Maya's Choice (6 page)

“Cool,” I said, feeling a sense of excitement sweep over me.

“Remember, you have to be quick with your hands and you can't fumble or drop anything you're trying to take. If you do, quickly apologize and tell the person that it was hanging out and you were simply trying to catch it before it fell. Make them feel at ease, and as if you were only trying to help them. People will immediately say thank-you as you hand them back their belongings.” Toya stuffed her cell phone in the front shirt pocket of the fully dressed mannequin.

“Now, try to take the phone,” Toya instructed me.

“Okay,” I said and pulled it out. It was very simple.

“No. You have to distract the mannequin through touch. Remember that, Viviana. You have to refocus the person's attention to something else or they're going to know what you're up to. Watch what I do.” Toya demonstrated how to do it and then asked me to do the same thing.

“Good, but only slip one finger into the shirt pocket and press it against the fabric of the shirt pocket. This way the person doesn't feel you touching their chest.” Toya continued to coach me. I did as she instructed and I was amazed at how easy it was. Toya and I spent more time practicing but we eventually had to stop because her son, Junior, had gotten restless. Since it was getting late, I decided to head upstairs
to see how my mother was doing. My fear was that Martin would do something while I was away. The thought of her being beaten up made me rush out of Toya's apartment.

VIVIANA

Toya
taught me a lot and I spent a significant amount of my time with her sharpening my pickpocketing skills. Eventually I was ready to try it out on someone other than Toya. My mother's boyfriend, Martin, seemed like the perfect test target. All I needed now was for the opportunity to present itself. Then, one late afternoon, it was as if Fate herself had heard my request and granted me my wish. Martin loved to drink beer and eat barbecue when he came home. The man barely needed a reason to fire up the grill and toss massive hunks of beef onto the open flames. I once heard him say he even enjoyed firing up the grill during the winter months when it was bitterly cold outside. I'd just walked in the door from Toya's apartment, where we'd been practicing and making plans to hit the Puerto Rican Day Festival in the Humboldt Park neighborhood the following day. Of course, I was very nervous, but when I saw Martin and my mother out on the back porch drinking and barbecuing I relaxed. It was good to see them in a pleasant mood. I saw it as my perfect opportunity. As I walked through the
kitchen toward the back porch, I noticed Martin's massive back was turned toward me, and my mother was sitting on a worn-out chair situated far away enough from the grill that the smoke billowing up wouldn't irritate her eyes. I greeted them both and positioned myself so my mother couldn't see me reaching into his back pocket. I patted Martin on his back with an open hand and said, “What are you cooking?” Martin looked at me oddly. He probably figured I was up to something, because in general I wasn't very nice to him. We had come to a quiet understanding that I wouldn't mess with him as long as he didn't mess with me.

“Well, aren't you feeling friendly today,” my mother said, noticing immediately that my behavior was peculiar.

“Well, Martin has the place smelling so good. I decided to come and see what the big guy was cooking,” I said, trying to sound very sweet, innocent and nonthreatening.

“Bratwursts, Italian sausage and my favorite, steak burgers.” Martin coughed as he flipped the meat over.

“Well, save some for me, I'm starving.” I smiled as sweetly as I could, even though I hated the guy.

“Are you doing drugs?” Martin leaned toward me and looked deeply into my eyes.

“No,” I said, slightly offended that he believed I'd stoop to such a low level. “I'm just trying to be nice,” I said as I pretended to punch his big belly.

“That is so special, Viviana.” My mother smiled gleefully. She fell for my line of crap hook, line and sinker. At times she could be so naive, especially when she felt as if she were in love or had found her soul mate yet again. If the truth were to be told, I also had a bone to pick with her, because I knew
Martin was the type of guy who'd eventually get physically abusive. However, for some reason that is beyond my comprehension, my mother viewed him as a gentle giant.

I pretended to not know the difference between a bratwurst and an Italian sausage and asked Martin to show me which was which. While he was distracted I reached for his wallet. I almost had it completely out of his pocket when I heard his stomach grumbling. Martin opened his mouth and let loose a very loud belch that reeked of bad breath and beer. The foul odor that passed through his lips was enough to make my stomach turn sour. I backed away from him, not wanting to go through the torture of inhaling another whiff of the foulness he'd released. As I moved away, I lost my grip on his wallet and it fell to the ground.

“It's better out than in,” Martin said, just as his wallet flopped to the ground. He turned to see what the sound was.

“Why, you little—!”

Before Martin could finish his sentence I said, “I think your wallet fell,” and reached for it.

“You were trying to rip me off!” Martin quickly lost his temper and I suddenly realized he was perhaps the last person I should have attempted to practice on. However, I didn't want him to think the worst of me, so I glanced at my mother, who was still trying to figure out what had set Martin off.

“No, I wasn't,” I said, handing it over to him.

“I know that my wallet was deep inside my pocket, little girl!” Martin barked, so I moved away from him.

“Well, apparently it wasn't, because as soon as you belched it fell out of your pocket,” I said, holding on to my lie.

My mother came over and took the wallet from me and placed it back inside Martin's rear pocket.

“Calm down, baby. Just be glad you didn't lose it on the street,” my mother said, using her sweet caresses to calm her ogre down. I backed away from them.

“I've been around pickpockets before. I wasn't born yesterday.” Martin shot bullets at me with his eyes.

“Whatever, man,” I said, putting more distance between us. I went into my room and sat on the bed. It didn't take long for Martin to start verbally abusing my mother. I grabbed the knife I'd found and walked toward the back porch. I'd planned to stand watch in case he decided to put his hands on my mother. She eventually worked her charm and got him to calm down. Watching my mother bend over backward to soothe Martin's every tantrum was beyond irritating. She behaved as if her very existence depended on how happy he was. I eventually went into Martin's spare room and shut the door. I sat on the bed, exhaled, and then just glared at the floor as I thought about my father.

My dad was my world and there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't miss him. At times he'd tickle me to the point I'd almost pee on myself, but I didn't mind. Whenever he had the time he'd take me to a park on Chicago's lakefront and I'd play in the sand and splash around in the water. I was always bringing him something from beneath the sand or some object that had washed up on shore and he'd act as if it were the best gift in the world, which made me want to go find more stuff to give him. Dad loved playing softball and when I was nine he took me to the ballpark, where I'd watch him and all of his friends play. They were mostly guys
from the neighborhood that he'd grown up with, but I considered them all to be my uncles because they never let anything happen to me. I always felt protected and safe around my father and his friends. My father had a reputation around the neighborhood, so no one dared to try to steal my bike if I left it on the sidewalk, or take candy from me. If someone tried, all I'd have to say was, “My father is Ricardo Vargas,” and they'd immediately apologize. It was the coolest thing to have a father who everyone feared. The reason they feared him so much was beyond me, because the man that I knew was kind and gentle. He and my mother also loved going to parties and doing the bachata. Sometimes I'd watch them practice around the house because there was always a bachata dance contest going on and they'd won a lot of prize money together. Whenever they danced they looked like the perfect couple. They were so in love. Sometimes when they danced I'd get between them. Admittedly, I was a little jealous of my mother. I didn't want to share him with her.

Then one day my father came home bleeding. His forearm had been ripped open by a knife. When I saw all of the blood I just screamed because I thought he was dying.

“Viviana, go to your room!” He looked me directly in the eyes, but I was too afraid to leave him.

“No,” I said with a trembling voice and eyes filled with tears.

“Go on, I'm okay, it's not as bad as it looks,” he said, trying to comfort me. My mother was running around searching for the first aid kit. When she found it she gave it to my father, then escorted me to my room. She told me to go to bed and that everything was okay, but I didn't believe her.
I tried to run past her and go to my father, but she stopped me. She pushed me back inside the room and locked the door from the outside. I kicked the door and screamed at the top of my lungs. I screamed and yelled until my voice was gone. Finally, I fell asleep on the floor.

When I awoke the next morning, I was in my bed and my bedroom door was cracked open. I walked out and found my father in the kitchen, drinking orange juice directly from the cartoon. His arm was bandaged up and he said, “See, I'm fine.” I wanted to ask him what happened but I didn't. I just walked over to him and hugged him as tightly as I could.

“I'm going to teach you how to protect yourself. You're ten years old now and you're getting to be a big girl.”

“Protect myself from what? All I have to do is mention your name and people leave me alone,” I said.

“I know, but sometimes that may not be enough, and I may not always be around to scare off the bad guys. Let me see you make a fist.” I did what he said.

“You have strong hands like me. I'll show you how to fight and protect yourself like a boy. That way you'll fight differently than a girl,” he said.

“But why?” I asked once again.

“Because you just never know, a lot of things can happen out there on the streets and I want my little girl to know how to handle herself,” he explained.

Thinking about my father caused my emotions to get carried away and the last thing I wanted to do was break down crying. I pushed my pain deep down and pressed my palms to my eyes. As I did this I could hear my father's ghostly voice telling me to toughen up.

 

The following day I left the house before my mother and Martin awoke. I knew that my mother didn't really care where I was going, and I damn sure knew that Martin didn't. I knocked on Toya's door and waited for her to answer it. When Toya opened the door she had a black scarf tied around her hair, some baggy gym shorts and a tank top with the words
What Are You Looking At?
typed across her bosom.

“Damn, yo' ass is up early. Are you that frantic to get to do this?” Toya threaded her eyebrows and frowned.

“I had a bad night and needed to get out of that house,” I explained as I followed her to her room.

“It's cool, I understand.” Toya gazed at what I was wearing.

“At least you don't have on those damn flip-flops today,” she said before entering the bathroom. I continued on to her bedroom and sat on a chair positioned against her window. Her son was in the bed asleep on his back, so I wanted to make sure I remained quiet. When Toya returned she was unwrapping her head scarf.

“Who is going to watch your baby for you today?” I asked.

“His daddy is coming over to get him,” Toya said as she yawned.

“What time is he coming?” I asked. Toya glanced at an alarm clock that read 10:45 a.m.

“He should be here by noon,” she said, moving around the room and getting dressed. Once she was dressed she pulled out two duffel bags and tossed one to me.

“I have an extra one. You can use it,” she said. “That way there's no confusion about who earned what today.”

“So, not only do I have to lift stuff, I have to carry my things,” I said, taking the bag.

“You're on your own, girl. Everyone has to start somewhere. We'll each work opposite sides of the street. When you reach the end of the street, turn around and make another pass. After that, head home and we'll meet back here,” Toya said.

“I'm nervous as hell,” I confessed.

“I was nervous my very first time, too, but you'll get over it, I promise.” Toya tried to ease my fears.

“Here.” She tossed me her stun gun. “You can have it. My boyfriend is bringing me a new one when he comes to pick up his son.”

“Thank you,” I said, turning it on to make sure that it was fully charged. I was going to leave it with Toya until we returned, but decided to toss it into the bag she'd given me.

 

By the time Toya and I arrived, the festival was in full swing. The streets were lined with white tents where vendors sold their merchandise and there was a massive crowd of people. Music seemed to be coming from every direction and no matter where I turned there was something going on. Either someone was paying for a souvenir, buying food or watching the street performers.

“This is perfect and should be easy pickings because there are plenty of distractions.” Toya purposely spoke into my ear.

“I see that,” I said, fascinated by the spectacle of it all.

“This is where we part ways. I'll see you back at my place later tonight. Hopefully, we'll both earn enough cash and
prizes to make our pockets fat.” Toya grinned like a very satisfied cat. “Good luck,” she said and walked away.

I adjusted my duffel bag, which was slung over one shoulder, and began walking through the crowd. The event was without question one that brought together many people from different cultures. Black, white, Latino and Asian. As I made my way through the throngs of people, I spotted a man wearing a red, white and blue summer short set with Puerto Rico spelled out across the back of his shoulders. He was riding a bicycle with a trailer hitch, towing two barrels of Popsicles he was selling. I thought he'd make a good target but I'd have to wait until he got off the bike. After following him for a while, I decided to move on and find some other person, because it would be too much trouble to pick his pockets. As I continued on I saw people carrying backpacks that they'd forgotten to zip up, women with purses that were wide open, and men with money sitting in the breast pockets of their shirts. All I had to do was time my move perfectly. I came upon a gathering of people who were watching sidewalk performers. As I got closer, I saw that the performers were from a local dance studio. There were four women, all dressed in yellow T-shirts and blue jeans, banging on some bongos and singing in perfect rhythm. There was another woman from the organization who was dancing to the rhythmic sounds. Everyone was focused on the performers, including myself. It wasn't until someone brushed past me to get a closer look that I remembered I wasn't there to watch the show. I was there to get paid. I stepped back from the crowd and noticed a cluster of girls. One of them was wearing a backpack that hung low and rested on her butt.
She was the perfect target. The bag wasn't zipped fully and I saw that her wallet was exposed.