Illegal (8 page)

Park people trickled to the stand during my break. Most were sweaty in T-shirts and blue jeans, and I wondered what Papa was wearing. He left with four shirts, but I couldn't remember what any of them looked like. Watching people's backs as they walked away from the stand with bags full of tacos and tortillas, I wished Papa could see me swimming. Would he recognize me at all?

Jorge waved at me and pointed to his watch. I guess that meant my break was over. I grabbed
Keisha's arm and pulled her toward the stairs.

“Where we going?” asked Keisha.

“¿Hambre? ¿Comida?”

Keisha shook her head. I twisted my wrist in a circle like I was holding a fork and, moving it toward my mouth, made chewing noises and patted my stomach.

Finally she nodded her head yes to my game of charades. “Oh, we gonna get something to eat?”

I nodded.
Comida.
Food.

I knew Flora watched our every move, and I also knew she hadn't eaten anything all day.

Keisha put bright purple sandals on her feet. “You gotta watch out for the stickers, these little balls of needle weeds in the grass. Go put your sandals on.”

I just shrugged and slipped on my old shoes. I didn't have fancy plastic ones like hers. I owned a single pair of shoes—the ones on my feet.

The concrete steamed beneath us and the sun cooked us and everything in the park. I didn't have a towel, and by the time we reached the stand, I felt dry.

I wanted Jorge to see how well I'd learned English. “Please eat for Keisha?
Ella es mi amiga
.”

“Hey!” exclaimed Jorge. “This food ain't for free.”
But he piled two plates full and pointed to the picnic tables. Flora pretended she wasn't watching, but I saw her mouth twitch when the food was dished out.

“Is Jorge your uncle or something?” asked Keisha.

I told her what I thought she was asking. “Jorge.
Jefe
.”

Keisha pointed a lot. Her eyebrows went up and down a lot as she talked. “Has anyone told you how much you look like his niece, Tessa? I just thought you was family and all.”

She said the word “Tessa.” Perhaps Keisha's chattering could help fill in the gaps of what I wanted and needed to know.

I nodded my head and put a tortilla in my mouth. Sometimes agreeing was the easiest thing to do, but I liked how she was herself. I wondered if I would ever be that comfortable in my own skin.

My shoulders felt hot. My skin burned red. “Tessa?” I asked in a hushed tone.

“You better put on some sunscreen. You gonna burn up,” said Keisha, and then lowering her voice, “I'll tell you more later.”

It had been many years since I had burned. Working in the orchard, Grandma made me wear long
sleeves, a bandanna, and a hat. It never occurred to me I would burn.

“Sunscreen?” I asked. The word sounded funny, and I hoped I could get her to talk more.

“Cream…. You know, the stuff that keeps you from burning. You gotta get some cream and some sandals. You can't make it at the pool without that stuff.”

Cream.
¿Crema?

I didn't quite understand, but I knew I was red, and it hurt.

“I can share my stuff for a while since you bought me lunch.” Keisha glanced at Jorge, then whispered again, like a juicy piece of gossip, “I never really hung out with Tessa. You know, once she got involved with the gangs.”

Jorge interrupted and handed me a large plastic cup. “Break over. Give this to Lauren and do another round at the pool.”

“It's time for me to go soon anyways,” Keisha said sadly. “I hate swimming by myself.”

I grabbed my basket and walked back to the pool with her. I put the cup under Lauren's stand and pointed. I didn't even bother to talk. She peered down from her seat, and slid her sunglasses back
on her face and didn't say thank you.

I walked past Flora with the basket. “Are you gonna try to sell me something?”

“You didn't want anything the first three times I offered,” I spat back at Flora.

“Girl, I'm just trying to help you out. Better get your defenses up before you get dragged down to the deep end. Swim now or drown later. I'll take a soda.”

I took her dollar and handed her the soda. “Who are you, the lifeguard?”

She shook her head. “Yeah, in a way, I am. Go away now 'cause I ain't the library for all your questions.”

I watched Keisha from the stand. She either stayed in the shallow end or sat under the trees reading. Occasionally, she looked at me and waved. I decided we were friends. When there were no customers, I tore a flimsy grocery bag into strips and twisted them into braids. Flora stayed in her spot and didn't leave until the pool closed.

