Authors: Renee Lewin
Miss D. used the ingredients to fry warm and crispy beef empanadas. I had to blink the tears from my eyes when she insisted Joey and I enjoy a few for ourselves. How could she, poverty-stricken, be so generous to me, a stranger? For a moment I felt small compared to Joey. His heart is so big. But as I work beside him to help these people who truly appreciate the help, I feel connected to Joey and to my community and my heart grows. Once we say our goodbyes and get back into the truck, Joey surprises me by saying, “Let’s go see a movie or something.”
I grin. “Where is this coming from?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been to the movies in a while and we don’t have anything else to do today.”
“Yeah but…you want me to drive all the way back to Duncan again?”
“No, we can go to the movie theater here in Cadence.” Joey laughs at my facial expression. “I know the selection there is a bit dated but they show these horror films from the eighties that are hilariously stupid.”
I’ve been to the crummy Main Street Theater, with its three screens and sunken cushioned seats a hundred times in my teen years yet my knee starts to bounce with excitement. I gaze at him a moment and smile. “I’m in.
Of course.”
******
“Oh
my gosh
!
They Live
is now one of my all-time favorite movies! Usually I would’ve thought I’d be wasting my money, but I haven’t laughed like that since…well since I pinched you really hard for making me snuggle with you that one time.”
“You mean when I did this?” Joey puts his arm around me and squeezes me to him as we walk to the exit.
“Stop!”
I laugh and duck out of his embrace. I take two steps to the right to put more distance between us.
He reaches out, grasps my wrist, and pulls me back. “
Git
ova
heeya
,” he says like a Bostonian. I can’t help but giggle.
“Hey! Say that line from the movie again, the one where he walks into the bank with the shot gun and those sunglasses on. You’re impression is so funny.”
He groans reluctantly.
“Come
oooon
,” I nudge him as we push the glass doors open and go outside.
He clears his throat and tries to put on a serious expression but he can’t hold it because we keep cracking up. Eventually he lowers his eyebrows and relaxes his mouth to look indifferent. He blinks his eyes and pretends to be surveying the people in a bank. He announces slowly, “I have come to chew bubblegum and kick ass.” He pauses. “And I’m
allll
out, of bubblegum.” He dodges a pretend bullet and shoots at the aliens disguised as humans in the crowd.
“That was spot on,” I manage to say as I laugh. We continue up the sidewalk to get to the parking lot. “That movie was so dumb. We’ve gotta come here again sometime.” Before Joey can respond we notice Marisol and Denise walking up the sidewalk towards us with Claude walking between them. “What up?” Joey smiles and he and Claude slap hands and bump fists.
“Hey Marisol,” I smile. “Hi,” I nod at Denise. “You guys heading to the movies?”
“Yeah,” Denise answers. She glances from Joey to me with her lips pursed in curiosity. “And you two?”
“We just came out of
They Live
. You guys should watch it. It’s so funny.”
“We’ve all seen it twice already, but I wouldn’t mind seeing it again,” Marisol replies. “It was nice talking to you yesterday.”
“Yeah.
You should stop by again some time.”
“Okay,” Marisol nods and twists her ponytail around her finger.
“Did you hear about Cesar’s dad getting a big job as a welder in Duncan?” Cesar asks Joey.
“Uh huh.
He called me up bragging.”
“Well turns out the first thing his dad did
was
buy a house in Cadence Village.”
“No way,” Joey laughed.
“Yeah man! They’re finally getting some flavor, some
sabor
over there in that uppity
gringo
neighborhood. No offense, dude.”
“None taken,” Joey shrugs with a smile.
“You know you’re an honorary
latino
anyway, bro,” Cesar tells him and we all laugh. “But the
really
good news is that Cesar’s got a key, even though they haven’t moved their things over there yet. The house is completely empty. So, he’s having a secret housewarming party this weekend. You
comin
’?”
“Of course,” Joey answers. “That’s a good idea. He’s having the housewarming party before there’s anything in there to spill beer on,” he chuckles.
Cesar looks over at me. “You’re invited too, G. I. Jane.”
I roll my eyes playfully at his nickname for me. “Um,” I look down at my boots, “I’ll think about it. Thanks,” I smile back up at him.
“Let’s go inside before the movie starts,” Denise whines.
Marisol rolls her eyes, not playfully. “Okay. Bye Joey. Bye Elaine.”
Denise, Cesar and Marisol walk quickly to the theater and Joey and I continue towards the parking lot. “Come to the party, Elaine. You know I’ll go with you,” Joey says as we near the truck.
“I promise I’ll think about it.” I know that I’m supposed to work on being open-minded, and I truly appreciate Joey being in my corner, but neither of those things can guarantee a change in how people from
Merjoy
will treat me. If they want to glare at me, whisper about me, start something with me, all my open-mindedness might fly out the window and it would make everything worse. It would end the environment of mutual disinterest I’ve had with them for years, making living here unbearable. I have to know that I’m strong enough before I enter attempt to let loose in the company of dozens of people who all think negatively of me. I can’t depend on Joey to smooth out every confrontation, though I know he could. I imagine Joey telling someone off on my behalf and I smile to myself.
