Illegal (11 page)

My thoughts remained on Grandma. She would tell me when I was worried, “Let the wind carry your worries away. That's why God makes a breeze in the morning.”

But the still, humid air of Houston sat on me like a
gordita
waiting for the buffet. Out on the street corner, I noticed two small children walking home with their mother pushing a shopping cart. The kids carried shiny new backpacks. I knew this was another sign.

“School starts soon. I need supplies,” I said to
Mama. I figured if I said it like it was something we were supposed to do, she just might follow along.

Mama looked at me funny. “You need real papers to go to school.”

“We'll just buy them.” It seemed you could buy anything in America for the right price.

“No, I wish we could. First we find your father, send money home to Grandma, and then you go to school.”

“But—”

She shook her head. “School takes time away from work. Grandma needs us to send more money.”

“But—”

“Or we might lose the farm.”

“But—” I tried again.

Mama cut me off midsentence. “I want to send you to school too, but not yet.”

“I've been praying at a church nearby,” I said. I had seen a priest only once. He waved at me, but I pretended to be deep in prayer, so he let me sit in peace.

“I don't think God can answer every prayer we ask for,” said Mama sadly.

The empty church had become my place. No screaming from the pool, no television blaring through the wall, no mother trying to tell me what to
do. Heck, even God was silent. I prayed in the empty church because they had air-conditioning. In the cool air, I could pray for hours. I even left a bowl on the altar.

Mama pulled out a napkin stained with salsa. “This man says he worked with your father in the spring. He described the tall buildings. I think this is the right number.”

I frowned at my clothes. “Keisha talked about a voucher. Do you think we could get a voucher? I feel like I'm starting to look like Mr. Mann.”

Mama stared at my feet. “We just don't have extra money. You want clothes, or to help Grandma? Which do you choose?”

I didn't want to choose. I put on the sandals and followed Mama to the pay phone outside of the market. I didn't even try to listen anymore. I flopped down on the bench meant for the bus people. No one was waiting for the Metro. My empty earlobes ached when I looked at the jewelry store across the street.

This was my opportunity to stare at the window of Payless. How I wanted a pair of brightly colored sneakers. Maybe I could tell Manuela it was my birthday and she would buy me a pair. The idea of a
quinceañera
was a distant memory. Just a pair of
shoes. My family. School. My list always seemed to be growing. It would have been easier if I didn't want anything.

Mama slipped coins into the phone. “Hello. My name is Aurora. I'm looking for my husband, Arturo, from Cedula. He stayed at your mission with a man named Luis. Do you know where I can find him?”

I dreamed of what it would be like to wear a new uniform to my first day of real American school. I could sit next to Flora and have a fresh notebook with light blue lines. A teacher would point at the board, and for once, I would begin to learn everything I really needed to know. Papa would be so proud of me.

I would be smarter when we found him. I could put my education to work and save our farm. I could even open a store and sell things from Cedula.

Mama grew quiet. It seemed every noise from the street silenced around us. Even the crickets stopped their nightly screaming from the trees.

“No,” they would say. “We don't know him.” That would be it.

Mama shook. “No. No. I don't understand.”

There was more frantic talk. I tuned in to the conversation.

Mama continued to babble, shaking her head no.
“Maybe it was someone else? Maybe you are mistaken. This couldn't be true. You're wrong.”

I couldn't understand what was happening. Mama grew pale.

“We came from Mexico to find him. He is everything to us. Please!”

Mama dropped the phone and held her hands to her face. I could see the tears dripping between her fingers. The cord dangled in the air.

I picked up the phone and heard a voice.

“Hello? Could you repeat what you just said?” I asked.

“
Está muerto.
He's dead.”

Mama's mouth hung open as the tears washed down her face. She melted to the ground.

“Get up,” I said. “Right now.”

Mama bent over with her hands on the pavement.

“Mama, pull yourself together. We can't act like this on the street.” I noticed a car full of girls rolling by for the second time. I worried it would be a carload of Chulo girls.

Mama rocked back and forth on the pavement. Over and over again she muttered, “No.” Brake lights
flashed in the twilight.

I wanted to get out of the street. People were looking. She had finally lost her mind because of someone's cruel joke.

“Mama, come on, it was a mistake. We can find out later. No one knows us here. Maybe this person is a
mentiroso
. Come on, we're leaving.” I didn't know what was true. A car with dark windows stopped. Fear crept into my stomach, because I couldn't fight off a gang of vicious girls. “Mama, time to go. Now,” I whispered into her ear, trying a nicer tone.

