Chapter 5
Mayte
I GET OFF THE BUS AFTER SCHOOL WITH MATH AND SCIENCE homework, an essay to write, and a text from my mom asking me to pick up frozen pizzas from the store and heat them up for dinner since she and dad are both getting home late.
Aida is on the couch watching TV when I walk inside. She gives me a quick glance, but other than that, she barely acknowledges me. The Little Mermaid is playing on the TV for what I’m sure is the third time this week.
“Hey,” I say, tossing my bag onto the couch. “How was your day?”
Aida grunts but doesn’t look at me.
“Cool,” I say. “Because I want to ram my head into the wall.”
She turns and looks at me.
“Do you think anyone realizes I’m a person?”
Aida laughs.
“I’m glad you think that’s funny,” I say, sitting beside her. She continues to laugh, and I can’t help but smile. “Mami said I’m supposed to go to the store to get pizzas because we’re on our own for dinner tonight. Again.”
Aida groans and then stands up, walking to the front door. She starts to slip her shoes on.
“What are you doing?” I ask. She stares at the door. “Oh. I don’t have another bus pass. I was just going to go on my own. You can keep watching the movie.”
Aida opens the door and walks outside.
“Aida, stop,” I say. “You can’t come.”
And she just keeps walking.
I sigh and run to my mom and dad’s room, grabbing a twenty from the little clay pot I made in elementary school where my parents still keep their cash. By the time I’ve caught up with Aida, she’s three houses down the street the wrong way.
The walk to 7-Eleven isn’t all that bad, but frankly Aida is an incredibly slow walker.
Obviously it’s not her fault that she limps, dragging the left side of her body along with her.
But within ten minutes, her face is red, sweat has gathered along her lip and is dripping down her face, and she’s slowed down even more.
“You good?” I ask.
She nods and smiles, but her smile looks like she’s being held at gunpoint.
“You sure?”
She nods again, gunpoint smile still there, and starts to walk faster, almost tripping over her own feet.
“Hey, it’s fine. Don’t hurt yourself,” I say, but she keeps limping forward in a rushed, crooked way that makes me feel bad for saying anything at all.
We’re silent as we walk, and I try to stop myself from thinking about all the things I need to do.
Think about something that won’t make you want to scream, I tell myself, but of course my mind decides to think about the most infuriating thing possible.
Worse than science, math, essays, and making pizzas.
“Leo is dating this baseball player we met at a party,” I say to Aida. She doesn’t look at me. “So we’re apparently supposed to be friends with his friend, and guess who his friend is?” Aida only responds with labored breathing and more dripping sweat. “Auggie like Doggy.”
This finally catches Aida’s attention. She looks at me and snickers.
“He’s such a douchebag,” I say. “He was going to tell everyone about me offering him the hat. And I wasn’t even going to tell anyone a thing about how much of an asshole he was to me. Can you believe him?”
She laughs again.
“Aida, he’s not funny!” I say, causing her to laugh harder, which makes me smile again. “And now we’re supposed to pretend to be friends. Friends! With Auggie like Doggy!” I scoff. “I would literally never. But if it makes Leo happy, whatever, I guess.”
What would’ve been a three-minute bus ride has become a thirty-minute walk, with both of us sweating profusely and the cashier asking Aida if she’s okay the moment we walk in. Aida looks at him, grunts, and then turns down the candy aisle. I flash an apologetic smile and follow her.
The freezers are against the back wall, so we continue down the candy aisle to reach them. I pull out two pepperoni pizzas and a supreme, stack them in my arms, and then Aida places a pack of Skittles on top.
“Aida, we’re not getting candy,” I say, sliding the Skittles off onto the shelf of chips in front of us. “Mami just asked me to grab pizzas.”
Aida picks up the Skittles and places them back on top of the pizzas.
“Stop,” I say. “This isn’t my money. If it was my money, I’d get it.” I slide the Skittles back off and walk down the aisle toward the cash register before she has a chance to do it again.
I set the pizzas on the counter and the man begins to scan them. “How’s your day going?” he asks.
“Good,” I say.
“Is she okay?” He nods at Aida.
I turn and look at her. She’s in the candy aisle again, her eyes roaming the shelves.
“Yeah, she’s fine. She’s just… she has… she doesn’t talk much.”
The man is scanning the last pizza when I’m shoved to the side. Aida has taken my place and set a pack of Skittles on the counter. The man smiles at her and takes the candy, scanning it. Aida looks at me. I look at her. I glare. She laughs.
The walk back is worse because we’re both already tired and sweaty and because this time I’m carrying the pizzas. And Skittles. I hold the boxes tight against my body. Even though they’re annoying to carry, they do act as a sort of personal air conditioner.
“Wanna hold one?” I ask Aida. “They’re nice and cold.”
She sticks out her hand and I pass her one of the pepperoni boxes. Instead of cooling herself off with it, she just holds it at her side and continues walking.
“Hold it against your arm or your face,” I tell her. “Like this.” I hold the boxes against my forehead, the boxes sweating themselves, cold water against my face.
Aida holds the box to her face for all of three seconds and then drops it back down to her side.
“Okay, whatever,” I say.
We walk in silence, and I drift into my own head, counting off all the things I need to get done when I’m home.
I’ll probably text someone and see if I can just copy their math homework because I know that’ll take the longest. I can take a look at the science stuff and my essay to see which one I can realistically get done.
The other one can just wait until I have a second to catch up.
I’ll throw a pizza in the oven for Aida and me, leave a couple pieces out for my parents, and get Aida into bed.
As much as I love spending time with Abuelita, part of me is relieved that I’m not expected for Abuelita Duty.
I’m not going to finish all I have to do tonight as it is.
It’s getting harder and harder to get anything done, really.
Life feels more complicated than ever—responsibilities stacked higher and higher on top of me.
I’ll carry them all, but when will it stop?
When can I take a moment to breathe, or am I just someone who needs an oxygen tank or—
Aida’s foot catches on a crack in the sidewalk and she goes sprawling. The pizza box flies through the air and then she’s completely horizontal, face down on the ground. Her seashell hand is curled under her body, her other hand out in front of her, and she’s already trying to stand up.
“Holy shit, Aida!” I let the pizza boxes and Skittles fall to the ground and get on my knees, reaching for her.
She shoves me away, her hands scraped and red, and keeps trying to get up on her own, reaching for her own pizza.
“Can you just let me help you?” I say. I grab her elbow and try to pull her up, even though I feel like I’m making no difference, and after a minute she’s back right side up.
She won’t make eye contact with me, but I look at her. Both of her knees are scratched up, and one of them is dripping blood down her leg. She doesn’t pay it any attention. Instead, she bends down, grabs one of my pizza boxes—and the Skittles—and continues walking.
“Aida, wait,” I say, grabbing the other two pizzas and walking after her. “You’re bleeding.”
Her limp is even harsher now, but she keeps on, the blood soaking into the top of her sock and spreading into the white fabric. She grunts.
I speed walk and then stand in front of her. “Aida, you have to stop.” She tries to dodge me, but I get in front of her again. She groans but stops.
I squat down and look at her leg. There’s gravel and dirt mixed in with the red, which can’t be good. I check my purse for tissues or napkins or something. Nada. We’re closer to home now than we are to the store, so I’ll have to clean it and wrap it up there, but I don’t know what to do until then.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods with that absolutely fake, closed-mouthed smile.
I stretch the bottom of my shirt, lean toward her leg, and wipe the blood. It doesn’t seem to still be flowing, which is good. I try not to wipe it too roughly or rub in the dirt and rocks, but when I look up at her she’s wincing.
“I’m sorry if it hurts,” I say.
Fake smile. She shakes her head and waves her hand, like Don’t mention it.
Once her leg is as clean as it’s going to get, I stand up. “Let me carry that for you,” I say, reaching for the pizza and Skittles. She pulls them away, grunting. “Or not, I guess.”
Without another look at me, she continues on her way.
When we get home, I wipe Aida’s legs and hands down with a wet paper towel and use a cotton ball to apply hydrogen peroxide.
She’s silent the entire time, still, as she sits on the couch and watches me.
Once her wounds are cleaned, I bandage the worst of it, get her a bottle of water, and restart The Little Mermaid, which played all the way through while we were gone.
By the time I’ve put the pizzas in the freezer and started the oven, she’s finished her water bottle, so I get her another before taking off my bloodied clothes and showering.
Once I’m out, in my pajamas, and putting the pizza in the oven, it is six thirty and I have not touched my homework.
I sit on the couch beside Aida with my bag next to me and tear open the Skittles.
I pour a few into my hand until I find some red ones to pop into my mouth.
I put a few orange ones on Aida’s lap, then take a deep breath and look at all my schoolwork.
Math homework—not gonna happen. Science homework—nope.
Essay—“write about a time you overcame a struggle in your personal life.”
I laugh out loud. Aida looks at me and then back at Ariel.
Maybe I have the words for this one.
Which is not to say my life is only struggle because it’s not.
I love Abuelita. I love Aida. I love my parents and my prima and my friends, and I have so much to be grateful for.
I know I do. Sometimes everything just feels so heavy.
I don’t mind that they count on me. I know I can be there.
I want to be there. I just wish I could love them without feeling crushed.