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My motherteI1sme Beto's home, waits for me toTV. Only whenshe's in bed do I put on my jacket and swing throughthe neighborhood to see. He's apatonow but two yearsago we were friends and he would walk into the apartment without knocking, his heavy voice rousing mymother from the Spanish of her room and drawing meup from the basement, a voice that crackled and madeyou think of uncles or grandfathers.'Wewere raging then, crazy the way we stole, brokewindows, the way we pissed on people's steps and thenchallenged them to come out and stop us. Beto wasleaving for college at the end of the summer and wasdelirious from the thought of it-he hated everythingabout the neighborhood, the break-apart buildings, thelittle strips of grass, the piles of garbage around thecans, and the dump, especially the dump.I don't know how you can do it, he said to me. Iwould just find me a job anywhere and go.say something, but I keep watching theDrown 91

I92DNOWNYc:rh,I said. I wasn't like him. I had another year togo irr high school, no promises elsewhere.Days we spent in the mall or out in the parking lotplaying stickball, but nights were what we waited for.'fhe heat in the apartments was like something heavythat had come inside to die. Families arranged on theirporches, the glow from their TVs washing blue againstthe brick. From my family apartment you could smellthe pear trees that had been planted years ago, four toa court, probably to save us all from asphyxiation.Nothing moved fast, even the daylight was slow tofade, but as soon as night seffled Beto and I headeddown to the community center and sprang the fenceinto the pool. \(/e were never alone, every kid with legswas there. We lunged from the boards and swam outof the deep end, wrestling and farting around. Ataround midnight abuelas, with their night hair swirledaround spiky rollers, shouted at us from their apartment windows. lSinvergiienzas! