chapter
39
I wanted to look out the window of the bus, but I was too scared. The bus had taken off, but I couldn’t be sure if Monster’s goons had seen me, so I stayed hunched down in the seat.
The woman who I’d almost knocked over getting onto the bus sat down in the seat across from me. The two smallest of her children were clutching her like she’d just returned from war. The oldest was sitting in a seat in front of them. They were all smothering her as if they didn’t want to take their eyes off her.
About five minutes into the ride, they all seemed to relax. And when I peeked out the window and saw the Cutlass was long gone, I relaxed, too.
The woman and I made eye contact, and I felt compelled to say, “Sorry about almost knocking you over when we were getting on the bus.”
She gave me a warm smile. “It’s okay. You seemed in a bit of a hurry. Is everything okay?”
I nodded as I pulled myself up in the seat. I know I probably looked crazy all slunked down. “I’m all right.”
“You know, you’re about the same age as my oldest son,” she told me.
“Oh,” I said, not knowing what else I was supposed to say.
“That look on your face. It’s one my son has when he gets into trouble.” She paused and then added, “You know, God can help you find a way from trouble. He can straighten things out that you may not think can ever be worked out.”
I looked at this woman like she was crazy. God didn’t come to the ghetto, or else there wouldn’t be a ghetto. So, the last thing I felt like hearing was any kind of sermon from her.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said simply. I might have been a “thug,” but my grandmother still made sure I was raised with manners.
“No, I’m serious,” the woman continued. “It might not seem like it”—she squeezed her children’s hands—“but God is always working for us. In fact, He just delivered me from a situation I never thought possible.”
“Okay,” I said, forcing a smile and regretting that I had ever spoken to her.
“I’m just saying, when you’re at your lowest, remember who can pick you up.”
“Okay,” I said, only this time I forgot those respectful manners my Grams had taught me and rolled my eyes.
“Mama, I’m hungry,” the little boy said. I was grateful for his interruption so she could stop her preaching.
“Okay, sweetie,” she said. “I’ll fix you something when we get home.”
I thought about those bologna sandwiches I had dropped when I was running from Monster and his goons, and my stomach instantly growled.
“Oh, you know what?” the woman said, “I have some chips and juice in my bag.”
She pulled out several small bags of generic-looking Fritos. She handed each of them a bag and had just opened the bag for herself when she caught me staring. I don’t know if it was the way my mouth was watering or if it was because I was looking at those chips like they were the Last Supper, but she said, “You know what? This isn’t even on my diet plan. Would you like them?” She offered the bag to me.
I wanted to decline, but my stomach cursed me for even thinking about saying no.
I nodded, and she handed me the chips, along with a Capri Sun. I pulled the chips out of the bag and devoured them. Her kids were staring at me, and I realized I must have looked like some kind of savage.
“Sorry. Just a little hungry,” I said, my mouth full of chips.
“It’s okay,” the woman replied with a warm, nonjudgmental smile.
“Mommy, do you have to go back to work?” the little girl said, not interested in anything I had going on. “The last time you went there . . .”
“I know, sweetheart. But that’s not going to happen this time.”
“You promise?” the little boy asked.
“I promise.” She rubbed his hair.
They sulked and I got out of their conversation and returned to thoughts of what I was going to do next. I had nowhere to go. No money, and I couldn’t ride this bus forever. I reached into my back pocket for my cell phone and realized it was gone. I cursed because I thought I’d dropped something when I pulled my bus pass out to get on the bus. But I’d been in such a hurry that I didn’t pay it any attention. It was dead since I’d been gone from home so long, but I still needed it.
The woman reached up and pulled the string for her stop. She turned to me as they stood. “You take care of yourself, okay, young man?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.
She flashed one last smile and then got off the bus.
We had just taken off when I looked down and noticed the bag from which she’d pulled the snacks.
“Hey,” I said, jumping up and trying to tap the window, but by that point she was gone, shuffling her children ahead of her as they walked down the street.
I fell back in my seat and glanced in the bag. There were a few envelopes, other stuff, and a black wallet.
That lady was talking about God. Maybe this was the blessing she was talking about coming my way. I glanced around the bus. There were only a few other people on it, and no one was paying any attention to me, so I leaned over and slid the bag toward me. I reached in, pulled out the wallet, and opened it, hoping to find some money. I saw pictures of her kids and my heart slowed a bit. I wondered if my mother had ever carried pictures of us. It was obvious the love that woman had for her children. The sight of those pictures in her wallet made me long for Grams. While my mom wasn’t the best at mothering, Grams always made sure we knew that we were loved.
“Dang,” I said when I looked through her wallet. She had eleven dollars. A ten and a one-dollar bill. That would do nothing for me. I pulled out what looked like her work badge.
“The Markham Hotel. Anna Rodríguez,” I read. I stuffed it back in her bag and went through it some more. That’s when I noticed what looked like some court papers and birth certificates. There was also a newspaper article with her picture, so I scanned the story.
Wow. This woman had been through it, I thought after I’d finished reading. She’d almost been deported, and like me, her kids would’ve been motherless. I wondered if she’d need these official-looking papers.
But it was the next thing I found in her bag that made my heart move from a slow beat to a full-on pause. It was a string of beads, I think they call them a rosary, that were wrapped around a photo. A photo of a young Hispanic guy. A photo of Paco.
You’re about the same age as my oldest son.
Anna Rodríguez.
Paco Rodríguez.
This was Paco’s mother!
The beads trembled in my hands. I wondered: Did she know he was dead? Had the police ID’d him and let her know? I thought about it. She couldn’t know because she spoke like she thought he was still living.
Oh, my God. I needed to tell her about Paco. And I needed to get her back her bag.
“Hey, mister,” I said to the bus driver once he pulled away from the next stop. “This lady left her bag.”
“Throw it in this trash bin,” he said without looking up at me. “I’m sick of folks leaving their mess on my bus.”
I side-eyed him, then decided I’d return this to her myself. I’d done enough wrong in my life. Now I wanted to do something right. I owed Paco that much.
“Hey, do you know where the Markham Hotel is?” I asked the driver.
“Do I look like a GPS?” he snapped.
“Really, man? What is your problem?”
He slammed on the brakes. There were five other people on the bus, and all of us braced ourselves to keep from falling.
“Have you lost your mind?” I yelled.
He threw the bus in park, turned to me, and jabbed a finger in my direction. “I’m sick of you little punks coming on my bus and trying to talk to me crazy.”
“What are you talking about? I just asked a question,” I said.
He stood and faced me. “You’re a disrespectful little punk. Now, get off my bus!”
I was dumbfounded. Either this guy had had a really bad day or he was out of his mind.
He reached down, pulled the lever, and swung the door open. “Get off my bus.”
“What?” I was still trying to understand what I’d done wrong.
“I said, get off.”
He reached for my arm like he was going to force me off, but I jerked it away.
“Don’t make me call the cops,” he warned.
I couldn’t believe this was happening. “Fine!”
I got off the bus, still in shock and wondering what I was supposed to do now.
Yet I knew. I’d been put off the bus so I could go find Mrs. Rodríguez and break the news about her son.
I sighed and began walking in the direction I’d seen her go.