old. But a ten-year-old mind could read and write and add and subtract and work certain jobs, and so could Rosa.
Below her name, Rosa had written her address and telephonenumber. Below that, she had written in pencil in small letters, trying not to waste any available space on the page:
The story of Rosa Sanchez life. My mother died when I was 8. I have a father that takes care of me now and I have one brother his name is Pancho. I am disebeld and go to special ed class every day. My brother Pancho tells me hurry up Rosa here comes the van. At school I like when missus Chavez reads to us. My papa gave me this dairy today. I will write to you and tell you my secrets I have. Well night now.
He thought that it must have taken her an hour to write those few lines. He
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