My arms burned bright red, and my eyes felt like I'd rubbed sand into them when Mama returned with Manuela.

“How was your day?” asked Mama. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and sweat stained her shirt. Jorge counted money out at the truck as Manuela talked a
mile a minute about how well my mother had done at the stand.

“Good.” I didn't tell her about the swimming part yet. “I worked really hard.”

She looked so proud. “Me too.”

“I bet we'll see Papa here this week.”

Jorge interrupted by handing me two bills. “Nora, here's your money. Aurora, here's your money. We did very well today.”

Manuela lightly touched my shoulder. “You've burned up today. Poor thing!” She reached out to hug me, but I flinched from the burn.

My brain swirled with thoughts: English, a new friend, and money. I tried to pay Jorge for the meal, but he wouldn't take a cent.

Flora emerged from the pool as Lauren locked the gate. She stared at me before turning her head in a different direction.

Mr. Mann clinked some cans together behind the stand, covered his cart, and disappeared into the afternoon shadows.

At home, Mama and I both fell into the bed. It smelled. We smelled.

I dreamed of Grandma's food. On long days in the orchard, I felt like this. Burned. Sweaty. Exhausted. I remembered how she made me a cold bath in the tub outside in the horse trough and I would sit in the water until it turned murky. After the bath, I would lie on the cool sheets of my bed and smell the breeze coming through the window. Grandma clanked pots in the kitchen and I could smell her love floating across the house.

Moist air-conditioning blew across the room, but it still felt warm. Yolanda told us not to open the windows. I wonder how many other people had lived in this apartment before us. Nothing but their broken dreams hung in the air, and they stunk.

In the bathroom, a large cockroach skittered down the drain when I turned on the light. It didn't surprise me. Papa had talked about how the big
cucarachas
were here in Texas. I decided to shower in the morning, and crawled into bed where sleep smothered me with nightmares.

“
Mija,
everything is bigger in Texas. The roads. The houses. The market. Even the cockroaches are bigger!” We waited three weeks to be able to talk to him the first time.

Don't go. Don't go.
I heard it over and over again, like echoes in a canyon.

Then I could hear different voices. It sounded like everything was underwater. My mouth hurt, and my tongue felt as dry as sandpaper. I woke up with a shout. “Don't leave me!”

Yolanda pounded on our shared wall. “Quit your yelling!” She then turned up her television.

I moved outside to the steps of the porch. The rays of the setting sun danced away from the window. I used the twisty ties from the bread bags to
secure the plastic braids into a small bowl. My stomach growled and my shoulders pulsed from the burn. We were still in Houston. I wanted to close my eyes and float back to my bedroom in Cedula.

One thought smoldered in my head: We'd never go back to Mexico now that we were here. I pushed it away from my brain by braiding small strands of my hair.

 

I woke up feeling like a piñata that had been covered with papier-mâché. Sticky. Stiff.

I had felt like this only once before. A large crop of grapefruits had come in from the trees and every hand was needed in the orchard. We couldn't stop picking and boxing and selling. That was before the water ran out in Cedula. That was before Papa talked about America. It was before the school closed.

Before.
Antes.

Mama and I headed to the stand before the sun rose.

Standing by his truck, Jorge scratched at the bald part of his head. “I thought I bought limes. Nora, go buy some!” he said with a flick of the wrist.

I stopped by Mr. Mann with his morning sandwich. “I made you something for your coins.” I placed the
small plastic bowl by his feet, but he showed no emotion.

Inside the market, I bagged fifty of the best limes I could find. The evil mangoes smirked at me from behind a large display. Last night, I dreamed of fruit and hot trucks. I think I'd rather have cockroaches crawl through my hair than the nightmares.

At the end of the aisle, I noticed Flora holding a package of lipstick. Her hands slid down her sides and she put the packet into her pocket. She didn't see me watching as she walked toward the register and then past the manager, who gave her a funny stare. I glared at her from behind a display as she walked toward the front.

In church, they told us stealing was a mortal sin. Did Flora want to go to hell over a tube of lipstick? In Cedula, we heard stories about a boy who stole once at the market, and the owner sent him to the worst jail, and he didn't see his family for ten years.

I fell over the rack I was standing behind and the peanut packages scattered to the floor. The limes spilled out of their bag and rolled toward the checkout. The manager looked up from the desk and walked in my direction.

“I'm sorry.
Lo siento
.” I stuttered the apology over
and over again. I felt the blood rushing to my face. I grabbed the packages and tried to place them back onto the display. While I was picking up limes, I saw Flora slip a magazine into her backpack.

What if the market owner thought I was with Flora? Now I would be blamed for everything. The police would be called, I would lose my job, and I would be put in jail. We would be sent back without Papa.

I pulled the five-dollar bill out of my pocket and pushed it toward the manager. “I'm not stealing! I have money and I don't even know her.” I was pointing at an empty magazine stand.

Flora was gone.

When I walked by Mr. Mann, he mumbled at me. “Glad you're home, Tessa.”

“I'm Nora,” I said, alarmed by his voice.

His eyes rose in a flicker toward my face, but then quickly moved away. “It's spelled with two
N
s. M-A-N-N.”

“Huh?” I said.

“M-A-N-N. They always spell it wrong.” He lowered his head.

The pool opened at nine. The only person waiting
to go in was Flora. She sat in her regular seat by the trees, but wouldn't look at me. “Do you want your Coke now or later?” I asked, trying to read the cover of her magazine.

“I'll take it now,” she said, handing me the dollar.

“Don't smear your new red lipstick on the can,” I said. I heard the fizzing of the can overflowing when she opened it.

At lunch, I noticed a man leaning against the stand's tires—legs splayed, hat tipped back like a cocky cowboy.

“¿Niña, tienes servilletas?”
He had soft brown eyes, and a dark tattoo peeked out from under his shirt. I handed him a napkin. His sunglasses were also smudgy.

“Thanks.” Watermelon juice ran out from the corner of his mouth.

I felt my throat getting tight as I answered in English. “Welcome.”

I worried about asking strangers for information, but I didn't want to wait for Papa to appear out of the sky. “Do you work on buildings? Tall buildings?” I gulped at my own courage.

“No. I work pouring concrete for new homes. They call me Concrete Guy because I'm hard to break.” He
chuckled at his joke. Concrete Guy wiped his mouth. “See you tomorrow, little one.”

I figured it was silly to be scared of asking questions. If I had survived the ride, I could survive anything.

I walked around with my basket and Flora called out to me. “How much is a sandwich?” she said. “Or did you shake that up too?”

“Shut up,” I said, embarrassed she figured out my little trick from the morning. “Don't you ever go home? If you stay out here all day, you're going to get skin cancer. The half sandwich is a dollar,” I said to her.

Flora smirked at me with her freshly painted lips. “Is this advice coming from the girl who looks like a lobster?”

“Hey, I'm just saying you stay out here a long time. Why can't you act nice?”

“This is my version of nice,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And better to risk dying of skin cancer than to risk dying at home. I only have fifty cents, so I'll skip the sandwich.”

Once again, she pulled her magazine in front of her eyes. It was the first time she revealed something of herself, and I knew what it was like to be
hungry. I don't know why I did it, but I dropped a half sandwich in her lap. She tried to eat it without me looking.

Keisha arrived in the afternoon. “Girl, you look like barbecue.” I saw Flora snicker—as if her version of honesty was better than mine.

I handed her a container of rice pudding. I saved it from my lunch. “For you.”

Keisha's skin intrigued me, because I didn't know much about black people. Most people I knew were different shades of brown. Some like tea, others like coffee with milk. Never black. I hoped to touch her hair one day.

“Mama says I gotta pay something because I ain't supposed to be taking charity.”

Jorge peered over the counter and joked, “Who said this was charity? Nora works for her meals fair and square. You're welcome to buy whatever you want.”

Keisha had a dollar in her hand and she was waving it at Jorge. “She shouldn't be buying friendship with food. Some things just ain't right.”

“Come on, girl.” She looked at me. “You keep your pudding. You and me is friends without the food.” Her words comforted me, even though they were foreign.

When I walked around the pool again, Flora turned
her chair away from our view.

“You want to swim with me at break?” I asked Flora as I walked by on my last round. “You don't have to sit by yourself all day.”

“I don't swim with
Negros
. Go play with your little friend.” Flora mouthed the word “nigger” at Keisha.

“I know what she's saying.” Keisha looked hurt but raised her chin. “You ain't like that, right?”

