We pull into the parking lot. Yes! No more clowning for me. No more penguining. I will soon be walking like a normal person. I practically bounce in my seat from the excitement. Mom sees my smile. It lights up her face. “Seriously?” I ask.
“Any pair you want,” she says.
As soon as she parks, I grab Ani and race out of the car and into the store.
Ahh! The smell. Brand-new shoes. Is there anything in this world that smells better? I think not. I wish they made soap in this scent. Maybe when I get older, I’ll make colognes and perfumes that smell exactly like new shoes. I’d make millions.
The clerk sees my excitement. He comes out from behind the register and meets me in the boys’ section. “You definitely need new shoes,” he says in a Spanish accent with his eyes fixed on Emjay’s shoes wrapped around my feet. “Your feet are swimming in those.”
I kick off Emjay’s shoes and reveal my whitish-brownish-greenish stained socks. “Aye, yes, indeed I do, good sir. Which is why I am here. Can you be a gentleman and escort me to your finest pair of foot-gloves?” I say in my very bad attempt at an English accent.
I know my impression sucks, but it always makes my mom laugh, so I thought it might make him laugh too. But he doesn’t laugh, he just raises his eyebrows and sighs. “I’m just kidding. Yeah, I need shoes,” I add.
The door opens. Mom enters. I see by her posture she has already planned on playing the British accent game I’ve started.
“And we require this set of particular footwear to be simply divine. Point us to your absolute finest. Spare no expense, good man. Money is of no issue,” Mom says.
But her accent sounds real. And when his eyes meet her, his face goes from curious about me to goofy and bashful toward her. “Of course, follow me,” he says. “What size are you?” he asks her.
“Oh, not for me, darling. For my royal son, Opin, the duke of House Van—”
“I already told him we were kidding,” I say to her.
Her shoulders drop. Her chin lowers. “Oh. Okay. The boy needs shoes. Size five,” she says in her normal voice.
“Right this way,” he says, and leads us to my section.
I’m in heaven, and every shoe staring back at me is an angel. There are so many kinds. There are black ones, white ones, red ones, striped ones, high-tops, low-tops, some with laces, some with Velcro. This is like the supermarket. Aisles and aisles of colorful options, but instead of all the food to eat, here, it’s all the foot to feet. I know that doesn’t make sense, but how can I make sense right now? I am literally standing barefoot in the halls of heaven, and I’m about to earn my wings.
Then I see them. The pair of shoes that were made for me. I point to them because I can’t form the words yet. The man brings them down from the shelf and hands them to me.
“Mama, hold Ani,” I say, and hand Ani to her, not taking my eyes off these beautiful shoes.
They are high-top sneakers. Good thing I spotted them too, because they are camouflage. It says Pro Wings on the tongue. See? I was right. These are angels. I am getting my wings. Professional ones too. I hold them up to my nose and inhale. I close my eyes.
“Would you like to try them on?” the clerk asks.
“He’d love to,” Mom says to him, smiling.
Then I catch a glimpse of the price, written on a sticker stuck to the bottom of the shoe: $29.99.
“Thirty bucks for shoes?” I say aloud.
“Those are the Pro Wings XP Street Edition Sneakers,” he says. “Very good price.”
“No way. How much for those Airwalks?” I ask, and point to the white-and-black pair in front of me.
“Those are fourteen ninety-nine,” he says.
“I’ll take those.”
“No. He’ll take the XP street wingy ones,” Mom chimes in.
“Mom, those are—”
“The coolest ones in here, I know. We’ll take ’em,” Mom says, and walks toward the register to pay.
I drop to the floor and put them on. First my left. Then my right. But … they’re too tight. My feet have grown. When did that happen? And no wonder my last pair were hurting my toes. I’m a size six now. I’m growing up.
I grab the size-six pair and put them on. They fit perfect. Just enough room for my toes to keep growing a little. I stand up and walk, and it really does feel like I am on a cloud. I just wish my nose was closer to my feet so I could smell them all day.
“How do they feel?” she asks.
“I’m never taking these off.”
Mom hands me Ani and opens her purse.
“Will you be paying with cash or a check?” he asks her.
She bites the insides of her cheek and pulls out her cash. “The only checks I see are the ones reality gives me. Know what I mean?”
He looks confused.
“Reality checks? Never mind. I’ll pay cash,” she says, and places the cash on the counter.
I go outside and let Ani walk on the patch of grass outside the store, in between the parking spots. She pees and does a big poop. I hope no one saw that. I don’t have a bag to clean up after her. I pick her up and take her back to the car.
Mom gets in and flips through the CDs. “Let’s listen to my boyfriend,” she says, and pops it in.
She has a crush on two people: Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen. I wonder which one she’s dating today. The CD cover is just a picture of a butt in tight jeans. That’s Bruce. I have no idea what his face looks like. Maybe she doesn’t either. Maybe she just fell in love with his booty. But I admit, he is fun to listen to. She mashes the button from song one all the way to song eleven. Her favorite song. “Dancing in the Dark” begins to play.
We pull out of the lot and head back to the laundromat. I look at the gas tank. We just dipped below the half-tank line. I know Mom notices it too, but she doesn’t care right now. When music is playing, her mind is onstage. If she wasn’t strapped into the seat belt, she’d be dancing in the street. But a familiar thought won’t leave the back of my mind. Spending a lot of money on shoes today means that tomorrow we will have to work all day to make up for it. And if she didn’t fully fill the tank up earlier today, that means money is on her mind and we have less than I thought. But I shake that thought out of my head because even though it’s the truth, I still want to enjoy the rest of today. There are so many good things left to do before bed. Yes, bed. I’ll be sleeping in a bed tonight. And my belly will be full. And I’ll be in clean clothes. And Mom and I won’t have to worry about creeps coming up to us or cramps in our butts from the car seats. We will live like kings tonight.
After we load up the car with all our clothes and say miigwech to the laundry gods for watching over our clothes and not letting anyone steal them while we were out shoe shopping, we drive to the Modesto Motel.
It’s only six minutes away, and when we pull up to it and park in the back spot, Mom turns to me. “You got to hide Ani. No dogs allowed,” she says.
I put on my heavy baggy jacket that hid her well last time.
“Stay in here. I’ll go check in, then come back, and we will park closer to our room.”
“Don’t we have to stay in the back so Emjay knows we’re here?” I ask.
“It’s not a very big lot. He’ll see our car,” she says.
“What are you not telling me?” I ask, knowing she’s hiding something, because she never breaks our rear-parking-only rule.
“Leland’s mom. She researches everything. She said Modesto has a high crime rate. Especially this area. I just don’t want what happened in Sacramento to happen again.”
“I won’t let anyone take these shoes. No way,” I say.
“And we got a lot of groceries to carry. Hunger feeds desperation. And people are hungry,” she says as an elderly homeless man walks past our car pushing a shopping cart full of soda cans and liter bottles. “I’ll be right back.”
Mom exits the car and walks toward the motel entrance. There are groups of people loitering about. Nothing I haven’t seen before, but every new city we come to has the potential to be worse than the last one until we know differently. Being cautious keeps us alive, so I stay inside the car as Mom gets a feel for the area. It can be worse, but it can also be better. And so far, Modesto has been pretty dang cool to us. No one stole our clothes. We got a bunch of food. And I got new shoes.
Mom gets a little on edge when Emjay isn’t around. It makes sense. I must protect Ani. Mom must protect me, and whether she would admit it or not, Emjay protects her. It’s how it is. It’s how it will always be until the day I’m old enough to protect our mother myself. Then Emjay can take a break and hopefully, finally, be whatever his version of happy is.
I bet that’s why they were arguing earlier. She must have told him not to leave, because this area is dangerous. And he probably said that the city should be the one that’s afraid, not him, because it is he that’s the dangerous one. And he’d be right. Modesto has no idea who just came to town.
After a few minutes, Mom returns to the car. She gets in and slams the door shut. Never a good sign. I can tell she was crying, but only a little bit. “What happened?” I ask.
“We have to go,” she says.
“Why?”
“They said they no longer honor welfare vouchers. How’s your brother going to find us?” she says, panic rising in her voice.
“Is there a different hotel that takes vouchers?” I ask.
“Yeah. But it’s across town. We need to find your brother,” she says, and starts the car.
“But the milk and stuff. We need to get it—”
“I know, Opin!” she snaps at me. “I know. Don’t you think I know that?”
I hate when she yells at me. “Sorry. Gaagiizom,” I say, and lean back in the seat, averting my eyes from her and shifting my gaze toward Ani, on my lap.
This is going to be a long night. We won’t find Emjay. We both know we won’t. But we both know we’ll still try. We drive up and down the streets, in and out of alleys, and around the parks. And we’re not the only ones coming up empty; so is our gas tank.
We stop for gas, and Mom puts in as much as she can. It’s strange seeing how she can be so funny and full of happiness one moment, and then spiral down a dark hole and be completely miserable the next. Her hands are starting to shake. That’s what they do when she gets nervous. Her mind goes straight to the worst-case scenario. She mumbles under her breath. She touches her chest to make sure her heart is still beating. Then she touches it again to hold it in her body because it feels like it’s beating out of her chest.
At times like these, I try to calm her down by telling her how wrong she is. I have to say things I hate saying out loud. Emjay is not dead. No one killed him, Mom. He’s not in jail for trespassing or for stealing a car. He isn’t lying in a ditch somewhere, facedown, with his legs broken while he’s crying out for help. None of that is true. Get it all out of your head. I tell her what she tells me when I’m scared. That’s just the monster in your mind trying to scare you. It eats fear and it’s always hungry and it’s trying to make you feed it. But the only way out of this mess is to let it starve to death.
I tell her that Emjay is doing what he always does. Exactly what he wants. He’s probably out somewhere having a great time. He probably met a girl already. They are probably at her house. She’s probably rich. He’s probably eating dinner and watching a movie and making out while we are out here searching for him. I promise he is okay. Because he is always okay. Even when he’s not.
I wish I could tell her how I really feel. Not that I want him hurt or anything like that, but I want to tell her how much of a selfish jerk he is. He could easily stop her from panicking and searching the streets all night by simply not running away every chance he gets. He could do his job and protect her. He could be here, with us, and make all this really hard stuff a little bit easier. He could help, but he doesn’t. He’s too angry. He’d rather beat me up, argue with Mom, and take off and not have to think about us. I also hate when we drive around looking for him, because it is the only time Mom doesn’t want to listen to music. The car has to be silent, like somehow her eyes will work better if her ears don’t have to. And the silence is super loud, much louder than music.
But I get it. He is her son. Moms worry about their kids, even the mean ones like Emjay.
After about an hour of driving around and getting no closer to finding my brother, Mom finally decides to drop me off at the hotel that accepts vouchers. She pulls in, checks in, and takes Ani and me to the room. She calls this place seedy and roach infested, but we don’t have the time or the money to be picky right now. She doesn’t even let me help her with the grocery bags. And we are on the second story. But she insists I don’t leave the room, not even to take Ani out to pee, until she gets back.
Now I’m alone in this place. Mom is out continuing her search. I can hear the people in the next room arguing. A man and a woman. The walls are thin. I guess they are fighting about which of them is to blame for being the clumsiest, because I keep hearing glass break. I think the woman is the clumsy one, because I definitely hear the man yelling more.
The room doesn’t smell too good, so I take off my new shoes and put them up to my nose to combat the room’s aroma. They still smell so good, but not as good. They kinda smell like my feet now too. There’s a yellow couch. Mom said I can sit on it, but to lay our blanket over it first, so that’s what I do. Ani and I are playing fetch with one of my clean balled-up socks. She’s small but strong. I wrestle it out of her mouth, and she has the cutest little growl as she tries to keep it in her jaws.
