watch as the adult teams turned on their jets.
Jane just sighed.
“Holy Christ!” yelled Jake, looking out at Main Street. “Rick and Dennis just knocked somebody down!”
“Yahoo!” cried Jane, cheering up, lifting her fist. “Go, baby!”
Later, we gathered around Jane and Dennis’s dining room table for brisket. “Dad?” said Jane. “Would you like to say grace?”
“Grace?” I said. “Since when do we—”
“God, our Heavenly Father,” said my dad, “we thank you for the food we are about to share. We thank you for our health and our loving family. We ask for your blessings, now and always, and a special blessing for Jane and Dennis’s new baby. Amen.”
Jane lifted her face and met my stunned gaze. “Yup,” she said. Her face was pale, resigned.
“Congratulations, you guys!” said Jake, standing up to hug Jane and Dennis. His words were falsely cheerful, like fluorescent bulbs over a hospital room.
“Wonderful news,” said my father. He repeated, “Wonderful news.” And then Benjamin knocked over his Kool-Aid and began to cry.
“Look at this smoke ring,” said Dennis, holding up his meat and pointing. “We’re in the hands of a master here.”
“Honey,” said Jane, “can you get Ben some more Kool-Aid?”
“No,” said Dennis. “No, I cannot.”
Jane stood up, used her napkin to sop up Benjamin’s spilled drink, and then burst into tears.
“Did I tell you guys,” I said, “that I’m going to help out at the high school?”
“What?” said Jake.
“Yeah,” I said. “The principal of Chávez Memorial High has asked me to meet with some of the kids. I’m going to mentor a girl named Evian when school starts in the fall. In fact, Evian shot her brother. By mistake.”
Even Gilmer went silent. Jane sank back down in her seat, seemingly relieved to be out of the spotlight. “Did you say shot her brother ?” said my father.
“That’s what I said.”
“Wow,” said Jake, sounding hurt. “I didn’t know you were going to say yes.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” said my father.
“I guess so,” I said.
“Your mother would be proud of you,” said my father. It was the first time he’d ever said anything like this to me. I stuffed a forkful of beans into my mouth. Happiness rose inside me like bread.
13
Carla
I TRIED TO REMEMBER everything I knew about preparing for a trip to America. I made Junior memorize our mother’s phone number, starting with the magical Austin, Texas, area code, 512. I piled on layers of clothing and strode around our yard, to see if I could take the heat. I practiced tying bottles of water to my waist. I took every centavo I had and filled the coffee can, then jammed it deep into my backpack.
“I’m not leaving,” said Junior, sitting cross-legged in the yard.
“Oh yes you are,” I said.
Junior stood. “See you later,” he said, hitching up his pants.
“Where are you going?”
“None of anybody’s business and especially none of yours,” said Junior. I scowled, and he ran off.
“Be back tonight,” I called. I had decided we would leave first thing in the morning. I hoped—dear God, I hoped—that Humberto would join us. I knew it was stupid to try to go to America without a coyote , but even with the money my mother had sent that week, we had only thirty U.S. dollars. This was a lot, but it was not enough. When we reached the American border, I hoped it would get all three of us (if Humberto came along) across the Rio Bravo on a raft.
As I’ve said, I believe in God. I could worry about what I could worry about, and I had to trust God to take care of the rest. As my story continues, please remember this. Some of the things that happened to me would ruin a person who did not have faith. If despair runs as deep and fast as the Rio Bravo, my belief that I am not alone forms a lifeboat underneath me, keeping me from drowning. This is hard for an American to understand. Having enough—having too
Jane just sighed.
“Holy Christ!” yelled Jake, looking out at Main Street. “Rick and Dennis just knocked somebody down!”
“Yahoo!” cried Jane, cheering up, lifting her fist. “Go, baby!”
Later, we gathered around Jane and Dennis’s dining room table for brisket. “Dad?” said Jane. “Would you like to say grace?”
“Grace?” I said. “Since when do we—”
“God, our Heavenly Father,” said my dad, “we thank you for the food we are about to share. We thank you for our health and our loving family. We ask for your blessings, now and always, and a special blessing for Jane and Dennis’s new baby. Amen.”
Jane lifted her face and met my stunned gaze. “Yup,” she said. Her face was pale, resigned.
“Congratulations, you guys!” said Jake, standing up to hug Jane and Dennis. His words were falsely cheerful, like fluorescent bulbs over a hospital room.
“Wonderful news,” said my father. He repeated, “Wonderful news.” And then Benjamin knocked over his Kool-Aid and began to cry.
“Look at this smoke ring,” said Dennis, holding up his meat and pointing. “We’re in the hands of a master here.”
“Honey,” said Jane, “can you get Ben some more Kool-Aid?”
“No,” said Dennis. “No, I cannot.”
Jane stood up, used her napkin to sop up Benjamin’s spilled drink, and then burst into tears.
“Did I tell you guys,” I said, “that I’m going to help out at the high school?”
“What?” said Jake.
“Yeah,” I said. “The principal of Chávez Memorial High has asked me to meet with some of the kids. I’m going to mentor a girl named Evian when school starts in the fall. In fact, Evian shot her brother. By mistake.”
Even Gilmer went silent. Jane sank back down in her seat, seemingly relieved to be out of the spotlight. “Did you say shot her brother ?” said my father.
“That’s what I said.”
“Wow,” said Jake, sounding hurt. “I didn’t know you were going to say yes.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” said my father.
“I guess so,” I said.
“Your mother would be proud of you,” said my father. It was the first time he’d ever said anything like this to me. I stuffed a forkful of beans into my mouth. Happiness rose inside me like bread.
13
Carla
I TRIED TO REMEMBER everything I knew about preparing for a trip to America. I made Junior memorize our mother’s phone number, starting with the magical Austin, Texas, area code, 512. I piled on layers of clothing and strode around our yard, to see if I could take the heat. I practiced tying bottles of water to my waist. I took every centavo I had and filled the coffee can, then jammed it deep into my backpack.
“I’m not leaving,” said Junior, sitting cross-legged in the yard.
“Oh yes you are,” I said.
Junior stood. “See you later,” he said, hitching up his pants.
“Where are you going?”
“None of anybody’s business and especially none of yours,” said Junior. I scowled, and he ran off.
“Be back tonight,” I called. I had decided we would leave first thing in the morning. I hoped—dear God, I hoped—that Humberto would join us. I knew it was stupid to try to go to America without a coyote , but even with the money my mother had sent that week, we had only thirty U.S. dollars. This was a lot, but it was not enough. When we reached the American border, I hoped it would get all three of us (if Humberto came along) across the Rio Bravo on a raft.
As I’ve said, I believe in God. I could worry about what I could worry about, and I had to trust God to take care of the rest. As my story continues, please remember this. Some of the things that happened to me would ruin a person who did not have faith. If despair runs as deep and fast as the Rio Bravo, my belief that I am not alone forms a lifeboat underneath me, keeping me from drowning. This is hard for an American to understand. Having enough—having too
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