We Were Here (11 page)

“The young man met the girl in a crowded noodle shop in the middle of Shanghai and fell instantly in love. There was only one problem: the girl was still young, eighteen, and much more self-centered than most Chinese girls. Her promising singing career was all that interested her. After arguing with her mother and father for two straight days, she rejected the young man’s proposal. He and his family were outraged, but did he let this rejection discourage him? Not for a second, Miguel. He knew the girl was the only one he could love. Ignoring the pleas of the matchmaker and his mother to continue meeting other women, he wrote the girl letters. Every single day, without fail, for over two years.”

Me and Mei-li locked eyes in the rearview as she stubbed
out her cigarette on the top of a Starbucks cup, slipped the butt in the little drinking hole.

I stopped writing for a sec and thought of my parents’ story. Or at least what Diego
told me
their story was. The only reason they got married was ’cause my pop got Moms pregnant. They were eighteen and sixteen when they walked down the aisle in Vegas, told each other “I do.” My pop rockin’ hair halfway down his back and a full beard. Premilitary. A hippie Mexican. Mom’s white stomach already ballooning out. They’d only known each other for seven months. My pop once told us at the dinner table it was a case of “slumming gone too far.” Not exactly the true-love story Mei-li was talking about.

“So he writes her these letters,” Mei-li went on, lighting another cigarette. “And the whole time he never so much as
looks
at another woman. After eighteen months of constantly hearing her mother and father tell her she’s ruined the best chance of her life—not only for her, but for their entire family—the girl finally agrees to respond to one of the young man’s letters. And then she responds to another. And another. And soon they have a friendly correspondence going. They’ve become pen pals who live only three train stops away. Their letters are very simple, explaining what happened that day, complaining about family members or politics or the weather. Normal things. But when the girl turns twenty, she finally gives in to the pressure from her family and decides to become more serious with her life. She now believes she can do both: singing
and
a family. The first person she thinks about is the young man. The last letter she ever wrote him contained only one simple line: ‘I’m changing my answer to yes.’ They were married ten days later in the small Chinese city of Yixing, in front of over two hundred people. Six months after that she became pregnant with their son.

“At that same time the girl’s singing career was at its highest point, and she was invited to compete in the biggest singing competition in all of China. She breezed through the three qualifying rounds and made it all the way to the national finals with only three other girls. Think of
American Idol
, Miguel, only with Chinese girls singing traditional Chinese songs. After all the girls performed in front of the big ballroom crowd, the judges approached the girl backstage and told her she was going to be named the winner. But first they had to ask her a couple questions. The winner, they explained, could not be married. Not officially, anyway. However, two of the previous winners had been ‘secretly’ married. She would simply have to sign a release form that allowed them to say she was single while she was out on tour and when they promoted her recordings. The young man, who was backstage at the time too, put his hand on his new wife’s elbow and asked to speak with her in private. As I said, he’d studied law in America, and he advised her not to sign the contract. He was very traditional in this way. He claimed she would be entering into a dishonest agreement.”

I shook my cramping hand and kept writing. I don’t know why, but I was totally into Mei-li’s story about China and wanted to get down every single word she said.

She kept going: “The girl didn’t know what to do, Miguel. She went back and forth between the judges and her husband, asking questions, listening to their advice, and then she slipped off to an empty room to think by herself. See, not only was the girl married, she was also
pregnant
. And she knew a woman could only be ‘secretly’ pregnant for so long. In order to sign the contract, she would have to defy her new husband
and
get rid of his baby. It was simply too much to bear. When she returned backstage she walked right up to the judges and told them she would not be able to sign the
contract. They said they were very sorry to hear it and gave first prize to another girl.”

Mei-li pulled another drag off her cigarette. She blew her smoke out the side of her mouth and sat there quietly as we inched along in traffic. I waited for her to keep going with her story, but she didn’t. She just sat there, smoking and driving, staring out her windshield. Mong stared forward too.

“So what happened then?” I finally asked.

She looked at me in the rearview and smiled. Blew more smoke at the roof. “I’ll let Mong tell the rest, Miguel. He knows the story much better than I do. I just wanted to tell you how they met. How the young man courted the girl like men used to. Because he believed it was true love. I don’t care what anybody says, the young man’s love for the singer was the basis of every single decision he ever made.”

“But did she still get famous?” I said. “Did they stay together and have the kid?”

Mei-li glanced at me in the rearview and smiled, then she put out another cigarette on her Starbucks cup and rolled down her window. “God, this traffic is
killing
me,” she said. “Hey, I got an idea. Why don’t we stop off and grab lunch before we do the rest of the drive? That sound okay to you guys?”

Mong didn’t say anything.

Rondell didn’t even lift his head from the window.

I looked down at my journal full of Mei-li’s words, all confused as hell. Why would somebody tell a story like that and not finish? It’s a straight-up blue balls situation, right? But at the same time I knew we had more driving to do. Maybe she was just taking a break and would say the rest later.

“Uh, hello?” she said, looking right at me in the rearview. “Miguel? Lunch?”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” I said.

“Great,” Mei-li said. “I know a little pizza place. You guys will love it. And maybe when we’re done eating traffic won’t be so bad.”

She zipped us off the main road and down a few steep side streets. At the bottom of the hill she moved slowly down a narrow one-way road, looking for a place to park.

This chubby blond hostess led the four of us to a table near the back of the restaurant. We were quiet as we sat down and she handed us each a menu and told us the specials. I was right across from Mei-li. Mong and Rondell were next to us.

After the hostess walked away, Mei-li said: “Why don’t we just get one big pizza and share it? Pepperoni okay with you guys?”

“That’s cool,” I said, looking to Mong and Rondell.

“That’s cool,” Rondell said.

Mong didn’t say anything.

The waitress came over and asked us for our order, and Mei-li told it to her. As she talked I watched her mouth move, realizing I’d never met a girl like her before. One who’s not only fine but also older and confident. One who tells you stories about people in other countries.

I peeped her bare shoulders on the slick—the skin so brown and soft-looking. Her smallish boobs and how you could sort of make out where her nipples were through her wife-beater. Her petite collarbone. Her perfect nose and long eyelashes. Dark brown eyes. Even though her ears were pierced like six times each, not all the holes had earrings.

Then I peeped Mei-li’s face as a whole. It was so damn pretty it made something inside my chest ache—like when you look in the eyes of a little baby in a stroller at the park.

But then I started getting sort of pissed off, too. I realized how I’d probably never meet somebody like Mei-li ever
again. It finally hit me what it meant that I’d have to live the rest of my life in Mexico. Where my grandma and grandpa were born. Which wasn’t bad in a respect kind of way. I’m not saying that. But I was born
here
. In America. And that’s where I wanna live too.

Thinking all this made my stomach clench up on me. Like how it did that first night in the Lighthouse. Only different. ’cause now it only happened when I looked straight at Mei-li’s face.

The busboy came by and dropped off our Cokes and put a basket of bread in the middle of the table. Rondell grabbed a piece right off, but me and Mong didn’t touch it.

Mei-li pushed her chair back and stood up. “I need to go pee, you guys.” She looked over her shoulder as she left, said: “Don’t even
think
about talking shit while I’m gone.” Then she skipped around the corner toward the restrooms, out of sight.

Mong immediately slid back his chair and stood over me and Rondell. “I’m leaving,” he said.

“What?” I said.

“What?” Rondell said too.

“You guys can come or you can stay,” Mong said. “I don’t care. But choose right now.”

Me and Rondell looked at each other, and then I looked at Mong. I couldn’t believe the guy. He wanted to just bail out on our whole plan. I told him: “Wait, man, she’s still gonna take us to Mexico. Just not yet.”

“No, she’s not,” Mong said.

“What?” I said.

“What?” Rondell said.

I stared at Mong, trying to figure out why his cousin wouldn’t do what she just said she would. She seemed way too nice for that. Plus I’d believe Mei-li over Mong any day.

“There’s no time,” Mong said. “Just choose.”

There were a few seconds where all three of us stayed perfectly still, staring at each other, trying to think.

Then, I don’t even know why, but I stood up.

Rondell looked at me and then he stood up, too. Dropped his half-eaten bread back in the basket.

“Back door,” Mong said, moving away from the table. He walked quickly toward the open back door, me and Rondell following after him.

“Wait,” I said, stopping at the door.

I hustled back to our table, slipped the leather petty-cash envelope out from my pocket, unzipped it, pulled a twenty, and dropped it on the table by where Mei-li had been sitting. I stared at her chair for a sec, then pulled another twenty, dropped it on top of the other one. For gas money.

I moved back toward Mong and Rondell and we all ducked out the back door and took off running through the alley, down the street. Me and Rondell following Mong. Exactly like the night before, when we left the Lighthouse. Hands slicing air like we were running a race.

Only this time we were in the middle of San Francisco.

And this time we didn’t have a plan.

July 17—more

We sprinted down Bay Street, no idea which way we were going or what for. Down steep asphalt hills, in and out of cars and buses and trolleys. Through sidewalk traffic of business-suit dudes, packs of joggers, camera-strapped tourists, women on cell phones pushing double-decker strollers. Some people turned to watch us run by, and I wondered what they saw. Just normal kids running? Or group-homers? Escaped prisoners?
And how’d I become a part of what they saw when just four months ago I was sitting on a couch back in Stockton with my big bro, breaking apart Oreo cookies, eating them icing first like any other regular kid?

Your whole life, man, it can change in one minute.

Mong led us down to this part where there were a bunch of piers along the water. I looked back and there was nobody chasing us, but it felt like we’d be caught any second. By Mei-li. Or the cops. Or the night-watch guy or Jaden. I couldn’t calm down about us getting caught and being sent back to Juvi.

And it’s all because of Mong.

We headed down Pier 39, zipped around a grassy hill where homeless people were lounging with trash bags full of cans and plastic bottles, and onto this wooden section that overlooked the water where seals barked and swam around with each other or perched on big floating crates.

We leaned against the fence to catch our breath. Mong started coughing again. And this time he even went down on one knee and puked, right off the pier, into the water. Me and Rondell looked at him, and I said, “Yo, man, what’s wrong with you?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at me.

“What happened back there with your cousin?” I said, tired of him not answering people. “Why’d we just leave her? She said she was still gonna take us.”

He just stared at the seals.

“PS,” I said, ready to smack the little smirk right off his face, “I ain’t gonna just follow your dumb ass wherever you wanna go. You already fucked up our ride to Mexico.”

Mong looked up at me more serious, said: “What’d I do?”

“You heard me,” I shot back, staring dude down. I knew I was about one step away from something happening, but I
pointed at him anyway, said: “I’m gonna tell you now, man, I ain’t like everybody else at the damn Lighthouse. I ain’t scared of some Chinese punk bitch—”

He leaped at me, tackled me onto the wood and smacked me in the jaw. But like I said, this time I was ready for it and snuck in a punch of my own. Socked his ass right on one of his cheek scars. We wrestled around on the ground, holding back each other’s fists, trying to claw at each other’s faces and kick, but Rondell took both our foreheads in his huge hands and pushed us apart.

“Stop it!” he yelled. He shoved me back like fifteen feet and pinned Mong to the ground, his face right up against the damp wood. “Just stop it!” Rondell shouted again, pointing back and forth between us.

Mong smiled and puked again, right in front of his own mouth.

Rondell backed up a little with this grossed-out look on his face. He checked his hands to make sure no puke got on him and then he looked back and forth between us. “Come on, man. Y’all gotta just stop it. It ain’t right.”

Mong laughed. “Nobody can change my mind.”

“Yo, nobody gives a
shit
about your mind,” I shouted back.

“It ain’t right, though,” Rondell said.

In the distance, a grip of seals were scattered around the wooden crates, barking every once in a while and nosing each other in the stomach. They had no clue who I was or how something inside me was changing by the minute, getting more and more angry and confused. They didn’t know how I was becoming what people probably thought if they ever read my file, saw what I did.