CHAPTER 2

The coins Tía had given him burned in Santiago’s hand. If he’d learned anything from his years of moving from one relative to the next, it was to spend money while he had it. Saving it would be the same as losing it. Or having it stolen.

The setting sun indicated there wasn’t much time left. He hurried past the bar where his uncle would be filling his empty belly with beer and chicharrones until his money ran out. Even then, Tío would stay longer, in hopes that Tía would have calmed down and that the kids would be asleep when he returned.

Except the kids wouldn’t be asleep. Not without Santiago there to tell them a story and rub their backs. Tía would very soon regret her hastiness in getting rid of him.

At the grocery store, he bypassed the line of people handing over their backpacks and large bags while they shopped, and headed to the bakery section. Since it was the end of the day, items there had been reduced to half off. The remaining bread rolls were smaller than his fist; he grabbed two from the plastic display case. In the meat department, he convinced the butcher to sell him a few scraps of raw meat; even one slice of cured meat would have been beyond his budget. Adding his meal up in his head, he figured he had just enough for a small bottle of Coca-Cola.

He handed over the few coins that had been meant to take him back to la malvada’s house forty minutes away by bus, received no change, and sat on a park bench to enjoy his meal.

Even with the stale rolls and the chewy, uncooked meat (his iron gut could handle anything), it wasn’t the worst meal he’d eaten. He smiled. Life felt good and full of possibilities. Not that he knew what possibilities were out there, but returning to la malvada’s wasn’t one of them. He’d decided that the last time he left her house.

The best part: No one would come looking for him. La malvada didn’t have a phone so wouldn’t know to expect him. It could be months before his tía and she saw each other again, and several more before mentioning him in each other’s presence. When they figured out he’d gone missing, if he was lucky, they’d assume he was dead. If he was really lucky, he wouldn’t be.

The night air sent a chill over his bare head. He tugged a short strand from behind his ear, wondering when it’d get long enough to curl again. A week ago Tío had pinned him down while Tía shaved his head for giving the kids lice. Truth was they’d gotten lice on their own.

He would need a place to stay the night, ideally not a park bench or under a bush, where a stray could pee on him.

He racked his brain for options until he had an idea. He’d registered the existence of the abandoned shack the first week here while walking the toddlers, complete with harnesses and leashes. Set back from the street, run down, no door, and half the roof missing, it seemed to serve no purpose other than to divert attention. Now the memory popped up as he searched through his mental shelter file.

His feet crunched on glass as he entered the shack. Lights from the street outside showed mounds of trash. The smell of urine indicated other humans had used this place as a sanctuary. But the wrappers were old, and the smell wasn’t fresh.

Through a hole in the roof, a raindrop fell on his bare head. Only parts of the roof were missing, but the areas that would remain dry were also the ones littered with the most trash. Using his feet as a broom, he pushed the garbage to the exposed parts of the shack. He cleared a sleeping spot until only dirt remained under his feet. Settling down with his back against the wall, he hugged his knees to ward off the chill as he watched the light rain fall on the trash. A steady drop pinged against a glass bottle like a chime. As it always happened when it rained, and many times when it didn’t, a memory came.

After a particularly hot and dry summer, when he was four years old, the sky had darkened into a sudden downpour. Everyone scrambled to get under portals or into shops. Mami instead had gripped Santiago’s hand tight and turned her face up as if blessing the rain.

“Can you feel each drop land on your body?” Mami had said, her eyes still closed. “Washing away everything bad and leaving a fresh start.”

“It’s like taking a shower, but better,” Santiago said as he opened his mouth to catch the rain. “Can we do this every day?”

“Claro, hijo. Any time it rains, we’ll come out and celebrate it together.”

Mami removed their shoes, and they pranced through the deserted town. Mud oozing through their toes, rain running down the back of their necks, they chased streams and sang silly songs. Though only four, Santiago could honestly say he had never had more fun than he had that day.

He also didn’t remember dancing in the rain again. At least not with Mami. And later it became forbidden. Only lunatics and vagabonds danced in the rain.

No, he wouldn’t think about that. He focused instead on the ping of the raindrops landing on the glass bottle. But just as he knew it would, the next memory played automatically.

This time la malvada stood over him, cigarette drooping from her lip, as he swept the clumps of mud his abuelo had trudged in.

“Your feet are covered in filth like a pig’s. Your madre was a pig too,” his grandmother said. La malvada had a way of glaring at him as though he were some disrespectful kid, even though a growth spurt meant that he technically could look down on her. “Always running around barefoot. Everyone said she wasn’t right in the head. Like we were to blame for ending up with such a nutcase. I tried to beat the crazy out of her, but once an egg’s gone bad there’s nothing to do but throw it away.”

“Mami was not crazy,” Santiago said. “She knew how to be happy and not end up like you.”

La malvada’s face twisted into an angry scowl as she flicked cigarette ash into his eye. “Life is about struggle; you’re not meant to be happy. She was crazy and look where that got her. Burdening me with her impudent and malcriado son. You’re going to turn out just like her. A waste of space and air.”

Santiago rubbed his eye, the memory of the ash stinging as much as the event. The rain eased up, and the pings against the bottle became less frequent. With arms folded under his head to act as a pillow, he looked through the patches of roof up at the sky. The remaining clouds combined with the light pollution made stargazing impossible, but he knew they were there. Some shining bright, some far and faint, some that had died out, but their memory still glowed. Just knowing the stars were there, in some form or another, made it possible for him to take a deep breath and close his eyes.