The things we didnt know, p.24
The Things We Didn't Know, page 24
“Just don’t do anything he’ll notice.”
twenty
After our first date at The Corner Store, the awkwardness of being with a guy wore off and I was comfortable with Frankie. A lot of kids from school were there, and in front of all of them, he held my hand. Emily sat at a booth with us and swooned. From then on, when I came home from school, the phone was ringing the moment I walked through the door, and it was Frankie.
Frankie and I saw each other every Tuesday and Thursday at the library. Some days he drove me home. He picked me up on Sunday mornings and we went for lunch, sometimes as far as El Rancho on Route 20, on the way to Springfield.
Most of the time we went to the A&W in Westfield. He bought hamburgers and we ate in the car behind the restaurant because I was afraid my father, who was out with Carmen, might show up.
“I don’t know that there is anyone our age in the Beehive. So who do you hang out with?”
“To be honest, I don’t hang out with anyone—”
“So, what do you do after school every day?”
“You know my mother doesn’t live with us, right?”
Frankie nodded. “Yes. Is that hard for you?”
“It was when it happened, but not anymore.”
“So when you come home, there’s no one there but you and Pablo?”
“Exactly.”
“What do you guys do? I know your brother is close to Mark and Kevin. He must see them, right?”
“Not since Donnie moved to the avenue.”
“Oh, that kid. Lyle said he’s from Northampton and he was held back a few times. Doesn’t have parents. Some really sad story. So what are you doing when Pablo isn’t around?”
“Cooking or doing laundry or ironing. I just do my clothes and Pablo’s, because my Dad takes his to a lady in Westfield—”
“Wait a minute, slow down. You sound like my mother. You know how to cook?”
I laughed. “Yeah. I’m seventeen. That shouldn’t be a surprise.”
“I don’t know that any of our friends know how to cook anything but a hot dog. How did you learn?”
“Been helping in the kitchen since I was nine or ten years old, but started cooking every day at around twelve. I don’t do everything. The three of us get together as a team, but I do most of it.”
“You don’t cease to amaze me, but that’s a hard life for a kid. I wish you didn’t have to do all that. And when your brother takes off, what do you do after you cook?”
“Go to my bedroom and listen to music, read books.”
“Wow. That’s so different from my life. I go somewhere different every day after school. When I was a kid, Mom would take me to games, classes, all the time. And then I’d come home, and she’d make dinner. I mean, it never even occurred to me where food came from until a few years ago.”
I laughed. “You’re a spoiled brat.”
Frankie smiled. “I guess I am. I’ve never had to do anything but homework and sometimes mow the grass or shovel snow. But not always. So, do you ever go anywhere?”
“Not really. My dad goes out on weekends. He has a girlfriend now, and he sees her on Sundays. Saturdays he does groceries.”
“Okay. So you really are the girl from the Beehive.”
“I’d say more like the Puerto Rican girl from the Beehive.”
“And that’s one thing I’ve never done. An airplane. You’ve been on an airplane to Puerto Rico.”
“We better get going, Frankie. Have to start dinner.”
“Call me when you get home.”
Frankie dropped me off at the post office, and I walked home.
One day, he took me home and parked the car along the street in front of the post office. Then he took my hand and pulled me, running toward Woronoco Bridge. As we approached the bridge, I was afraid my father could see us from the big windows of mill number two.
“Frankie, stop! Stop! He could be at one of those windows!”
But Frankie pulled my arm, and before we reached the bridge, he headed to the side, going under the road. He stopped at the edge of the riverbank with its huge boulders, specks of mica shining in the late October sun. He stood behind me and embraced me, and we stared at the waterfall.
Then he turned me around and we kissed for the first time. I rested my head on his chest.
He held my face in his hands. “Is it too soon for me to tell you that I want to marry you?”
I squeezed him tight. We sat on the grass, the arches of Woronoco Bridge above us.
“I’ve been here so many times with my brother and other kids. We’ve climbed all over that bridge, and some kids have dived from there into that hole under the waterfall.”
“Holy shit. That takes guts.” He laughed.
“But for all those years, I never thought my first kiss would be under this bridge.”
Frankie paused, staring at the arches. “I’ve liked you for a long, long time, but didn’t dare ask you on a date.”
“Why?”
“Did you like me?”
I smiled and blushed. “Of course. Since the third grade.”
He snickered. “Me too. I remember when you and Pablo came from Puerto Rico. I’ve liked you ever since you drew that turkey in art class. The one with the spirit coming off the rooftop. I thought, That girl is different. She’s really cool. Remember when you brought those horrible crackers to the Christmas party in fourth grade?”
“Oh God. Don’t remind me. My father forgot to buy me something to bring to school and just handed those to me that morning.”
“I wanted to bash Danny in the face when he made fun of you. I always remember that. I know it’s been hard for you, being an immigrant and all.”
“Frankie, Puerto Ricans are American citizens.”
“I know. But you still have another culture and a different language. I have to be honest. My mother doesn’t understand this. She doesn’t see Puerto Ricans as Americans.”
“Have you talked to her about me?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Why? You don’t get along?”
