We Were Here (6 page)

What I’ve learned the past couple weeks is that Mong stays as much to himself as I do. He eats solo. Never really talks to anybody except Lester—which I’ve only seen two or three times. Some days he even just stays in the living room after wake-up call. All day. Even when it’s time to eat. He just sits there, staring at the TV. Not even moving his position or flipping through the channels. And Jaden doesn’t say anything to him either. Just leaves him alone. And so does everybody else. Nobody even asks any questions. Lately, I’ve been trying to figure out why it’s so different for Mong. What, are people
scared? Is it ’cause they think he’s psycho and they don’t wanna set dude off? Even the counselors? ’cause that seems pretty messed-up, right? You shouldn’t get no special treatment just because you’re a psycho.

Lester still picks him up every other day too. He’ll let himself in, wave to all us residents and Jaden, and then Mong will get up without a word and walk out the door with Les. At first I thought maybe they were going to an unusual psychologist. One specializing in the emotionally disturbed or something. But now I’m not so sure. For one thing, if you go to a psychologist, aren’t you supposed to come back feeling better about yourself? ’cause when Mong comes back he usually seems even more depressed or pissed off than when he left. Like this one time when he totally snapped on Reggie.

Jaden was in his office with Tommy when Lester dropped Mong off. And when Reggie asked him a simple question, if he was still gonna help out with dinner or not, Mong just totally flipped. He threw down his bag and leaped at Reggie, got him in some crazy sleeper hold and pulled him to the kitchen floor. And he kept saying the same thing over and over: “I could kill you! I could just kill you right now! Do you even understand that?”

We all just stood there watching. It was so weird seeing some skinny-ass Chinese kid on top of this big muscular black kid. But Reggie didn’t even fight back at all. He just stayed quiet and laid there, stared straight ahead. Even when Mong finally let him go and stood up, grabbed his bag. All Reggie did was slowly reach for his own neck where Mong was choking him, and then he stood up carefully and went back to cooking dinner. He never even
looked
at Mong. The rest of us went back to what we were doing too.

I gotta say, man, there’s something freakish about Mong.
I can’t put my finger on it, but I been watching him lately. And it’s more than just the fights he gets in or the nasty scars on his cheeks. There’s something else. Like how depressed he seems and the way he keeps to himself even worse than me. And people walk on eggshells when he’s around. Tommy just looks at the ground. Reggie and Demarcus don’t have any jokes. Even Jaden acts different.

July 3

Tonight Jaden came up to me when I was washing the dishes and asked if I could join him in his office for a few minutes. I shrugged, dried my hands on the dish towel and followed him, thinking if maybe I was in trouble and what for. I was pretty sure I hadn’t done anything.

Jaden keyed open the door, set down a bag and told me to have a seat. I watched him then key open the desk drawer, put a fat envelope into the petty-cash tin and close and lock it back up. He put the keys back on his side belt loop, where he always has them.

Watching him, though, I thought how easy it would be to swipe all that cash late one night and bury it out back until my time was up. Then I could buy whatever the hell I wanted when I was free. Like new hoop shoes from Foot Locker or some low-tops to roll in. That’s another thing about me, by the way. I love getting new kicks. I take care of ’em too. Take a wet rag to the leather and wash the laces so they always seem like I just got ’em. And I always keep ’em in the box when I’m not rockin’ ’em.

Anyways, I was already at the damn mall in my head when Jaden spoke up. “You’ve been here a full month now,
bro,” he said, leaning back in his chair, linking his fingers behind his head. “Did you know that?”

I shook my head and said I didn’t, even though obviously I did ’cause of my journal.

“Well, you’re a veteran now, Miguel. And I just wanted to bring you in here and get your status on things, know what I’m saying?”

I shrugged and looked at that spot on the wall again, the boomerang or cocoon or whatever. Now I had a feeling how this was gonna go down. I wasn’t in trouble or nothin’, dude just wanted to know how
I feel
. If me and Diego were watching this scene in some movie we’d be laughing for days at how mad gay it was. But I kept a straight face in front of Jaden.

He sat up, said: “Let’s get it all out on the table, bro. You give me your honest take, and I’ll give you mine, cool?”

I rubbed the back of my head and took a deep breath.

He kept quiet for a sec and then he set his hand on the desk and said: “You haven’t really been mixing much with the rest of the fellas. Not that I’ve seen, anyway. Look, you don’t have to befriend anybody for life in here, bro. But it makes it easier if you have someone to goof off with a little, maybe make fun of your counselor behind his back.” He winked and reached out to smack my knee, smiling. “Right, bro?”

I shrugged.

“Any idea why you’re isolating yourself?”

I had about a thousand ideas why I was isolating myself, mostly to do with how retarded everybody here was and how all they wanted to do was talk about peoples’ shits or spit on you or hide meth in their damn shoes, but I didn’t tell him any of that. Just shrugged again.

Jaden pulled my file out of a drawer and opened it up. He
ran his finger over a couple lines and said: “Jenny says you’re still refusing to talk in therapy.” He looked up at me. “Any idea why that is, bro?”

Something happened inside me as I watched him sitting there looking in my file. I sort of snapped. I don’t even know why. I clenched up my fists and stared right back at him, not saying shit.

“Miguel?”

I was close enough that I could reach out and punch dude right in his pretty-boy face. Toss him out of his chair. Step on his neck like what happened to me in Juvi. It was a crazy feeling, too, ’cause I don’t even really hate the guy that much. I just felt pissed off.

“Jenny’s one of the top counselors in the entire system. Look, the only way to move past what happened back home—”

“What the fuck do you do here?” I interrupted.

His eyes got mad wide and he tilted his head a little, said: “Excuse me?”

“You bring people in here and talk and talk and talk. You open up their stupid-ass files and act like it has all the answers about ’em, and then you talk some more. But you don’t know me, man. You don’t know the first thing about who I am or where I come from.”

Jaden leaned forward a little, nodding slow. He looked me in the eye a few seconds and then said: “You know what, Miguel? I think you’re right.”

“I
know
I’m right,” I snapped back, waving his ass off.

“I
don’t
know the first thing about you. I really don’t.” He closed my folder and put it on the desk. “I’d argue that nobody really knows anybody. Not even members of their own family. But I can promise you this, okay? I really wanna help, Miguel. Whatever that means. I wanna help.”

I looked at him and then leaned back and crossed my arms. I started calming down, which pissed me off even more. I hated that something some damn counselor could say would make me calm down when I didn’t even feel like it. I looked at the cocoon on the wall again and shook my head.

Jaden looked at where I was looking and then put his eyes back on me. “And I’m going to continue trying to help, Miguel. Every single day. And if you ever wanna come in here and talk about anything—seriously, anything. The books you’re reading, basketball, girls, whatever. You come get me and we’ll talk, okay?”

“Can I be dismissed?” I said.

Jaden looked at my file on his desk. Then he nodded and said: “Absolutely, bro. And I wanna thank you for talking with me tonight.”

I got up and went toward the door, but he called out: “Miguel!”

I stopped, turned around. But I didn’t really look at him.

“It’s a huge burden is all I’m saying. What happened with you back home. I know you’re a tough kid, Miguel. And you’re smart, too. Even so, it’s hard to carry all that weight around on your shoulders. Sometimes it’s good to just talk to someone. Even if they’re not as tough or smart as you.”

“Can I be dismissed?”

He nodded and I went out.

I walked back into the kitchen. The dishes were already done, so I went to the bookshelf in the game room to look through the books, and right then somebody pulled into the driveway—I knew ’cause the headlights flashed through the curtains, lit up the shelf I was looking at. I turned around.

Demarcus went to the window and looked out at the drive way. “Les is bringin’ in another newbie, son.”

“Who?” Reggie said.

“Yo, he a
big
son of a bitch.”

Tommy and Reggie went to the window too. But I stayed right where I was. The only thought going through my head was how I knew they were gonna throw new dude in
my
room. And how all my solo time was pretty much ancient history. I turned back to the books, listening to everyone talking all loud behind me.

Tommy said: “Dude, another black guy. How come we can’t get a Caucasian for once?”

“Y’all never do nothin’ wrong, that’s why,” Reggie said.

I pulled a random book off the shelf and turned around.

“White cats is too scared to do anything wrong,” Demarcus said, tapping Tommy on the back of his head.

“Or maybe we just never get
caught,”
Tommy said, pushing Demarcus’s hand away. “You ever think about that?”

Reggie shot back: “Then why’s your dumb ass standin’ here right next to me, then? Explain me that shit, Socrates.”

Everybody broke up except me. I was too busy thinking about what kind of buster was gonna be sharing my room, and how I was gonna have to tell him the rules for the room, like the light stays on as long as I want at night so I can read whatever book I’m reading.

The one I pulled off the shelf was called
The House on Mango Street
. I flipped it over and scanned the back to see what it was about. Jaden walked out of his office and made straight for the front door. Pulled it open. A couple seconds later Lester walked in with the new black kid in tow, and when I saw who it was I damn near dropped my book.

Rondell.

We looked right at each other for a sec, and then he looked down at the rug while Lester introduced him to Jaden.

After Lester waved to us and headed back to his van, Jaden took Rondell’s bag from him and launched into the same spiel he’d given me on my first day—the one he apparently gives every damn person. “Rondell, huh? I like that name a lot, bro. It’s unique. Ha ha! Listen, you wanna meet the guys now, or would you rather settle in for the night and do the whole introduction thing in the morning?”

Rondell didn’t say anything back.

Jaden opened his file, flipped through it for a few seconds and then closed it back up. “Tell you what, Rondell,” he said. “Why don’t we just do it tomorrow, then. Start fresh and all that good stuff. Ha ha! Come on, I’ll show you what room you’ll be in and where you can stash your stuff.”

I couldn’t believe it, I was gonna be sharing a room with the same damn guy I had in Juvi.

Jaden walked back through the hall carrying Rondell’s state-issued bag, full of his state-issued clothes, but before Rondell followed after him he looked up at me again and said: “Mexico.”

I shook my head at his dumb ass for still calling me Mexico, but when he was a few steps by me I said: “Rondell.”

I don’t think his deaf ass heard me, though.

I stayed out in the game room for another hour or so, to give the kid some space. I watched Reggie destroy Tommy in foosball and Demarcus try to cook a frozen Hot Pocket over a burner with a spatula. When I finally made it back into my room Rondell was already curled up in his bed, snoring. Just like how he did back in Juvi. I had to put my pillow over my damn head just to fall asleep.

July 6

It didn’t take long before I figured something out about me and Rondell: we’re pretty much exact opposites in everything. Rondell’s a musclehead and slow-looking, and I’m thin and fast. Rondell’s basically allergic to books, and all I
do
in here is read. Rondell’s a damn Bible thumper, and I think anything having to do with God is a fairy tale.

Sometimes when we talk I can spin Rondell around so bad his black face scrunches up and turns purple he’s so confused. Like a couple days ago. I was minding my own business, reading my new book,
The Old Man and the Sea
, when Rondell strutted in our room, rapping: “I blow from the word go / Yo, check my flow, my show / I make dough while other punks cop fool’s gold.”

I looked up at his dumb ass, shaking my head, and tried to go back to my book. But it’s basically impossible to concentrate on the words in your book when somebody raps as bad as Rondell.

“Yo, Mexico,” he said, interrupting me again. That’s pretty much all he does, by the way, is interrupt me from whatever I’m doing. “Yo, wha’chu readin’?”

I closed up shop on my book and sat up, the soles of my state-issued sneaks right there on my blue bedspread (Moms would kill me if I tried that back home). “A book, homey. You ever tried some crazy shit like that?”

“Like what?”

“Reading a book?”

A big grin came over Rondell’s face and he went over to his nightstand, slid open the drawer. He held up a well-worn Bible and pointed at the cover: “This the only book I gotta read right here, Mexico. Every answer a human person might be lookin’ for is right here in these pages. That’s my word.”

“I see it’s been workin’ pretty good for you so far.”

An empty look went over his face. “Wha’chu mean?”

“I’m just sayin’, Rondell. You get your answers from the Bible. I get mine from in my head. But we both ended up in this stupid-ass group home, right?”

Rondell shook his head and patted his Bible. “It’s all part of God’s plan, Mexico. You just gotta have faith in the word and let the spirit take you somewhere.”