We Were Here (18 page)

Anyways, that’s what I found myself thinking about at one point, between reading my book. I don’t even know why.

Speaking of the weather, as we sat there tucked away all afternoon I watched the thick rain clouds I’d seen earlier creep slowly toward shore and us. They looked like giant puffs of dark gray smoke, like there was a huge fire in the middle of the ocean, but the ocean wasn’t red and orange with flames, it was gray and hazy and choppy. And the clouds made the sky grow dark even though it was still day. Then the wind picked up and a little rain started coming down.

At first it was just sprinkling, and the rocks and cliff mostly protected us. But even being just a little wet made the wind feel freezing cold. All three of us hugged our own knees and chattered our teeth a little. Rondell was awake now. Mong stopped holding out his hand to let drops fall in his palm. I’d put away my book and journal so they wouldn’t get wet and just sat there on my bag, holding my legs up tight, watching everything.

The ocean surface had thousands of tiny white waves breaking in every direction now. A few brave seagulls were still waddling around in the sand or flying over the shallow part of the bumpy water, looking for fish. I wondered how it was even possible that a bird could still fly when it was raining. I’d never seen it before. But there were two of them, still struggling through the air, scavenging for food or whatever.

Even
they
disappeared, though, when the black clouds made it directly over us and the sky opened up and poured
rain and thundered so loud it made us three jump a little every time. We got soaked ’cause the boulders couldn’t protect us much from the heavier rain—which was loud as hell coming off the cliff. The wind whistling through the rocks. It sounded like we were underneath a huge waterfall or something. To take my mind off how miserable I felt I pretended that’s exactly what it was. Me and Mong and Rondell were on some tropical island like Hawaii, and there was a waterfall above us. We were taking a break from hiking through the forest, totally in nature. It was before people even had houses. Everybody just lived in grass huts on the beach and had to fish every morning to get their food. And me and Mong and Rondell were hiding out watching the ocean to make sure nobody came floating up in a raft to try and invade our island.

It was a stupid-ass thing to think about, I know, but when you’re soaked and freezing cold and the wind is whipping all in your face, you’ll pretty much think up anything to take your mind off it.

Then suddenly the rain went soft again. And the wind died down. And eventually it cleared up altogether above us and the sun even came through the clouds making this giant real live rainbow appear over the ocean. It was the first one I’d ever seen that wasn’t in a book or a magazine or on TV. It was amazing.

It warmed back up a little and Rondell fell back asleep and so did me and Mong for a while, even though we were still wet and uncomfortable. And when I woke up the sky above the ocean was completely clear and the sun was blood-red and falling behind the surface of the water. I watched the sky go light pink and then red and orange and then dark blue and purple. And when the sun disappeared completely from our view the colors faded too, and it became nighttime.

Rondell opened his eyes and stretched.

Mong said we could start walking south again.

The three of us picked up our bags, slid out from our spot and moved around our stiff arms and legs. Then we started walking toward Santa Cruz again, this time along the beach with clothes that were still wet.

July 22

To pass the time during our long walk, we decided to tell stories. At first the plan was to tell each other ghost stories ’cause it was so dark and eerie walking the long stretches of abandoned beach. Like any second some drugged-out bum might jump us. Or some crazy serial killer who sits all night with an axe leaned against his shoulder, waiting for victims like us to come strolling by gazing at the damn stars. But the ghost-story idea didn’t fly ’cause none of us actually
knew
any ghost stories. Maybe Mong did, but he wasn’t saying anything at all. He was being Silent Mong, my new name for when he walks right next to you but acts like he doesn’t hear a word anybody’s saying even when they ask him a direct question.

Anyways, me and Rondell ended up just telling random stuff from our lives.

The Story About Rondell’s Horny Cat:

Rondell told us about a former foster mom’s crazy cat that never got neutered and always sat in their sixth-story window meowing at female cats that pranced by on the street below. One day, Rondell told us, the cat lost its mind after seeing this one particular calico and started tearing around the house pissing and shitting everywhere and knocking things over, and then it jumped right through the screen and out the damn window. It ricocheted off a tree and somebody’s
awning and fell into a thorny-ass rosebush, where it started yelping like a dog. The female cat raced off down the street, spooked as hell.

