Until I Find Julian (4 page)

It wasn't my turn to weed the rows of vegetables on the side of the house. “The weeds don't harm anything anyway,” I told Mami.

“You don't know what you're talking about,” she said. “Go and weed, Mateo. Do you want to eat the vegetables when they're ripe? Do you even want to have dinner? It's suppertime soon, you know.”

I didn't want dinner. Who'd want rice boiling on the stove when the whole world was boiling hot? “I'm six years old,” I said. “Old enough to run away.”

“Goodbye,” Mami said.

“I'll miss you, Mateo,” Abuelita said.

Lucas waved at me.

“When Julian comes home from work, tell him I'll see him one day,” I said over my shoulder.

I went out the door, held open with a brick to catch a breeze that might come our way. A few steps and I reached the creek. The green water was shallow from the dry summer weather; it was deeper far down when it reached the rocks and fell over into a pool.

Yes, a perfect spot for me. I'd wade in the pool, eat plums from the trees heavy with fruit. I'd sleep on the soft grass with the song of the frogs to keep me company.

I'd never weed the vegetables again.

Barefoot, I walked along the edge of the creek. It was a long way, almost forever, it seemed. Head down, I passed the old woman's house on the other side of the water. I didn't need her yelling at me.

I went faster when I heard the sound of the water running over the rocks, loud enough to drown out the sound of the frogs. I was close to my new home.

I sank down to catch my breath. Mami would be sad by now, sorry her middle son had run away forever. And what about Abuelita? I knew I was her favorite, even though she'd never said so. I could tell by the way she put her hand on my head, the way she gave me an extra scoop of rice.

Poor Abuelita.

And what about me? No mother, no abuelita, no brother Lucas, and most of all, no brother Julian.

“Don't feel sorry for yourself,” I muttered. I wiped my head that was wet from the heat. It was time to swim in the pond under the falling water.

I climbed up the slippery rocks that Mami had warned me about once; my toes gripped them so I wouldn't fall and be gone forever.

And I didn't fall; I didn't even stumble. I was across the rocks in a few moments.

See,
I told myself.
Don't worry, I can do anything.

I lay on one of the rocks and looked at the water below. It rushed along in a great froth of white, tumbling over on itself, then flattening out at the far end, where it seemed calm, a perfect place to swim, to float along, the heat seeping out of my body.

But I had to get there.

How would I do that?

I imagined myself standing at the very edge of the rock, arms raised, flying, diving high over the water, then rushing along with that white froth, until I reached the calm part, where I could hear the frogs again.

What a brave thing to do.

I held my nose so I wouldn't be flooded with water, counted to seventy.

It was as far as I could count….

And jumped.

I hardly felt the air rush along, the water coming up and up. I was tumbling, turning, water roaring, filling my mouth and burning my nose. I couldn't stand, couldn't swim, couldn't yell for help….

Couldn't…

Breathe.

But then something dragged me out of the water.

What? Who?

I lay on the grass, coughing, sneezing, taking huge breaths, feeling Julian's hand on my back. “You're all right, Mateo,” he kept saying. “I have you. Cough! Give back the water.”

And then I really was all right.

I sat up, leaning against him. “You saved me.”

He grinned at me. “You needed saving.”

“Nobody else cared.”

“Oh, they cared. I came home just after you left. They sent me after you. Mami and Abuelita are waiting at the edge of the creek.”

The warmth of that spread through my chest, but Julian wasn't finished. “They want you to know they'll be glad to have you back.” He was laughing now. “After all, they need someone to weed the vegetables.”

“I guess I could do that.”

“What you did was dangerous. What would we do without you, Mateo?”

My throat was still burning. “You're the best, Julian. I'll save you sometime too. I promise.”

Julian stood and pulled me to my feet. “I know you will.”

We walked home together. I was hungry now, starving. I couldn't wait for a bowl of rice.

Still half asleep, I open
my eyes, mumbling, “I'll find you, Julian.”

“Who's Julian?” Angel asks.

I stumble through the story:
My brother gone, Arkansas, the unfinished building.
She watches me, not saying a word.

The heat of the day has melted into a cooling breeze that soothes my sunburned face and arms. The pain in my side is melting away, too.

At last it's dark. Angel shoves the inner tube along the river's edge and guides me into the water with her hand on my back.

I tie my sneakers together by their strings, hang them around my neck, and maneuver myself into the tube, my feet still gripping the sandy bottom. The tube is slippery and water soaks my shirt and jeans.

“Go,” Angel whispers.

Courage,
Abuelita would say. I feel her small silver medal around my neck. Will it protect me?

Droplets bubble up from a small slit in the rubber, and I cover the leak with the palm of my hand.
This will be the end of me. They'll find me, feet tangled in the reeds, eyes covered with mud, choking.

