your brain,” I pleaded. “It will kill you, Junior. You can never go back once you begin.”
“I know,” he said sadly.
I went to the cabinet. We had a bit of cooking oil left. I had eaten a stale tortilla that morning, trading a wire spool for the food. Now I berated myself for not saving a bit for my brother. He rose from the pallet and I gathered him in my arms. “I will take care of you,” I said. He nodded, his face impassive. I wondered if he believed me.
I did not want to leave the house. I knew it was stupid—I knew the things that happened in the dark, and you can imagine them, too, I am sure—but I could not let my brother starve.
“Don’t let go of me!” said my brother as I stepped away.
“Hush,” I said. “Stay here.” I opened the door.
My home—silver hills rising to meet a dazzling sky. I felt heavy with the knowledge that the beauty was a mirage. Gangs, some made up of strangers, many consisting of boys I knew, roamed the streets. They had guns, these boys. They killed out of boredom. There were robbers, and there were people like me: so hungry that we would do what we knew was wrong to survive. There were men who wanted a woman’s body and did not care what the woman felt. I could find a man like this, just sell a few minutes of myself for food. I tried to think of another option.
I walked in the black toward Humberto’s house. If he had anything, he would give it to me. I stepped quietly, almost screaming when a mangy cat brushed against my leg,then ran away. I was shaking and my heart beat fast. This was no way to live. It came to me like a lightning bolt: This is no way to live . I walked more quickly. When I arrived at Humberto’s, I peered in the window and saw that everyone was asleep.
I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t fair to wake Humberto and his family. We were all hungry, for God’s sake! I leaned against the cement wall, slid down into the dirt outside his house, hugging my knees to my chest. I wished for my mother, but I had no money for a phone call. My mother had said she would send money the week before, but the man at the Western Union insisted there was nothing in my name. I felt a creature—an ant?—crawl along my calf, then to the top of my kneecap.
There was no point in crying. I was a pragmatic girl. My brain scanned like a radio, looking for a plan. I could try to break into a house, to steal food. I could walk into the city and stand outside the Western Union until they opened. For a minute I thought about sniffing glue myself, just to quell my panic and fear. Instead, I stood up and knocked on Humberto’s door.
“Who is it?” asked dead Milton’s girlfriend, Gabriela.
“It’s Carla,” I said.
Humberto opened the door. “What’s going on?” he said. He rubbed his eyes.
“What’s going on is that I’m going to America,” I said. “Are you in or are you out?”
Humberto shook his head. “You’re crazy,” he said.
“Can I please have a small bit of food?” I said. “Junior is so hungry. Just this last time.”
“Don’t give it to her,” yelled Gabriela, the witch. Though she had been kind to me when I became a woman, even giving me a menstrual cloth to use (and wash each night), I knew Gabriela envied my youth and the way Humberto loved me. She guarded each scrap he brought home from the dump. If I were the jealous type, I would be jealous. But I knew what was meant to be.
Humberto rummaged in the cupboard, pulled out a heel of bread.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You idiot,” said Humberto. “Are you really leaving?”
“In one week,” I told him, making the decision so easily it must have been the right one. “This is not a life,” I said. “You can come with me, or I will leave you behind.”
“You idiot,” repeated Humberto, shaking his head. And then he gripped my face with both his warm hands, and he kissed me.
12
Alice
T HE FOURTH OF July parade—historic cars, the fire truck, baton twirlers,
“I know,” he said sadly.
I went to the cabinet. We had a bit of cooking oil left. I had eaten a stale tortilla that morning, trading a wire spool for the food. Now I berated myself for not saving a bit for my brother. He rose from the pallet and I gathered him in my arms. “I will take care of you,” I said. He nodded, his face impassive. I wondered if he believed me.
I did not want to leave the house. I knew it was stupid—I knew the things that happened in the dark, and you can imagine them, too, I am sure—but I could not let my brother starve.
“Don’t let go of me!” said my brother as I stepped away.
“Hush,” I said. “Stay here.” I opened the door.
My home—silver hills rising to meet a dazzling sky. I felt heavy with the knowledge that the beauty was a mirage. Gangs, some made up of strangers, many consisting of boys I knew, roamed the streets. They had guns, these boys. They killed out of boredom. There were robbers, and there were people like me: so hungry that we would do what we knew was wrong to survive. There were men who wanted a woman’s body and did not care what the woman felt. I could find a man like this, just sell a few minutes of myself for food. I tried to think of another option.
I walked in the black toward Humberto’s house. If he had anything, he would give it to me. I stepped quietly, almost screaming when a mangy cat brushed against my leg,then ran away. I was shaking and my heart beat fast. This was no way to live. It came to me like a lightning bolt: This is no way to live . I walked more quickly. When I arrived at Humberto’s, I peered in the window and saw that everyone was asleep.
I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t fair to wake Humberto and his family. We were all hungry, for God’s sake! I leaned against the cement wall, slid down into the dirt outside his house, hugging my knees to my chest. I wished for my mother, but I had no money for a phone call. My mother had said she would send money the week before, but the man at the Western Union insisted there was nothing in my name. I felt a creature—an ant?—crawl along my calf, then to the top of my kneecap.
There was no point in crying. I was a pragmatic girl. My brain scanned like a radio, looking for a plan. I could try to break into a house, to steal food. I could walk into the city and stand outside the Western Union until they opened. For a minute I thought about sniffing glue myself, just to quell my panic and fear. Instead, I stood up and knocked on Humberto’s door.
“Who is it?” asked dead Milton’s girlfriend, Gabriela.
“It’s Carla,” I said.
Humberto opened the door. “What’s going on?” he said. He rubbed his eyes.
“What’s going on is that I’m going to America,” I said. “Are you in or are you out?”
Humberto shook his head. “You’re crazy,” he said.
“Can I please have a small bit of food?” I said. “Junior is so hungry. Just this last time.”
“Don’t give it to her,” yelled Gabriela, the witch. Though she had been kind to me when I became a woman, even giving me a menstrual cloth to use (and wash each night), I knew Gabriela envied my youth and the way Humberto loved me. She guarded each scrap he brought home from the dump. If I were the jealous type, I would be jealous. But I knew what was meant to be.
Humberto rummaged in the cupboard, pulled out a heel of bread.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You idiot,” said Humberto. “Are you really leaving?”
“In one week,” I told him, making the decision so easily it must have been the right one. “This is not a life,” I said. “You can come with me, or I will leave you behind.”
“You idiot,” repeated Humberto, shaking his head. And then he gripped my face with both his warm hands, and he kissed me.
12
Alice
T HE FOURTH OF July parade—historic cars, the fire truck, baton twirlers,
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