Rondell said when his foster mom looked at the hole in the screen she covered her ears, screamed her head off, and started running in place with mad tears streaming down her face. When she finally got herself together she and Rondell and a couple of his other foster brothers and sisters rumbled down the stairs and out the front door to see if the cat was still alive. It was, but just barely. And it wasn’t yelping no more or making any sound at all. Poor thing had two broken legs and a dislocated shoulder, and its fur was all shredded-up and bloody ’cause the thorns. She pulled its little broken body up out of the rosebush and handed it to Rondell and they all ran down the middle of the street for ten blocks to the vet’s office, but all the vet did was explain the injuries and put the cat to sleep.

“It was real sad,” Rondell said, shaking his head. “We was all of us cryin’ in that man’s office.”

Rondell looked mad serious about the memory of the poor cat, so I did everything I could not to laugh. Pinched my own side and bit my lip. But I couldn’t make my grin go away.

“We gave him a little funeral,” Rondell said. “The lady told a speech and asked us did we wanna say anything too.”

“I hope you paid your respects, Rondo.”

“Course I did, Mexico,” Rondell shot back. “I said about everybody he made happy when he was still here. And when he went in their laps and how he had such soft skin.”

“You mean fur.”

Rondell looked at me. “That’s what I said.”

I started cracking up a little behind my fist. I kept picturing the cat leaping its little ass out the window after the girl
one, whipping around in the air like a damn helicopter blade. I peeked at Rondell, but he didn’t seem like he was paying attention to me.

“Know what the saddest part is?” Rondell said.

I made my face go straight. “What?”

“After I said my thing about his fur, and someone else started talkin’, I kept thinkin’ how he could never go to no heaven. Not even a cat one.”

“Yeah?” I said, on the verge of busting up again. “Why’s that?”

“It’s ’cause the little guy committed suicide. I already told you what my auntie said ’bout people committin’ suicide. It’s for animals, too. That’s my word.”

“All for the chance at a little tail,” I said.

And after I said it Rondell looked at me and we both sort of started cracking up together, even though we both knew technically a cat getting hurt wasn’t something people should really be laughing about.

The Story About Me and Diego at the Beach:

I told them about when me and Diego went to the beach by ourselves, the first and only time after my pop passed. Diego had just gotten his license and he begged our moms to let us have the car for the day. She wasn’t exactly stoked on the idea, but eventually, after we helped vacuum and dust the whole apartment, she handed Diego the keys and told us to be super careful and drive in the slow lane.

First thing we do is pop in some hip-hop, I told ’em, switching my bag to the other shoulder.

We were walking along the solid part of the sand, where it was dark and packed tight ’cause the tide had just been there. Mong was closest to the surf, Rondell was in the middle and I was toward the cliffs. As I started going into my story I could
actually see me and Diego in the car, rolling down our windows and pointing to girls on the side of the road. It made me wish I was right back in that time for real.

Here’s how I told it to ’em:

So our moms never let us listen to rap when she was in the car, right? So you know we gotta blast that shit the whole two-hour ride. When we finally get into Santa Cruz we park downtown, walk to the beach with all our stuff, and my bro Diego goes: “Wherever you want, Guelly. Your pick, little bro.”

I stand there scopin’ the scene for a minute and tell him: “How ’bout over there, D? By the lifeguard tower.”

But he frowns my shit down, points instead at this group of girls laying out in bikinis. “Or maybe we should go see what’s up with them heinas. You feel me?”

I laugh and follow him over there.

That’s somethin’ you gotta understand about my bro, man. Isn’t a minute that goes by when he isn’t on some kind of female mission. So we go over there, set up shop right next to ’em, and me and Diego pull off our shirts and start tossin’ the football around. And my bro’s totally playin’ for their eyes, right? He’s tacklin’ my ass into the sand and talkin’ mad head like we’re on some NFL-type shit. But I don’t even care ’cause we’re at the beach, man. And it’s actually fun as hell messin’ around with Diego like that.