I pulled Mama's shoulders until she looked up. “Maybe it isn't true,” I said with hope. I needed a fresh breeze to blow our worries away, but the night stood still.

Flora's face appeared in the window. “What's going on? Get in before those girls come by and cap you in the head.”

Mama cried out, “He's dead! He's dead!” She clutched Flora's arm.

She tried to pull back, but Mama pulled harder. “Who's dead?” Flora asked, her tone softening. “Who?”

“Mama, please,” I snapped back. I had to get her off the street, but she collapsed into a ball on the concrete.

“No, no,
señora
.” Flora spoke with a tenderness I had never seen. “Please, let me take you home.”

I hovered over my mother. “She starting saying crazy things. You have a car?” I asked Flora.

Anger and concern mixed on her face. She rubbed my mother on the back. “Please, let me give you a ride home. Let me help you the way your daughter helps me.”

The scream was like a wild dog. “My husband. Her father,” Mama wailed and pushed me away. “What will we do?
¡Dios!
”

My throat was closing. None of this was real. “Mama, it's
not true
.”

Flora held my mother's arm. “Come on and stand up.”

Mama's wailing turned into hiccups. She muttered Papa's name over and over, snot pouring down her face.

“I just need to get her home. She's getting worse after each phone call.”

“Look, take the help and be quiet,” Flora said as we walked toward the car. “Omigod, what are those shoes you are wearing?”

“I like them.” My brain was numb as I pulled Mama into the front seat.

Flora drove us in silence except for Mama's hiccups. At our door, she helped Mama in, but came no farther. “I gotta go, because I didn't ask to borrow the car, and it's not like I have a license. My brother will probably kick my butt if he finds out.” She disappeared into the darkness without even a good-bye.

I sat on the stoop waiting for the joke to end. Flies buzzed past my ears into the screen door, sounding like miniature cars zooming on a freeway.

“Nora!” my mother wailed. “Don't you understand? Your father is dead!”

I clapped my hands over my ears and screamed. “We are not victims!”

In front of me stood a lone shadow. Mr. Mann. Without eye contact, he put a bag at my feet and shuffled away.

The receipt waved in the evening breeze. Doughnuts.

It was nine thirty. We hadn't eaten, so I cut up leftover sandwiches from the stand and a few of the pastries. Mama turned toward the wall when I brought her a plate.

I had to convince Mama the phone call was a mean joke. “Come on, Mama. Please eat something.
Tomorrow we will try again.
Manaña
we can find a new number to call. We'll find Papa. It can't be true.”

Once again, I wasn't sure if we could find him, but I wasn't giving up. Mr. Mann's doughnuts sat on the table.

I closed my hands in prayer. “Please, God. I'll do anything.”

I imagined my entire life. How I was supposed to have a father and a mother. Live in an orchard in Mexico. Have a beautiful
quinceañera
. Graduate from a school and be smart. Marry a nice boy. I was supposed to fix all of this.

Gone. Finished. It couldn't be. I wouldn't let it.

I climbed into bed and held my mother, trying to close the sorrowful space between us.

I woke up with Mama's arms around me. My T-shirt was wet from all of the crying. The clock read 7:30 a.m.

“Mama, wake up. We're late for work.”

Mama groaned. It sounded the same way as when we were in the truck: low, monotone, and sad. It almost sounded like Mr. Mann spelling his name.

“Mama. We'll get in trouble.” Mama rolled over in the bed toward the wall.

Jorge's truck was parked at the stand. Customers
were already lined up. I grabbed my clothes and ran out the door. I didn't have time to mother Mama today.

I pulled on my stained apron. “
Señor
Jorge. My mother is sick today and can't work.”

He growled as several customers walked out of the line. “Why? She didn't act sick yesterday. Manuela and I are supposed to get our permits today.” He shook his head. “We can't depend on anyone. I knew things were going too good to be true.”

My voice cracked as I said it. “Please don't be mad at us, but something happened last night.” I burst into tears with the rush of last night's memory. “Someone said Papa was dead.”

Jorge dropped the tortilla from his hand. “What?”

“I don't know…nothing is making sense.” I could feel fast breaths coming out of my mouth, but no air could get into my lungs. The world spun in slow, lazy circles.

“
Niña
, what's happening?”