My face burned a deeper shade of red. Why would Flora act that way? What had we done to her? No wonder people hate one another.

“You ain't gonna be friends with her, right? Don't be friends with a gang-banger wannabe,” Keisha said loudly, trying to make a point.

We jumped into the shallow end. Her braids glistened with droplets of water. A sheen of color floated in the water next to her braids. But soon Jorge pointed to his watch and I was back to work.

What I didn't say was that for some crazy reason, I wanted Flora as a friend. She knew something about the world I didn't. But I couldn't just go along with the things she said or did. It was just plain wrong, and that didn't need translation. We all needed a little compassion.

“Hey, kid, watch the stand for a few minutes.”
Jorge drove out of the park.

The sun melted into the oak trees. Keisha wandered toward the stand. “School will be starting soon,” she said.

Something inside me broke open. “School?” I asked out loud. I grabbed both of her hands. “School?
¿Escuela
?”

“Eggs-squal-la?”
Keisha raised her eyebrows. “You want to go to school? In the summer? On the weekend? Girl, I think you're nuts.”

“No. School. I want school.” I needed her to find the words in my mouth and say them aloud. Keisha was my translator.

“Look, school starts in a few weeks. We can get your mama to enroll you at my school. But you can't tell them about speaking Spanish and all. They'll put you in ESL, and I'll never get to hang out with you.”

What was ESL? “I need to English.” If I was smarter and spoke better, it would help me.

“Why? I don't get it.” Keisha shook her head. My words didn't seem good enough.

“I school. No money. Papers.”

Keisha nodded like she finally understood. “Don't worry. I don't have much paper either. Here they give vouchers for school supplies, 'cause my mom's
a single parent and stuff. Maybe we can get you a voucher too.”

“No. I no money,” I tried to explain.

Keisha looked toward the curb as her mother's car approached. “Hey, this is America. You don't have to pay for school like in Mexico. We go for free. It ain't like charity.”

Her mother honked the horn. “Don't worry, my mama don't like charity either. But she says if the government is giving it out like candy, you might as well use some of it. She knows how all of this works. See ya!” Keisha bounced away before I could ask the really important questions: What is charity, and how do I get some?

Flora sauntered up to the stand. “Don't sit out on the stoop at night.”

“Who are you, my mother?” I gave back some of her medicine. “And don't call Keisha names, because she's a nice girl. A little girl who shouldn't be called names.” I felt proud standing up for my friend. “And I'm just weaving. I'm not bugging anyone.”

“Just sitting out attracts attention.” Flora shook her head. “You don't know anything about this area or how this all works. The blacks live in a different neighborhood. They act different. They live different.
We don't mix. You shouldn't either.”

“You're wrong. I may not know this neighborhood, but I know a good person.” Flora shook her head, but I continued. “Why are you so hard on me?”

Her eyes were a misty gray, like the sky before an angry storm. “I'm just trying to give you some advice,” she said sadly. “Don't act like Tessa.”

“What do you mean?”

Jorge's truck sputtered into the parking space and Flora slunk away. “What am I? Encyclopedia Britannica? Ask your
jefe
.”

Tessa was the ghost of the trailer. Hanging over our head and clinging to me like grease. “I'm asking you, since you know everything about everyone,” I whispered loudly after Flora.

“She got involved with a gang-banger, got jumped in, and decided to get out. Then she disappeared.”

“A banger? A jump? Like a terrorist with a bomb?” I asked.

“No, a gang-banger is a gang member out dealing and stealing. A jump-in is when you prove to the gang that you will be loyal. For a girl gang, you have to do ten or fifteen guys, then go through a fight with the girls.”

“Who would want to do that?” I asked.

“Plenty of kids just aching to be part of any family,” said Flora as she shook her head and walked away.

Mr. Mann clunked his way across the park. At the corner, someone threw a bag of trash at him. It exploded against his back and a river of soda dripped off his neck. Mr. Mann shook his hand in the air. I felt a wave of pity for him and set out lemonade.

He kicked it over and screamed, “Tell them to leave me alone. M-A-N-N!”

Shock rattled my body. Is this what I get for being nice? “They're not my friends,” I shouted back, suddenly sorry.

He shuffled away violently shaking his head. “Tessa, when are you going to learn? Spell it right.”