“I don’t think she’d want me to date a Puerto Rican, so I’ve kept it to myself. I feel that I have to tell you that.”
I looked at him, my mouth open. “Is that why you didn’t ask me out before?”
“It is. But you don’t have anything to worry about. She’s not the one marrying you.”
“But how could you marry me if your mother disagrees?”
“I’ll just marry you, that’s how. And we’ll live our life. She’s never seen you. You don’t even look Puerto Rican. She thinks all Puerto Ricans are, you know, Black, or dark-skinned, like most of the guys in the paper mill. She’s probably going to change her mind when she meets you.”
I’d always thought my father’s racism was an embarrassing problem, but now there was this. Racism was everywhere I looked.
“But I’m… white,” I said.
“Oh, absolutely. Whiter than me. I’ve told her a hundred times, you know, that some Puerto Ricans are white, and she says, if you’re Puerto Rican, you’re not white even if you look white.”
Frankie took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes. “That doesn’t matter to me, understand? And that’s why I’m telling you I want us to get married when we graduate. Why drag all this out? Your father, my mother—their opinions are just opinions. We should get on with our life.”
“It’s funny. My father is a racist. He doesn’t like Blacks. Well, I have news for him. Some people don’t like him either, even though he thinks he’s so white. Him and his Puerto Rican heritage.”
“Andrea, we can’t fix everyone around us before we decide to give each other a chance, you know?”
“Don’t you think we need to know each other better, though?”
“Well, we’re not getting married tomorrow. We still have two years of high school.”
“Next year will be better. We’ll be seniors. There will be lots of excuses I can come up with to go out.”
“I’d like to get married right after graduation. What do you think?”
“And go to college together?”
“I don’t know if I’m going to college yet. I might have to work at Strathmore for a year so I can pay for it.”
“What? You’ll get drafted if you’re not in school. You have to go to college. You’re one of the top kids at school, the athlete with the good grades. The guidance counselor said there are scholarships for athletes. Haven’t you heard about those?”
“Yeah, I know, but I don’t know if I’ll qualify.”
I was stunned. “She said me and Pablo could get a scholarship because we’re Puerto Rican.”
“Yeah, you’re right. There’s a chance I can get an athletic scholarship, but I don’t know yet. My parents are business owners—”
“I thought your father worked at Strathmore?”
“He does. But we have a package store. Mom runs it with her brother, mostly. I don’t think I can get any financial aid because of that.”
“I really want you to go to college. I don’t want you to get drafted.”
“Oh, don’t worry. We’ve had the biggest marches ever seen in America because of that war. People are burning draft cards all over the country. This mess will have ended by the time you and I graduate. It just can’t hold up much longer, everyone’s against it. You’re going to have to find something else to do at the library. Mark my words.”
“My father isn’t so hopeful.”
“What’s he worried about?”
“Pablo. He doesn’t want him getting drafted. And he says people in the government aren’t taking the protestors seriously because of all the sex and drugs.”
“That’s not everybody.”
“Frankie, I thought you wanted to go to law school? You can’t graduate and just work at Strathmore.”
“We’ll see. Let’s see what happens in the spring when we start filling out forms for all this stuff. But I do know one thing. I want to marry you, Andrea Inés.”
* * *
Frankie drove me to the Beehive cul-de-sac, and as soon as I walked into the apartment, I called Socorro and told her everything about him.
“¿Pero cuál es la prisa? There’s no need to be talking about marriage yet, what’s the matter with him?”
“I think he just wants to know that I’m his steady girlfriend, you know, not dating anyone else.”
“Andrea, you can’t make a commitment to someone who is already telling you he’s not going to college. College is your way out of Woronoco into a better life for you and your future family. Getting married to him isn’t a way out of Woronoco. Do you want to spend the rest of your life there? With a guy working at Strathmore like your father?”
“But I love him. I’ve known him my whole life.”
“Is he really cute?”
“He is. He has black hair and blue eyes, he’s tall, and he’s really smart and kind and sweet. He told me he’d come to my house and talk to Dad if he had to, just to see me.”
“Like he said, you have two years to go. So don’t break up with him. But Andrea. Listen to me. Do not have sex with him. ¿Me entiendes? You have a future. Don’t ruin it.”
We hung up and I started dinner as fast as I could. Pablo walked in.
“Hey, I saw you in the car with Frankie, but you guys didn’t see me. Better be careful the old man doesn’t see you out the windows on the Tekoa Avenue side of the mill.”
“Did you want a ride? Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“That’s okay. I just don’t want you getting caught.” He grabbed the broom. “Let me sweep up the kitchen.”
I had rice going, and we had leftover beans and onion steak from the day before. I placed the food in pots to heat it up on the stove.
Pablo stopped in the middle of the kitchen, facing me with the broom in his hands. “Hey, how do you think those kids hitchhike all the way to California?”
“I don’t know. I guess you keep taking one ride after another until you get there. You’re not thinking of doing that, are you?”
“Course not. I’m curious, though, ’cause that’s really far. Where do they sleep?”
“Under bridges, in their cars, I guess.”
“Some kids I know are planning on going over there. I mean, it would be a cool thing to do in the summer, don’t you think?”
“Those kids on the news are running away from home. I don’t think they intend to return to their parents.”
“I think you’re right. But who pays for all the concerts? You think they’re free?”
“I think so.”
“A friend of mine from Chester is talking about going.”
“To California?”
Pablo laughed as if I’d told him a joke. “Some of them are having second thoughts.”
“What’s so funny? Who’s having second thoughts?”
Pablo looked surprised. “Woo hooo hoo.” He laughed, his eyes looking around the room as if he was following someone. “And we want to live life too, you know? You want to get some bell-bottoms and a shag, you want the wide leather belt and the fishnet stockings, the cool cat but in a girl, not the Raggedy Ann doll type, no sir, this girl is the Puerto Rican from the Woronoke Tribe.”
I tried to make sense of what Pablo had just said but I couldn’t. I walked up to him and took the broom out of his hands. “What the hell did you just say? Why you talking like that?”
Pablo grabbed the broom. “Gimme that. Ole man’s gonna walk in any minute.”
I checked the food on the stove and got dishes out of the pantry. Pablo didn’t even realize what he’d said was gibberish.
“Why are you talking about Raggedy Ann and the Woronoke Tribe?”
Pablo looked confused. “Was I?” He laughed.
* * *
It was reading period on a Tuesday afternoon around the middle of October when Pablo’s teacher called me into her classroom and gave me his progress report. I was speechless when she told me he hadn’t been to school in over a week.
“Is he sick?” she asked.
My face and chest grew warm as I took his report from her hand. “No.”
What the fuck, Pablo? I thought.
“So why is he missing school? Is he home?”
“I honestly don’t know why he’s not here. He’s home every day but he hasn’t told me he’s not coming to school.”
“Do you see him on the bus?”
“He’s been getting a ride from a friend.”
“Donnie Watson? He hasn’t been in school either. I just spoke with his teacher this morning.” She shook her head and walked around her desk. “This is unfortunate, because Pablo is a good kid, and he had such good grades. But he’s really changed this year. I’m sorry, but all those absences are in this report, and your parents will have to sign this. We’re also going to need a parent here to see the principal before Pablo is allowed back in school.”
I returned to homeroom. Emily noticed my gloomy demeanor right away and asked what had happened. I told her I’d call her when I got home. Then I remembered Frankie was waiting for me at the library and asked my teacher for my pass. There were still fifteen minutes of reading period left. I ran through the hall but when I arrived, the library was empty. Mrs. Briar was at her desk eyeing me above reading glasses, the ones with the pearls hanging down the sides of her face.
“He waited,” she said, and smiled.
I smiled back. “Thank you.” Well, that was one nice thing that happened that day. I felt a sense of pride in being old enough to have a boyfriend, but a wound in my soul, knowing what awaited me at home. Pablo had slipped out of our window several times before and returned at daybreak. He was never on the bus to school. What would I say to my father?
The phone was ringing when I walked into the house, and of course it was Frankie. “What happened? I waited, but you never came. Are you okay?”
I told him about my brother.
“Look,” said Frankie. “I never wanted to tell you this, but those kids he’s hanging out with, they’re doing acid, smoking dope, skipping school. You need to tell him to stay away from those guys.”
I’d never seen my father as angry at Pablo as he was that night. I stuttered when I gave him the reports. Papá read both reports and didn’t say a word to me. Pablo walked in after dinner and looked at me like, What the hell is this about? I shrugged.
Papá didn’t waste any time. “Hey. Tell me something. Where have you been? I don’t remember you asking permission to go anywhere, and you walk in here like you govern your life without any respect for what I have to say. Where were you just now?”
Pablo looked at me like, What the hell? “I was at the avenue, Pops, where I go every day. I didn’t think you had a problem with that anymore.”
My father looked at me the way he did when he considered me his accomplice. “Listen to him. Embustero. Lying is a person’s worst trait.”
Papá held up the progress report and ran his finger up and down one side. “And is that where you were on all these days marked here as absent? Or are you going to tell me another lie now?”
Pablo hung his head low. What else could he do? He turned his head just enough to give me a look that burned into me like a lightsaber. I looked back at him like, Hey, don’t blame me.
Papá pushed his chest out and tapped Pablo on the shoulder. He spoke in Spanish, and he was pissed. “I know more than you think I do. That Donnie kid was arrested last week for breaking into a house. The people at the mill tell me everything. And you think I didn’t notice that you don’t sleep here anymore?”
“That’s not true, Pops. It’s only been a few times, and all I’ve done is sit outside with my friends and after they go home, I come right back in. Right, Andrea? Andrea?”
I nodded, but Papá wasn’t looking at me or listening.
“I don’t ask your sister anymore because she lies to me to protect you. I don’t blame her. But you don’t deserve the sister you have. It’s one thing for you to go out now and then, but missing school? That, I’m not going to tolerate. If you’re not in school, then get a job. Understand? Let me tell you something, and you hear me well. If you can’t be a man of good, a man that will someday become a productive citizen, good for something in this world, then you can go right back where you came from just now.”
