It was just a small, quiet scene in the many scenes in the story that was my life. And I suppose this moment didn’t seem all that important.
But it was important. It was important to Cassandra. And to Danny. And to me.
Twenty
“ARE YOU SCARED, ARI? TO see your brother?”
“Not scared. I have these butterflies in my stomach. My insides are a mess.”
“I hope this doesn’t hurt you too much.”
“How much is too much?”
“I know you have to do this alone. And it’s really great that you’ll be spending time with your dad. But I wish I were going with you.”
“You’ll be with your parents and visiting your family in California. And that’s a good thing.”
“Yeah, but I don’t fit in there. And everybody will be speaking Spanish and they’ll be hating me because I don’t speak it—and they’ll all be thinking that I think I’m too good to speak Spanish and that’s not true and—well, screw it.”
“We both do what we have to do, Dante, Everything’s not about us.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sometimes you talk too much.”
“I don’t say enough—and then I say too much. Got it. It won’t be such a long trip.”
“I guess sometimes we have to go our own separate ways.”
“But then we’ll both come back. And I’ll be here. And you’ll be here. We’ll both be back sitting where we are right now.”
“And you’ll kiss me, Ari?”
“Maybe.”
“If you don’t, I’ll kill you.”
“No, you won’t.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Well, to begin with, dead boys can’t kiss.”
We were smiling at each other.
“Sometimes, Ari, when we’re away from each other—it seems like forever.”
“Why do we say the word ‘forever’ so much?”
“Because when you love someone, that’s the word that comes to mind.”
“When I think of the word ‘love’—I think of the name Dante.”
“You mean that?”
“No, I was just saying that for the hell of it.”
We sat there for a long moment in a silence that wasn’t quite comfortable. “Merry Christmas, Ari.”
“Merry Christmas, Dante.”
“Someday we’ll spend Christmas together.”
“Someday.”
Twenty-One
BEFORE DANTE LEFT, HE HUNG the painting that Emma had given us on a wall in my bedroom.
“It’s like he spoke for me when he painted this. And when he wrote his poem.”
“He did speak for you, Dante. He spoke for all of us.”
Dante nodded. “Sometimes we have to be able to speak for those who can’t. That takes a lot of courage. I’m not sure I have that kind of courage in me. But you do. I envy your courage, Ari.”
“How do you know I have courage?”
“Because you’re brave enough to go see your brother even though you may not like what you find.”
“Maybe I’m not brave at all. Maybe I’m just tired of being afraid. And maybe I’m just being selfish. I’m not sure I’m looking for my brother anymore. Maybe I never was. I think I’m just trying to find a piece of me that I lost.”
Twenty-Two
DANTE LEFT FOUR DAYS BEFORE Christmas. It was as if Gina and Susie knew I was sad, because that’s the day they dropped off a Christmas gift for me. Cassandra and I were running, so I wasn’t home. They handed the gift to my mother.
“I made them stay, and we ate some of my bizcochos with some hot chocolate.” My mother was very proud of her hospitality. “And I gave them some tamales to take home.” Mom loved to feed people.
* * *
On Christmas morning, I opened Gina and Susie’s gift. It was a silver cross on a silver chain. They’d written me a card:
Dear Ari,
We know you’re not all that religious. Sometimes you believe in God and sometimes you don’t. You say you’re still deciding. We know that you think God hates you, and we don’t believe that. We will never believe that. And we know that you think that God has better things to do than to hang around and protect you. But we got you this anyway, just to remind you that you’re not alone. And you shouldn’t blame God for all the stupid and mean things people say. And we’re both pretty sure God isn’t homophobic.
Love, Susie and Gina
I put on the silver chain and looked at myself in the mirror. It felt strange to be wearing something around my neck. I’d never worn any kind of jewelry or anything like that. I stared at the simple silver cross hanging on my chest. I thought of Susie and Gina. They were determined to love and be loved. They loved their way into my heart, a heart that seemed to be determined not to be loved. And they made me understand what a beautiful thing it was to be a girl.
I knew I would never take off this silver chain with a cross hanging on it. I would wear it always. Maybe God would protect me. Maybe He wouldn’t. But the memory of what Gina and Susie had given would protect me. And that was good enough for me.
Dear Dante,
I miss you. I know it’s a good thing you went to visit your parents’ families in LA. And I’m sure they’ve all fallen in love with Sophocles. I know I have. Babies make you want to be more careful. I keep trying to picture all your cousins and your uncles and aunts. I know you don’t feel close to them. But maybe something will happen—and you won’t feel like such an outsider.
What the hell do I know.
It’s Christmas day and I feel as stuffed as my mother’s turkey. The sun is setting, and the house is quiet. My sisters and their husbands and my nephews and nieces have gone to spend the evening with their in-laws, and I like this quiet. I don’t mind being alone. I used to be alone and I felt a loneliness living in me that I didn’t understand, the kind of loneliness that made me miserable.
I don’t feel that loneliness when I’m alone anymore. I’m a lot more comfortable spending time with the Ari I have become. He’s not so bad. He’s not so great. But he’s not so bad.
There’s always something new to learn about myself. There’s always a part of me that will be a stranger to me. There will always be days when I look in the mirror and ask myself, “Ari, who are you?”
I was thinking about Danny and Rico. Rico never got to have a life. He was gay, and he wasn’t like you and me—he couldn’t pass. And he was born into a poor family. Danny told me the world doesn’t want people like Rico in it. And the world doesn’t want guys like me in it either. That’s what he said. And I keep thinking that I wished the world would understand people like you and me.
But we’re not the only ones the world doesn’t understand. I want people to care about me and care about you. But don’t we have to care too? Don’t we have to care about the Ricos and the Dannys? Don’t we have to care about people who aren’t treated like people? I have a lot to learn. I heard a guy in the hallway at school call some other guy the n-word. The guy he meant to insult was a white guy, and the whole thing was a little confusing, but it made me mad. I hate that word. And I didn’t chase after the guy who said it and say, Listen here, you little fucker. I should have chased him down the hall. I should have told him that he was acting as if he had no respect—not for other people and not for himself. I should have said something—but I didn’t. And that is exactly what the gay rights movement is saying about the AIDS pandemic, yeah, Silence = Death.