Riding Invisible (7 page)

So pretty much like an emotionless robot, after cleaning up the best I could, I pushed against the bathroom door and walked in a not-so-confident way toward our booth. My jeans slid across from Tavo on a blotchy red plastic seat, his hair all matted and flat where the hat used to be. For me, sitting there, watching him study me, felt like being on some weird reality TV show where I HAD to win. If I didn't win? I'd be back in Homeless City.

Tavo frowned and his dark eyebrows pressed together like two fuzzy black caterpillars. “What is your name, son?”

It seems pretty stupid writing about it now, but I didn't want to answer, because even though I had to trust this guy, my Last Chance Person, I couldn't do it. Then my stomach growled. Probably everyone heard, and the maddening aroma of Denny's food invaded my brain until I wondered if maybe I'd pass out.

Tavo asked again. About my name. “You can trust me, son.”

So I didn't even lie. “Yancy Aparicio.” I gave it up. Just like that.

Tavo nodded and looked at me with an eye-to-eye stare. “Okay, Yancy Aparicio, what you want for eat?”

He grinned and I tried to smile back, but my lips were way too cracked. I almost told the waitress to hurry.
RUN, LADY! I HAVEN'T HAD ANYTHING NUTRITIOUS FOR HOW MANY DAYS? SCAMPER BACK HERE WITH MY PLATE!
And when she set the food in front of me, the smell of it made me kinda dizzy, and it was, like, the best I'd ever eaten, like, ever in my life, even though I usually don't love Denny's, but I did today.

ham and bacon

two eggs over easy

hash browns

biscuits and gravy

big glass of juice

big glass of cold milk

Tavo shook his head and laughed this big belly laugh. “Good food, no?”

I couldn't answer because my mouth was full, so I nodded my head.

He laughed again. “Where you live, son?”

And I studied the black crud under my fingernails. This seemed like a way personal question, no? Where do I LIVE? Do I LIVE anyplace?

Tavo sighed. “You want my help, Yancy Aparicio?”

I kept eating, but I was watching him from between bites.

“You tell me why you are out here alone with that pretty horse. I no want to call the
POLICIA
, okay?”

¡POLICIA!
I knew that word. So I said, “I'm from the San Fernando Valley. From Chatsworth.”

Tavo let out a soft whistle. “So far? And why you run away,
MUCHACHO
? You are so young. How old? Only fourteen maybe.”

So I told him I'm fifteen, getting close to sixteen.

Tavo shook his head. “Why you run away? The parents, they hit you?”

“No! My parents would never hit me. It's my brother. I'm running away from him. He's completely wacko.”

And then Tavo frowned, like he was trying to translate this part of the conversation. “Wacko?” he asked. “What means wacko?”

All these scenes darted inside my head like a thousand lizards escaping from a reptile zoo. And it's like a movie flashed through me, and I could see so many situations that fit perfectly like the last piece in a complicated jigsaw puzzle. Wacko, wacko, wacko. How to explain it? No one ever gets it. Will is just plain wacko! It would be so much easier to lie and say that my dad's an alcoholic, because alcoholism is an illness folks can relate to. But explaining that my brother's crazy? Wacko?? Even though Will totally defines the condition, because he is the wackiest of the wacko, and you'd better look out if you cross his path, dude, because Will is way wacko. He is so wacko that he might kill a horse and maybe wacko enough to kill me, too.

But Tavo had to believe me, so which Will story should I choose?

Finally the mind movies stopped and I took a deep breath and asked, “Did you see my horse's tail?”

“
Sí
, the horse, he have a very short tail.”

“Right. And did you notice that wound across his hindquarters?”

Tavo said yeah he noticed.

“Well, first my brother chopped off my horse's tail. Then he slashed him with a pair of scissors. Two violent acts, all because I wouldn't give him any money. Maybe he was gonna buy drugs...who knows? My parents don't think he does drugs, but I'm pretty sure that's the situation. Even though he's got plenty of drugs they
MAKE
him take. You know, legal drugs. But he must want the other ones, too.”

Then Tavo wanted to know Will's age. So I told him. “He's, like, one year older than me.”

Tavo stared, sipped his coffee, shook his head.

“It's conduct disorder,” I mumbled, my voice coming out all unsure and not strong, because if Tavo couldn't comprehend wacko, how was he going to grasp the technical terms? “It's this mental condition,” I said, “and it's very hard to explain, but they've done studies, and his brain chemistry, well, it's actually different from a normal person's brain.”

“
NO. NO ENTIENDO
.” The black eyebrows pressed together and I figured he'd be calling the
POLICIA
any second.

I gave it another lame try. “So you've probably never heard of neurotransmitters.”

And Tavo whistled softly at that word, and the bewilderment on his face looked major.

“Well, forget it then.”

And the tears crept slowly upward and reached my chest, but I held them back, squeezed them inside my nose…
PLEASE, GOD, DON'T LET THE FLOOD START NOW
.

And then the restaurant racket took over with kids laughing in the booth behind us, and silverware clinking loud, like a disorganized metal band, and Tavo leaned across the table, and I thought maybe he was going to touch me on the forearm, but he folded his hands and stared at me instead.

“
PUES
, you have this
LOCO
brother and he is so bad you ride fifty miles on the back of a horse for escape him?”

