Facts of Life (11 page)

Letty's heart swelled the afternoon he surprised her with flowers. True, they were artificial ones from a yard sale, but it was the thought that counted.

Letty even wrote Miguel a poem in gold ink.

"That's sweeeet," he crowed. With roving eyes he studied the poem. Letty assumed he was looking for it's meaning until he asked, "Hey, is that real gold?"

She took care of him by patting medicine on his forehead after he fell off his skateboard. "Poor baby," she cooed.

"I got me a scar," he responded proudly. "Puts a little edge on me. People be asking, 'Who did that to you?' and I'm going to say, 'Some dude now in the grave.'"

When they couldn't go to the theater because her allowance was used up, they watched movies at Letty's house. With his shoes off and his hand on his belly, Miguel was a king in the recliner. He would dip his hand into a bowl of buttered popcorn. The remote would be greasy when he left, and Letty's father would grumble, "That kid."

But Letty began to notice a change in Miguel. When he saw her between classes, he wouldn't rush to her anymore. Instead, he would hitch up his pants and stroll over with Richard or some other homie at his side.

Invariably he would ask, "You got any money, Letty?"

One day he approached her with smooches.

"Dawg, not so fast," she cooed. Her heart was beating, but her mind was calculating the reason for his sudden affection.

"I got to ask for a favor," Miguel said with his arms around her shoulders.

Her heart slowed. He's going to ask for money, she predicted. She had told him that her godmother had given her two hundred dollars for her birthday. His noodle of a brain had no memory for schoolwork, but when it came to money, he remembered.

"What is it?" she asked cautiously. Her hands were on his biceps, which she noticed were not taut with muscle but flabby. The result of devouring candies and sodas? She felt a little guilty about embracing him while thinking,
Just push the dude away and run!

"I was gonna get my class ring," he began, then stopped to holler to a friend that he would see him at four at the courts. "My mom got sick," he continued with a weak smile, "and she was supposed to buy it for me." He stopped and waited, his eyes shifting away from her when someone called, "Hey, Miguel, you ugly fool." It was a homie friend with a sucker in the corner of his mouth.

"But Miguel," Letty whimpered in a little-girl voice. She explained that the ring cost over a hundred dollars, maybe two hundred, and she was saving her money for something special.

"Fool, where we be meeting?" the homie hollered.

Letty winced. She had started not to like his friends, and how he was always trying to cuddle up to her when he needed something. Even if he wanted a bag of potato chips, he would hold her hand and try to kiss her. He would leave grease on her throat, which made her queasy. "Why do you let him call you that?"

"Homegirl, they ain't nowhere," Miguel replied as he took her hand and applied a greasy kiss.

He moved his face toward her throat, but she pushed him away. She barked, "I'm not your homegirl. I'm your girlfriend."

"That's what I'm saying," he said, his shoulders lifting and his arms spreading out. "Just a loan, Letty. We're tight."

Letty began to think she could do better than a boyfriend like Miguel. But could she? She was slightly overweight, with a pinch of baby fat around her middle. No matter how she cut back on junk food, it stayed. And while people said she was cute, no one went as far as saying that she was beautiful. She was smart. This much she knew. She was the one with a row of As on her report card to back up the rumors about her intelligence.

Are we tight?
she wondered. Should she lend him the money, or save it for an academic summer camp? A school counselor had suggested she apply for a summer program at San Jose State. There, she could take a class in architecture, an interest of hers ever since she'd watched a PBS special on the Roman Empire. She had watched part of it with Miguel, who only said, "I wonder if those Roman dudes had, like, lowrider chariots, all tricked out."

But Letty was still convinced that he was nice and funny. Plus, there was his hair, and he was popular. But her conscience nagged her.
He's a user, girl,
part of her mind told her.
He's trying to use you and then drop you.

She had left him that afternoon promising to think about the loan.

"What's there to think about?" he asked later as he walked at her side, his hand pulling up the back of his pants every fifth step. "We're tight." He told her he would get the ring, but she could wear it on a chain around her neck.