The best part about this room is that it has a TV. It’s been a while since I’ve sat and watched something. Sometimes the shelters have a TV mounted on the wall and everyone pulls up chairs and watches a movie or a TV show. People complain every time a commercial pops on, interrupting the movie, but I never understood that. I love commercials. They are like tiny movies. I especially like the airline commercials. I get to see people traveling to places because they want to, not because they have to. They’re always smiling and hugging and looking so comfortable. I’ve never been on a plane before. I hope someday I will. That would be so fun. In the car, the only way to see clouds is to look up. But I’d feel like I’m doing pretty good at this game if, one day, I’m on another level and to see the clouds, I’d have to look down. That would be so cool.
It’s not as fun being here without Mom; the plan was we’d both be eating and watching a movie together, but Ani is good company. We both eat dinner. She has her bowl of dog food, and I make myself a PB&J sandwich with a side of carrots, grapes, and strawberries. And a large glass of apple juice. I think Mom was hoping our room would have a kitchenette, where she could cook something, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t even have a real fridge, just a small cooler that barely fit our milk, fruit, and apple juice. But that’s okay. Anything is better than another cheeseburger.
Ani and I are ready to get into the bed, but it feels weird to fall asleep in it with Mom still being out and Emjay still being missing. I try to convince myself to live like a king. Sprawl out under the covers, with my head on a pillow and Ani in my arms, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I stay on the couch. What is my problem? I should love this. I should be taking a hot shower, walking around the place like I own it, and telling Ani how lucky we are tonight. But I don’t feel lucky. I feel sad.
“Emjay is such a dick,” I tell Ani.
“Don’t tell Mom I said that,” I add.
Ani nestles into my body as we lie on the couch. I turn the TV up to drown out the people next to us, who are still arguing over whatever is broken. On the screen is an old Western. The white cowboys just went to battle and killed all the Indians. The movie made Native Americans look like dumb animals. Crawling in and out of bushes and pointing their rifles the wrong way and accidentally shooting themselves. I think they looked so dumb because they were clearly white dudes dressed up as Indians. It looked like they were in Halloween costumes. They painted their faces like kids at a carnival. I don’t really know what war paint looks like, but I doubt it’s that. And their skin was painted too. Their entire bodies. It was almost golden, but brown too, but for some reason, the cowboys kept calling the Indians redskins. And every time a cowboy was on screen, this heroic music would play, and they’d pose and look strong and good. But every time one of the fake Indians was on screen, the music would speed up, making me feel like I was looking at someone scary. A villain. A monster.
I don’t like this show, but all the other channels are these super long infomercials about a sponge that can clean the entire kitchen or a vacuum that can clean the entire house, even all those hard-to-reach places. So I just turn the TV off and stare at the bed again. The empty bed. The delicious piece of cake that no one will eat tonight. What a waste of sheets and pillows.
But just before I close my eyes, I remember something that Mom told me once after Emjay beat me up. She said, Don’t let someone else ruin your day. And I never thought much of it before, but right now, it makes sense. Emjay isn’t even here, and I’m letting him ruin my day. And for what? To be miserable? To be mad? To be scared. Why would I do that to myself? That’s stupid. Mom and I worked hard for this bed. We played the game. This level is hard, for sure, but we’re still alive. We’re still in it. We’re winning.
So why am I acting like I’m losing? Because the situation is not perfect? That’s ridiculous. Nothing is perfect. Nothing ever will be. I have to appreciate what I do have and not cry about what I don’t. And I have a bed tonight. And as Ani is my witness, I am going to use it!
I get off the couch and I jump onto the bed. This is a win. I turn off the light on the bedside table, put Ani on my chest, and say miigwech to all my ancestors for tossing this thought into my head and reminding me that not every battle is going to feel like a victory, but if you survived through it to see another day, then a victory it was. I close my eyes and ask my people for one more favor.
Please make sure Emjay is okay. Not for me, but for Mom.