Isn’t long before the girls start payin’ attention to us either. Or at least Diego. One of them sits up, taps her friend on the back and points. And pretty soon they’re all kind of watchin’ us on the slick. And Diego has mad sixth sense for that kind of thing, right? So he decides to go on some next-level shit. He catches a long toss from me, cups the football under his arm and points to this buoy floating out past the waves.

“Yo, Guelly,” he says. “You think you could swim all the way out there and touch it?”

I look to where he’s pointing and then back at him. “I don’t even know, D. Looks kind of far.”

And then outta nowhere he tosses the football to the side and takes off sprinting toward the water, dives under and starts swimmin’ freestyle like he’s damn Michael Phelps.

I stand like a statue for a quick sec, watchin’ him. But then I tell myself to come on, man, and run in after.

Once we’ve been swimmin’ awhile, though, I start think-in’ ’bout how I ain’t so sure I’m that good of a swimmer. So I slow my dog paddle down and yell up to Diego: “Yo, man! D! I don’t know if I could make it all the way!”

But he turns around treading water and gives me this irritated look. “You ain’t gonna bitch out on me, is you, Guel?”

And this is my big bro we talkin’ ’bout, right? Course I’m not gonna bitch out on Diego. So I just put my head down and keep on swimmin’, hard as I can.

Not ten more minutes go by, though, when Diego pulls up and I run right into his ass. We both tread water, staring at each other, our eyes all bugged in fear, and he goes: “Yo, I don’t know if I could make this either.”

I look out at the buoy and then back at the shore. Yo, I put this on everything, Rondo, we’re right in the damn middle. And I’m not even gonna lie, I panic. Start hyperventilating and reaching out for Diego’s shoulder and trying to keep my head above the water so I could breathe.

But he’s brushin’ my hand away, thrashing around to keep his nose and mouth up too.

“Shit, D!” I shout, all out of breath. “What we … gonna do?”

“Call for … help!” he shouts back.

And we both start waving our damn hands around,
yelling our heads off for the lifeguard like little girls. Diego puts two fingers in his mouth trying to whistle, but when he does he just sinks underwater and no sound comes out. He thrashes his way back up and gulps for air.

But the lifeguard finally spots us. She stands up, focuses our shit in her binoculars. And them girls on the beach, man, they’re all standin’ up now too, realizing our dumb asses are in mad distress. Random people on the beach stop walkin’ their dogs or whatever to see what’s gonna happen to the two Mexican kids ’bout to drown. And me and Diego are out there shittin’ our pants, splashing around to keep above water.

The lifeguard sets down her binoculars and reaches for her electric megaphone. And check this out, yo: She wags her finger at us. Announces over the whole damn beach: “No! Just stand up! Just stand! Up!”

And that’s exactly what we do, man. Me and my bro. We reach our feet down and touch the damn bottom. I swear to God, yo, we actually stand up, just like she said. The water’s only up to our necks. And you know what we do then? We
walk
back to the beach, man. I put that on everything. We were on a big-ass sandbar.

“You swear,” Rondell said, damn near shoving me over in disbelief.

“I’m telling you.”

“You
walked
back to the shore.”

“Walked.”

Rondell laughed. “You crazy, Mexico.”

“When we got back to our towels I asked Diego did he still want to throw the football around, but he waved me off, man. Said we had to get the car back to Moms. It was the first time I ever saw Diego leave some place without getting a girl’s digits.”

Me and Rondell laughed and said a few more things about it, and then we turned to Mong thinking maybe he’d wanna tell a story of his own, but he was just walking alongside us with no expression on his scarred-up face. It was like he hadn’t heard one word of my story about almost drowning.

Me and Rondell looked at each other, and I shrugged. “Yo, earth to Mong,” I said, but dude still didn’t look at me.

I turned to Rondell, told him: “It’s okay, man, he’s just in Silent Mong mode right now.”

Rondell smiled big and nodded his head some, and we all three of us kept walking along the wet sand, a half-moon pasted on the sky over us and shining in the black ocean.

A few minutes passed and then Rondell jumped in and told a story about this three-legged dog that was at another foster house he lived at, and I told a couple more about me and Diego. And before we knew it we’d made it all the way to Santa Cruz.