At the time, Letty didn't think of the chain as being similar to the ones binding the hands and ankles of prisoners in old movies. She didn't consider the class ring a rock that would weigh her down. No, she imagined the ring around her neck as evidence of attachment, a sign to others that she had a guy. Still, she had to ponder her relationship with Miguel. Hadn't she already lent him twenty dollars? And why had she? To feed his fool friends?

"I'll think about it," she told him.

Letty had to hurry home because her mother wanted her to come along on a visit to her grandmother, who had had surgery for the removal of a tumor. All had gone well, but a visit would perk Grandmother up.

"How are you, Grandma?" Letty asked as she bent over the woman for a gentle hug. Letty wasn't sure if a hardy squeeze might hurt her.

"Okay,
mi'ja,
" her grandmother answered softly. On the table beside her was a Big Gulp, which reminded Letty of Miguel. The rings on her grandmothers fingers also reinforced her memory of Miguel. "Can you get me some ice?" her grandmother asked. Her head swiveled toward the Big Gulp.

In the kitchen Letty stalled at the refrigerator when her cell jangled. She examined Miguel's number and couldn't help but think,
It looks like a prison number.
She chuckled as she pocketed her cell and admonished herself for such an unkind thought.

When she returned, her grandmother and mother were revisiting a family hurt that went back years. They did this often, hissing like snakes, pulling in their fangs only when others were around. The two became quiet as Letty entered the bedroom.

"Oh, thank you," Grandmother said as she took the Big Gulp cup. "How's school?"

"Good. I'm saving my money for a summer program at State." She had begun to explain her interest in architecture when her grandmother demanded, "How come your hair is so short? Do you like boys?"

Letty was perturbed that her grandmother hadn't listened. And what was this about not liking boys? She bristled when her mother said, "Boys like long hair."

But Letty checked her emotions and held in her disappointment. Was this her family?

"Elena," her grandmother began. Letty considered correcting her grandmother by saying, "No, I'm Leticia," but she figured her grandmother's memory was perforated with holes. She had six other grandchildren. She couldn't get their names right every time.

Her grandmother sipped from the Big Gulp and smacked her lips. "Could you walk the dog?"

The pug was curled up on the rug in the corner of the bedroom. Poor Sammy, a loyal dog, was mostly imprisoned indoors and just plain old. Letty was glad to leave the house. She got the leash from the kitchen and whistled. "Come on, Sammy. Let's go for a walk."

Her grandmother lived across the street from a park. Fall leaves carpeted the lawn. The trees rattled their remaining leaves, and the afternoon sun blazed weakly. The squeak of the swings reminded Letty of her childhood and how her father would push her high.

She paused when her cell rang.
It's Miguel,
she thought, and didn't bother to bring the phone out of her front pocket.

Letty parked herself on a bench and let Sammy roam the lawn, nibble at a flea in his fur, and poke his flat nose into a puddle of water. When she got up and clapped her hands, the dog didn't look up.

"Poor thing," she murmured. "He can hardly hear anymore." When she called the dog loudly, he hurried to join her at the swings. She kicked herself up to a dizzying height. But it wasn't the same as when her father had pushed her and the cold sang through her hair and froze her ears.

She jumped from the swing when Sammy began to wander toward a couple pushing a stroller. "Sammy, come back," she ordered. She slapped her thighs and whistled, but the dog advanced toward the couple.

Silly dog,
she thought, and began running, something she hadn't done in a long time and that made her feel like a little kid. There was happiness inside her—she, a thirteen-year-old, chasing after a dog. Was there anything happier in life?

As she got closer, she recognized the young woman—a girl who had moved away from the neighborhood a year ago.
Oh, my gosh,
Letty thought as her trot slowed to a walk. The girl was maybe sixteen and already had a baby in a stroller. The scene struck Letty like a revelation and sent chills racing down her back. The young mother hadn't gotten rid of her own baby fat—it was around her middle and eventually, Letty suspected, would spread down her thighs and wobble up her arms. It was only a matter of time.

"Sorry." Letty flashed a quick smile as she lifted Sammy into her arms.

But neither of them responded. There were tears in the girl's eyes and something like boredom in the boy's. Neither turned to coo loving words to the baby who had begun to cry and kick it's pink blanket.

