I walk into the kitchen and Wendy is sitting there. “Cereal, Teodoro?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. She just starts pouring.
We sit and slurp.
Sounds of spoons clinking bowls.
“You look tired,” she says.
“I didn’t sleep much,” I say.
“That makes two of us.”
Wendy pours coffee.
“You heard all that?” I say.
“Yeah,” she says. “Can we talk, please?”
“About what?”
I snap at her with that.
“About what we’re going to do next.”
“Nope.” I’m too tired and too messed up to deal. I push myself away from the table. “I can’t do this.”
* * *
I drive the Dodge fast down I-10.
I pull out my phone.
Caleb picks up and asks me who it is.
“You know it’s me.”
He says my voice sounds familiar, but he can’t quite place it.
“Sorry I haven’t been in touch.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I need to talk to you, Caleb.”
I tell him I’m coming home.
I talk as I drive past Las Cruces. I tell him all about our road trip. I try to tell him everything. Past tiny Anthony, New Mexico, and tiny Anthony, Texas.
Past cattle ranches and dirt-mound dairy farms. I tell Caleb how great everything was with Wendy. In Florence and here on the farm. I tell him everything about Manny.
Past the outskirt sprawl of El Paso housing tracts and the brown Franklin Mountains. I tell him how positive things seemed. But really Manny’s as bad as ever. Wendy will never trust me again. It’s all too much. And I want to come home.
“Are you done talking?”
“I guess so.”
I exit the freeway onto busy Mesa Street and pull into a movie theater parking lot.
“T, for a second I let myself get pumped about you coming home.”
“Then what happened?”
“You started talking for real.”
Caleb tells me I have unfinished business. He says if I come home now I’ll never know how it might have turned out.
I tell him I know exactly how it would have turned out. Like crap.
“Well, my friend,” he says, “Sometimes it’s better to walk through the crap than to walk around it.”
“Oh my God, what?”
“Imagine you walk to the store and you don’t step in any crap. Then, on the way home, you also don’t step in any crap. That’s a successful shopping trip. But what do you learn from it?”
“I learn that sometimes life actually works the way it’s supposed to.”
“No, you idiot! You never think about it again and you don’t learn anything.”
“Kinda like this lecture.”
“Listen up, T. What if you’re almost to that store and you step in a big ol’ steaming pile of dog crap?”
“Is this the best you can do, Caleb?”
“Yes, it is. And you made me lose my place.”
“You had me stepping in—”
“Dog crap. Exactly, T. You got a mess on your shoes. And you have to clean it up. But how? Do you use a stick? A wadded-up Kleenex? Your bare finger? No matter how hard you try, you’ll still have a poop smear that’s gonna stink up that store. But you’re too far from home. You can’t turn back. You gotta get your granny the medicine.”
“What granny? What medicine?”
“The point is, if you open yourself up to the possibility of a crappy shoe, then sometimes you’ll get crap on your shoes and you’ll stink places up real bad. And when that happens, you know you’re living a full life and you got stories to tell.”
“I miss you, Caleb.”
“I miss you, too. But if you come home now, someday you’re going to wonder what would have happened.”
I tell him I’ll think about it.
But my mind is one hundred percent made up. I’m gonna drive back to the farm, pack my bag, buy my ticket, say my good-byes, and fly home.
* * *
I don’t want to get to Tío Ed’s early. I don’t wanna see anyone. So I go into the theater and I watch the new Transformers movie twice. I can’t possibly sit through that thing a third time, so I get back in the truck. I’m heading north toward Hatch, but it’s still early, so I exit onto Transmountain Highway, just outside of El Paso.
I end up on a Franklin Mountains trail. I hike till it’s too hot to move. I hide under a big shade rock and turn off my buzzing phone. And I fall asleep.
A couple hours later, I wake up and climb to the top of the mountain. I watch the sun go down on El Paso, then scramble down the mountain and drive the dark desert freeway back to Hatch.
No one’s up when I get there.
I creep into the room.
Manny’s sound asleep. No clicking tonight.
I pull my bag out from under the bed. Open the dresser. Throw in clothes. Throw in my notebooks.
I tuck in and close my eyes.
In the morning, I’m on my way home.
* * *
The slow click of the bedroom door latching into place. That’s what wakes me.
I look over at Manny’s empty bed.
He’s probably on the porch again.
I check the window.
He’s not down there.
I check the bathroom. Sneak to the kitchen. Back up to the room.
No Manny.
I wrestle with a pair of pants, but I got ’em going backward, so I yank them off and slip shoes on fast. I bounce down the stairs and out the door, toward the fields.
I spot Manny walking near the storage barn, not far from the road, on the other side of the driveway from the shack.
I don’t shout his name. I don’t say a word. I just run fast and quiet.
I get to the barn. He’s gone.
I look toward the road and catch his silhouette, moving between rows of plants.
I run at him. I’m about half a football field away, and I can see him clearly now, lit up by the stars and moon.
He stops walking. Looks up at the sky.
I don’t stop running.
He drops to his knees.
Plants whipping my bare legs.
He looks down at something.
Fumbles with something.
No, Manny!
He lifts a pistol up to his head—Aw, God, where’d he get that?
I’m twenty yards away.
Manny looks up at the stars again.
A click as he releases the safety.
Twenty feet away.
I can hear him breathe.
I can’t believe he can’t hear me.
I lock my jaw.
Clench my fists.
Manny hauls in a last deep breath.
I lower my shoulder.
A howl blasts out of me.
Manny turns. His eyes catch mine.
I explode into my brother. My shoulder cracks his back. My head knocks his head.
My knuckles burn as I punch the gun away.
Manny crumples to the ground.
A clap of thunder as the gun flies into the air.
I slide right over him, into the dirt, over a row of plants.
My ears hiss and burn. I cup my hands to my head to make it stop, but it doesn’t stop.
Manny sits up. He takes a feeble swing at me.
I spring to my knees and swing. My fist blasts his jaw.
He shakes it off and comes at me. Misses with another weak swing.
I hit him in the face. I hit him in the gut. In the jaw. I hit him over and over till he’s down in the dirt and he’s not moving.
I lift him upright by his shirt. Pull his face to mine. “Fight me, Manny! Fight me!”
He’s limp. Not moving. But I can’t stop yelling. “Fight, Manny! Fight, Manny! Fight!”
I yell it till I got nothing left.
I collapse on top of him.
We lie there in a heap, faces to the earth, desperately heaving, like we’re trying to catch the same breath.
“Manny? Manny?”
He doesn’t answer me.
I feel his rib cage expand and contract.
I lift him up. My big brother feels so damn light.
I start dragging him back.
Xochitl runs at us, screaming his name, over and over.
Tío Ed is right behind her.
“Is he alive?” She lunges to Manny.
I tell her he missed.
She holds his head in her hands. “You’re going to be okay, Manuel. Oh, God, say something, Manny.”
Tío Ed helps Xochitl lift him upright. “Ay, mijo.”
I hear Luci shout something about an ambulance.
“We love you,” Xochitl says. “Do you hear me, Manny?” She gets under an arm and they start dragging him back. “You’re going to be okay, Manny. We love you, Manny.”
I’m stuck in place, watching them walk away.
I sit in the dirt.
It’s cold.
My teeth chatter.
I try but I can’t make myself stand.
I bury my head in my arms until I feel a hand on my back.
I look up.
It’s Wendy, kneeling in the dirt.
I look right at her.
She looks right at me. Pulls me into her. Pulls my head to her chest and holds me tight.
I hold her right back.
The sound of sirens. We look back toward the house. It’s lit up in red lights.
We watch Xochitl and Tío Ed lift Manny onto the porch.
Wendy takes me by the hand. We stand and start walking. Then break into a run.
The EMTs give Manny oxygen. Check his heart. Ask their questions.
Wendy’s still got my hand in hers, squeezing as hard as she can.
They move Manny to the ambulance. Xochitl motions my way.
Wendy holds my face in her hands and looks in my eyes. There are no words, but she says everything she possibly can.
I follow Tío Ed to the van. Xochitl pulls me into the front seat. We take off and she reaches out, grips my hand. She’s shaking. She’s a slobbering mess as she says, “I’m sorry, T, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have had to—”
I shake my head and squeeze her hand.
“I ruined everything, T.”
“No, Xoch, don’t—”
“I thought if I could—”
“It’s not your fault. You tried, Xoch.”
She squeezes my hand back. “You were the one who tried.”
She asks me what happened.
I tell her.
She pulls me over. Wraps her arms around me.
I start crying like a baby. “I couldn’t stop hitting him, Xoch.”
* * *
We sit on a waiting room bench, wondering what you do after your brother tries to kill himself.
Tío Ed walks our way. Sits down beside us. He says they have to keep him in here for seventy-two hours. Dr. Fuentes says he’ll sign the release papers after that, but only if he’s sure he and Tío Ed have a solid safety plan. Tío Ed thinks that’ll mean putting Manny back to work, but with more frequent visits to Dr. Fuentes. More counseling with Dr. Chapman. Tighter protocol regarding meds. He says the group guys will come in waves every day, throughout the day. “I made the calls,” he says. “My men are all signed up.”
He turns and talks to the reception nurse. Then waves us over.
We’re going to Manny’s room.
Knots in my stomach. Pains in my chest. A weight in my gut keeps me on the bench.
Xochitl takes me by the hand. Pulls me up. “We’re going to tell Manny we love him. And we’re gonna tell him to knock it off right now.”
“Okay, Xoch.”
We walk down the hall. The smell of chemical cleaner. Monitors whistle, beep, and ring in rooms. Machines clunk and whir. Shoes tap on linoleum.
We follow Tío Ed into Manny’s room. I look at the first bed. It’s some other miserable guy, his face wrapped in bandages.
Manny’s by the window. He’s sitting up. Tubes for fluids and meds. A swollen jaw and two black eyes. His arms are exposed and there’s a couple tattoos I never saw before. One is some army shield. The other one is a fish. And it’s right over his heart.
Xochitl ducks under the tangle of tubes and cords. Then she climbs in bed with him.
I did not know you could do that.
She wraps an arm around. Kisses his cheeks. “I love you, Manuel. Don’t you ever do that again. I love you. We need you. We want you here forever.”
He looks lost on hospital drugs.
“Come to me next time,” she says. “Tell me you want to do it. If I think you’re a lost cause, I’ll put you out of your misery myself. Deal?”
He says it’s a deal.
“I’d never do it, Manny.”
“Thanks, Xoch.”
Tío Ed pulls the curtain between beds. Scoots a chair over. “How you feeling, mijo?”
Manny says he’s been better. He asks why his face hurts.
“Teodoro got pissed he had to save his brother’s life.”
Manny looks my way.
“I’m sorry, Man. But don’t do that stuff anymore.”
He looks at me like he’s begging me to understand. “T, it’s not—”
“Huh-uh, Manny. There’s nothing you can say that’s gonna make it make sense.”
He looks down at the bed. Looks like he wants me to go away.
But I’m not going away. I kneel down. Get at bed level. I’m shaking. I got tears blurring everything. “Look at me, Manny.”
He doesn’t.
“Manny, I know you’re messed up. I know you’ve seen some horrible stuff.” I wipe tears. “You know what? Now I’ve seen some horrible stuff. You wanna mess me up, too? You wanna mess up Xochitl and Mami and Papi? Then do your thing and we’ll all be messed up forever.”
I can’t breathe and I can’t take the smell. I run out and down the hall and through the waiting room into the restroom. I splash my face with water and let out tears and snot till I got no more.
I sit back on that waiting room bench and bury my face in my hands.
And I try to work out how to undo what I just said to Manny.
Then I stop.
Because I don’t wanna undo it.
* * *
“Hang in there, son.”
I look up from the bench. It’s an old bald guy. There are four other old guys standing behind him.
“I’m Lou,” he says. “I’m buddies with your uncle. So are all these guys.”
I shake the group guys’ hands.
Lou asks what room Manny’s in.
I point and he says, “We’re here for Manuel. But we’re here for you and your sister, too.”
I tell them thanks and they turn to go see Manny.
In a minute Xochitl walks through the waiting room toward the exit.
I follow her.
Outside, she puts a cigarette to her lips. Pulls a lighter out of her pocket.
“Where’d you get that?” I say.
“I saved one in case of emergency. This qualifies.”
She flicks the lighter.
I grab the cigarette, and before she can snatch it back, I drop it and stomp.
“What the hell, T?”
“In SeaTac, you said that was your last one ever.” I grab the lighter from her hand and stomp that till it’s bits of plastic. “You can do this, Xochitl.”
“Oh, God, T, it doesn’t even matter.”
“Maybe not to you.”
She looks back toward Manny’s room. Looks at me again. “Don’t tell Manny I was gonna smoke.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“I told Mami and Papi I quit, too, so—”
“I won’t tell them, either.”
“Speaking of Mami and Papi…”
Xochitl asked Tío Ed if we could wait to tell them about Manny. She promised him she’d call home soon.
“T,” she says, “I don’t think it’ll help to tell them. Manny will be pissed. And Mami and Papi will freak out. Everything is bad enough. They don’t need to know right now.”
I tell her if they find out we didn’t tell them, they’ll never forgive us.
“Up to you, T. You can tell them if you really think we should.”
Xochitl heads back inside.
I pull out my phone.
I dial and hear the ring.
Then I press the hang-up cuz I’ve got no idea how to say it.
The sliding doors open. Tía Luci walks in. She’s taking us back to the farm.