“Move.” Angel sounds impatient that I still stand there, the tube like a huge bracelet around my waist.

I let go with my feet, and the sneakers slung around my neck fill with water.

“No noise,” she whispers fiercely. “No splashing.”

I kick against the fast-moving water, my legs deep under the surface. Head up like a turtle, I keep my eyes on the island in the center of the river.

Crossing this wide river takes forever. Halfway to the island, I rest my cheek against the tube, and even though I can't see Angel, or hear her, she must be only a few feet behind me.

And she was right again. I never would have been able to swim across this river; I never would have made it by myself.

But is she really there?

Maybe not.

Keep going.

She might be back on the bank, grinning as I flounder around in the river. I don't know anything about her. When I told her about Julian, why didn't she tell me why she's here? Why she's helping me?

I turn my head, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, or at least to hear her. Then I see those skinny arms slipping silently in and out of the water behind me. One hand reaches out and pushes the tube.

I hear the soft ripple of tiny waves against a row of stones ahead of me. My feet feel the sand again, and my toes slide along the gritty bottom.

The trees reach out to me from this small island, thin wispy trunks in the darkness, and leaves rustle the way they do at the edge of the creek at home.

I drag myself out of the river, dripping wet and so cold my teeth chatter. I pull the slippery tube along; my blistered feet dig into the stony ground. But the north is just yards away, across this side of the river, about the distance from our house to the turning of the creek at the edge of town.

I can do the rest.

I know I can.

Without thinking, feeling joy that I've conquered the desert and most of the river, I call, “I'm coming, Jul—”

I never finish. Angel's sandy hand covers my mouth so hard that my teeth bite into my lips.

I bat her hand away. “What's the matter with you?” I wipe the sand off my mouth with a quick motion, letting her know how annoyed I am.

“It would be just my luck to save a helpless thing like you,” she whispers, her face an inch away from mine. “And be caught myself with your noise.”

“Get lost,” I say.

She sinks down against a tree and pulls me with her.

My chin juts out. “You're making just as much noise.”

She roots around for a stone. Head back, she drops it in her mouth, sucking on it. I can hear it grate against her teeth.

Something swims along nearby, a beaver maybe, with a white curve of water behind it.

I look up. One side of the river belongs to my country; the other side belongs to the north. How high in the sky is it before the world doesn't belong to anyone…or maybe belongs to everyone?

A cloud moves slowly across the sky, covering it for a moment. It floats over to our side, to our country. For a while the cloud should belong to me, and Abuelita, and Mami.

Angel snaps her fingers. “Pay attention, Matty.”

We push off again. The inner tube rubs against my skin; water slaps against my sunburned face and arms. Angel swims ahead. The wake she leaves is no wider than the beaver's.

Across the way, I bump to a stop. This is
el norte,
the United States.

A small hill rises in front of me, cutting off what's beyond. Men with guns? A police station? Who knows?

Angel and I crawl to the top of the hill and peer over the edge. There's nothing but a few trees, bent and weird, with belongings scattered among them. We scuttle around like a pair of crabs, heads down, to see what we can find to take with us.

Angel picks through one bag; she finds a cocoa-colored sweater that almost matches her eyes. There's no food, and nothing to drink. But I spot a wooden handle sticking out of a bag; it's the same color as the sweater Angel has tossed around her neck.

I dust off sand and grit, and zip open the bag. Inside is a musical instrument. I ease it out.

“A guitar,” Angel says.

Yes, a guitar.

The strings are loose, lying there on top like the small waves we sometimes see in the creek at home. I run my hands over each one, but there's no sound.

The strings should be tight.

I fiddle with the keys, if that's what they're called, turning the knobs one at a time. Each string begins to tighten; the waves disappear.

I pluck one of them, and…

I hear Mami singing in the kitchen. Abuelita stirs a pot on the stove, and Lucas drums his fingers against the wooden table, loving music as much as Mami.

Lucas could probably play this guitar.

Julian, Lucas, and I used to camp out near the creek when it was too hot to sleep indoors. And one night, a wind came up. “Listen,” Julian said. “The trees with their branches waving sound like music.”

Lucas tilted his head, nodding.

I pluck another string and imagine the music Lucas would make.

Angel pushes my arm. “Stop,” she whispers. “Someone will hear you.”

I brush my fingers over the strings, then slide the guitar back into its canvas case and loop the strap over my shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I feel as if I'm holding on to my family. I can't tell her that, though. She'd think I was crazy. I can't tell anyone, except maybe Lucas. I'll bring this guitar home to him and put it in his hands.

“Let's go before we're caught.” Angel brushes the dust off the sweater.

“I'm ready,” I tell her, and I am.