Letty hurried away. She dropped on the lawn, re-leased Sammy from her hold, and glanced at the couple, now sitting on a far bench. The baby was crying, and neither made the effort to bring the baby into their arms and comfort her with baby talk.

"I'm not going to be like them," she told herself. She was going to save her money for the architecture class at San Jose State.

A leaf floated down from a eucalyptus tree and tapped her shoulder. She crushed it in her palm, and the rush of childhood returned when she closed her eyes and breathed in it's aroma. She wove a ring out of grass and slipped it onto her finger, then made a small grassy crown for Sammy. She could see for herself that she was only thirteen and had a future. No matter how often Miguel called, she wasn't answering.

REBECCA MARTINEZ was gazing into her lunch bag-sandwich, carrot sticks, and three star-shaped cookies (all broken but still sweet)—when Sylvia Gonzalez set a piece of paper on her desk. At first Rebecca assumed Sylvia was showing off an old report card. Then she thought,
It looks like a claim check for the dry cleaners.
But that didn't seem right, either. What was it?

"My dad said you could fix it," Sylvia stated boldly.

Sylvia was the newly appointed president of the sixth-grade class. She had been promoted when the previous president moved away, taking with him the rumor that he had stolen the ice cream money during a fire drill.

"What do you mean, 'fix it'?" Rebecca asked.

"You know."

Rebecca shrugged. She didn't know.

Sylvia sighed in frustration, her breath blowing across Rebecca's arm.

Yuck,
Rebecca thought. Her mouth curled up in disgust as she wiped her arm.

"Let me tell you, then." Sylvia explained that her father had gotten a citation for parking in a yellow zone—he was there only three minutes!—and since Rebecca's mom, the only parking enforcement in their dinky town, was the person who had issued the citation, she could get rid of it.

Rebecca gripped the throat of her paper bag, choking it as if it had done something wrong. Wouldn't her mom get in trouble? What Sylvia was seeking was against the law.

"I can't do that," Rebecca replied. "I don't know how."

"It happens all the time," Sylvia confided in a near whisper. "Your mom can fix it!"

Rebecca shrugged. At that, Sylvia grew angry but remained cautious, as her eyes shifted occasionally to their teacher, Mrs. Lynch. If Mr. Gonzalez had to pay the parking ticket, Sylvia divulged, he wouldn't have the money to get her the coat he promised.

Again Rebecca repeated her moral stance: No, she couldn't help.

"Do it," Sylvia snarled. Her eyes became stoked with anger.

Rebecca stepped back, frightened. The clock over the white board read 11:57. In three minutes she would be out the door and rushing toward the table where she always ate lunch with her best friend, Carolina.

"You can too!" Sylvia was grim. "Just ask your mother!"

Rebecca whirled around and fled, her hands touching each desk as she made her way up the row. She felt dizzy with fear.

Because Carolina had to stay in class to make up a test, Rebecca ate alone. She wondered about her poor mother. She worked in parking enforcement and drove a little vehicle—half car, half scooter—a job that provided them with a house and food. For her efforts, she was often yelled and spat at and twice pushed.
Why do they blame her?
Rebecca argued. It was just her mom's job.

As she finished her lunch, she kept her distance from the other students. From where she sat, she recognized danger: Two boys were fighting and Sylvia was right in the mix, her fists swinging.

Rebecca was then surprised by a third grader in a dirty Disneyland T-shirt. He demanded the cookie in her hand, and she handed him a piece.

He turned it over, baring his teeth like a shark, and remarked, "You got ugly cookies." He fit it into his mouth, turned, and left.

Rebecca's heart sank. If she were president of her class, she would mandate that kids with dirty hands be taught manners!

"They're not ugly," she muttered. She nibbled the other half of the broken cookie, hurt because the boy spoke the truth. Unlike fancier Oreos and Nutter Butters, the cookies her mother bought were cheaper and poorer quality. Still, they were sweet, not like Sylvia. Not like a lot of people.

On the way home Rebecca spied Sylvia standing at a corner with two large girls. They were eating potato chips and doughnuts and sharing a forty-eight-ounce soda.

"They're going to get me," she murmured, her heart fluttering like a little bird behind her blouse. She gazed up into the tree; a bird was chirping a sad sound.