I crumbled to the floor of the stand. “He stopped sending telegrams, so we came to find him. We were asking the workers who were coming for food. Last night, someone told us he died.”

The words came out of my mouth faster than I could think. It felt like the water flowing in the
pool. The words splashed out because it just now seemed true.

Jorge shooed away the customers in line. “Sorry, everybody. Closed for the morning.” He grabbed napkins and wiped the tears from my face. I was crying so hard that I could no longer hold in the sobs while my entire body shook.

“Calm down, it will be okay,” said Jorge.

I couldn't imagine anything being okay. We left everything to find Papa, but now almost everything was gone, including him. I was beginning to believe the phone call. Maybe he was dead.

Jorge took my hand. “Okay, let me lock things up and we'll go to your house.”

“No. It's just a mistake. I'll work today, and then Mama and I can continue to look for Papa.” I didn't want to be fired. Someone had to work.

“I'm trying to help. No one will starve if we close the stand for one day. Let's go home and talk to your Mama,” said Jorge.

We walked across the park as I sucked my breath in and out for air. Jorge's cross twinkled in the sunshine of the morning. His burly arm around my shoulders felt familiar. The way I fit under the crook of his arm, it just made my heart ache even more.
The shadows of the trees had just begun their long walk across the park.

Jorge called through the door. “Aurora, I'm coming in. Nora told me what happened.”

Mama twisted in the bed, away from Jorge and the light.

“Tell me what happened, Aurora. Maybe I can help. You could have told us what was going on. You know we understand about these things,” said Jorge.

Mama turned over to look at us. Her eyes were so swollen from the crying you couldn't see the brown of her eyes. “They told me he had been killed in a construction accident. They don't even know what happened. They said one day he just never came back for his things.”

“Who is this? How did you call them?” asked Jorge.

“I found someone who knew him. They gave me this.” Mama held up the stained napkin, now wet with tears.

“Give me the number so I can call them. Maybe we can get an explanation. Do you have family I can call?”

I interrupted. “My grandmother lives in Cedula. She doesn't know about all of this.” My heart ached
for Grandma. “We're illegals. Don't call the police.”

Mama pointed to the table where we had collected all of the numbers. “We've called so many people. Where is Arturo?”

Jorge flipped open his cell phone. Then he got into his truck and drove away. I climbed back into bed with Mama and closed my eyes. I held her tight. My job today would be to cling to what we had left.

Each other.

In the afternoon, Manuela showed up at the door with several bags. She came inside and wrapped her arms around me. She remained quiet as she unpacked the food and prepared dinner.

The smell of chicken enchiladas filled the room. Manuela walked into the bathroom and filled the tub. I saw a pink plastic bottle, and suddenly the tub filled with bubbles. “Come on, girl, it's time to wash some of this sadness away. Jump in.”

The water was hot and soothing. If I closed my
eyes, I could feel Grandma's touch. From the kitchen, warm smells tried to replace the sadness in the room. I could have wrapped the feeling around myself for days, breathing in the scent of safe and comfortable.

A new towel appeared over my shoulders. It felt thick and scratchy as I dried myself off. Manuela combed my hair in silence. “Just like Tessa.”

I had heard the name so many times. It was like a ghost floating in and out of the park. “Are you finally going to talk about her?”

“Tessa was my niece.”

“I know that part. Where is she now?”

“She disappeared. She might even be dead. Gang initiation, problems at home. I grew very close to her when she started having problems with her mother, but it wasn't enough.”

Silence. What could I say?

“No one ever went to jail. No one talks about it, and I find myself looking for her everywhere,” said Manuela.

“I know how you feel.” I felt the sorrow of her grief. I wondered if I would be doing the same thing. Papa had died, but it didn't hurt like it was supposed to, because I had been mourning him for so long.

Manuela shook her head. “But today isn't about
my loss. We have to concentrate on you. You are here. Tessa is not, and she'll probably never come back.”

Out in the kitchen, Mama rummaged through the other bags. She had finally gotten out of bed.

Manuela left me in the bathroom. She hugged Mama tightly. “I'm sorry.
Lo siento
. Maybe now we can help?”

Mama's tears welled up again as she leaned in to Manuela's soft shoulder. “
Gracias
. But I don't know what to do—he's gone.”

I didn't either. Even though I was clean and the kitchen was full of warm smells, the faint aroma of garbage was still in the air.

Outside, Mr. Mann put another bag of doughnuts on our stoop. He also laid a braided string cross next to it.