“You ready for your first driving lesson?” I ask once we’re in the truck.
“I guess.”
“Okay. I’ll take the truck somewhere you can practice.”
I drive out of the theater parking lot and once I get all the way home I take the rocky trail along the side of the mobile park and go off-road, into the desert. I wind through rocks and vegetation and cut the engine. We switch seats and I point out the important things like adjusting mirrors and shifting gears. He starts the engine and I give him instructions. “Go ahead and put it in drive. Go forward and get a feel for the truck.” After a minute of going about 10 miles per hour I tell him to stop. He brakes smoothly. “That was good. How about we pretend that cactus up there is a stop sign. Drive up to it, stop, and then make
a right turn
.” Joey drives up to the cactus and stops. Then, he begins his right turn. He turns the steering wheel too quickly. The cactus smacks against my passenger window.
“
Aaah
!”
“Oh no,” Joey groans. He puts the truck in reverse. The severed cactus, a hit-and-run victim, slides down my window leaving green streaks on the glass. Joey reverses too fast and without looking in the rearview mirror. The back of the truck plows into another cactus behind us. With lightning speed Joey turns off the truck and raises both hands from the steering wheel as if a policeman had ordered him to drop his weapon. I turn around in my seat to see the damage. The cactus, pinned by the back of the truck, leans precariously backwards. I turn around in my seat and Joey and I stare at each other.
“Did you run out of bubblegum?” I chuckle. “‘Cause these cacti just got their asses kicked!” I joke. Then I’m laughing so hard I can’t catch my breath. At first Joey shakes his head and tries to smile.
“
Hahaha
!
I’m
sorryyy
,” I laugh. “Oh man, that was so funny.” Joey begins to frown.
“
Ahahaha
!
I’m not laughing at you, Joey, I swear. It’s the situation.” I try to breathe as I wipe the tears from my eyes. “Really, everyone sucks when they first start driving. Don’t take it to heart. Okay?”
“But I suck more than average because my vision is screwed up and I don’t know if it will
ever
be normal,” he snaps, exasperated with himself.
“Oh,” I respond softly. I reach over and rub his shoulder to comfort him. “I forgot. I apologize. But even if your vision doesn’t go completely back to normal, you can readjust to it. You’ll drive, play soccer,
do
anything you want.”
He carefully removes my hand from his shoulder. He studies my open hand in his then traces the palm lines with his fingers. A small gasp passes my lips at the delicious tingle he creates with his touch. He folds my hand closed and affectionately moves his thumb over the knuckles. He sets my hand back down on my lap. “Let’s try this driving lesson some other time.”
“Okay,” I whisper. I clear my throat and speak louder. “We’ll try it again when you feel more comfortable.”
******
For the first time ever, Joey allowed me into the therapy room with him. Mr. Gerard, Joey’s therapist, focused on vision therapy this afternoon. The exercises involved eyeglasses with special lenses and a foam ball smaller than a soccer ball. Catching and dribbling the ball while wearing the glasses improves his depth perception and consequently his hand-eye coordination by retraining eye movement. He’s hopeful about playing soccer again and I’m hopeful, too. I can’t wait for the day I get to see him on the field again. Inviting me into therapy solidifies our friendship. It means he really trusts me despite what I’ve done in the past.
Therapy only lasts an hour, leaving the rest of the day up for grabs. We’ve already done all there is to do back in Cadence and we’re all the way over here at the outpatient center. I could get on the highway and keep going north to some other place. Instantly, I have the perfect idea of how we can spend the rest of this Wednesday afternoon, this perfect day in May. “What would you say if I invited you to Tucson with me?” I grin.
His eyes hold no glimmer of excitement after my suggestion. “I don’t know,” he says cautiously. “Um, let me ask my mom about it. Excuse me.” Joey steps back out of the truck and walks ten feet away. I watch him idly stand in the parking lot contemplating the pebbles on the ground. Eventually, he takes his cell phone out and makes a call. I can’t even read his lips since his back is to me. When he finally gets back to the truck five minutes later I am still shocked that a 20-year-old guy has to get permission from his mother to do something I’ve done since I was a 14-year-old.
Joey says, “I can go,” and buckles his seatbelt.
His unexcited tone deflates me. I don’t even want to go anymore if he feels like I’m dragging him along. I wonder if he made up some excuse about asking his mother’s permission just so he wouldn’t have to go with me. “I never guessed your mom was so strict,” I comment and allow annoyance and sarcasm to seep freely into my voice. “Are you sure you want to go to Tucson? I wouldn’t want your mother to worry about her baby.” I roll my eyes.
His laughter rings hollow. “No, my mom is not the one who’s worried. I called my mom because I knew she’d talk me into it.”