OH, JEEZ, LET ME STAY ON THIS REALITY SHOW…PLEASE DON'T VOTE ME OFF
. “Well, he's scary, believe me,” I said, trying to sound convincing and forceful while the movies in my head rotated in crazy motion. “Listen. I'll tell you a story. I have a bunch of them.”

I scanned my collection, flip flip, and again, flip flip flip—paused—considered that one, and began.

“When Will was thirteen years old my parents were losing it because he got violent with his history teacher.”

“Your brother, he
HIT
a teacher?”

“Yeah. Miss McDonald. He knocked her over when she tried to break up a fight between Will and these two other guys. After that, my parents tried sending him away to live at boarding school. But within thirty days he'd set the dormitory drapes on fire, so they kicked him out. And that was the best month of my life, the only time we've all been happy, just me and Dad and Mom. The three of us were like, well... we were a normal family. You can't imagine what it's like living with my brother. He's a human vacuum cleaner. He actually sucks up everyone's energy. Mom's, Dad's, mine... until the only thing left is HIM.”

Tavo digested my words, took them in. “There is no energy for you.”

“No. None at all. My parents are great people and they're proud of me. But hey, they're just relieved I'm not out doing bad things all the time. That way they can focus on Will, because he
IS
doing bad things.”

Tavo's face distorted into this disbelieving expression. “And your parents. They
LET
your brother do these bad things?”

“No! Of course they don't let him. But Will is like a runaway train charging down the track, out of control, unstoppable. Plus there's a lot of stuff they don't even know about, believe me. That's because I keep my mouth shut.”

“You no tell the parents what he do?”

“Not usually. It's a waste of time. I did tell them when Will cut off my horse's tail, but nothing much came of it. So the next day when he used scissors to slash him, I figured, why even bother? And then I ran away.”

Tavo's expression was telling me that he just didn't get it. I felt like jumping on top of our table and shouting:
HELP! IF YOU UNDERSTAND CONDUCT DISORDER, PLEASE RAISE YOUR HAND AND EXPLAIN IT TO THIS GUY!

But I didn't do that. Instead, I remembered the worst thing Will had ever done.

“Okay,” I said, “so here's what happened when we were at my Aunt Lila's house a few months ago. It's a perfect example. A horrible, awful example.”

Tavo sipped his coffee and waited. I took a deep breath, gulped down some milk, and tried to get my thoughts together. “It happened when Will was wrestling with Burrito, my Aunt Lila's dog, a Chihuahua, really cute and tiny. Burrito's teeth scraped my brother's hand. It was an accident! Not serious at all, but Will's got a temper, see. He was born angry. He's got mental problems, like I already said, and anyway, he threw Burrito against a wall, and the little dog died. No one was around but me to see how it happened. Just me. And then Will cried all these huge fake tears and told everyone in such a sincere voice, sounding all brokenhearted and apologetic, how it was an accident. ‘I didn't mean to!' he yelled over and over, so everyone gathered around, and I decided to keep my mouth shut. Will is that convincing, and by then he had me believing it really was an accident. And now he's been messing with my horse. He...” I stopped and covered my face with my hands. “He could kill my horse.”

my voice cracked

the way my lips are cracked because

it scared me shitless to say it out loud:

he could kill my horse.

HE COULD KILL MY HORSE!!

what kind of person

might comprehend something like that?

maybe this Mexican guy ...maybe so

because

when I glanced at his face

right away

I knew

this dude is gonna help

I wanted to hug him even though he was a stranger, but before I could get carried away, Tavo said, “Follow me.”

He left money on the table, and then we walked outside to the truck and trailer, and he insisted I call my parents. But if I talked to them I knew my weak interior would crumble. So I scrolled through the cell phone contacts and called our next-door neighbors instead. It rang—voice mail picked up—
PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE BEEP
.

“Hey, Tim and Eileen, this is Yancy Aparicio. Would you mind explaining to my folks that I'm okay? And tell them I can't come home, and please ask them to stop leaving messages. I am not listening to any messages and... also... if you'd let them know...”

BEEPING ... screen flashing ...
low battery

“tellthemIlovethem.”

I shook the phone
wrist snapping
elbow jerking
like I wanted to bring it back from the
dead

We climbed in the truck and Tavo turned the key. His key chain dangled, a plastic emblem with red, white, and green letters, M-E-X-I-C-O spelled out in the center. The engine sputtered, and his truck kind of danced down the street while we bounced like two crazy rubber balls almost in rhythm to the emotional Mexican music that wailed on the radio. Ol' Tavo tossed his head back and belted out lyrics, acting carefree like everything was going his way, but I wasn't so positive that everything was going MY way. I was thinking how this Mexican cowboy could be a really great actor. Like maybe he had plans to get rid of me. Dump my body out in the desert. Would he torture me first? Then he'd sell Shy for a whole lot of money. For one thing, where did he get the fancy horse trailer? Something wasn't making sense.

But then I realized how maybe he was genuinely a good person, because he stopped at Long's Drugs and hurried inside and then tossed a bag at me when he returned. Medicated lip balm. The expensive kind, so I put a bunch on my lips, and after that I could actually smile.

Miles later, overflowing with Mexican music, surrounded by empty sand and scraggly sage, we reached our destination and drove under a big, carved wood sign: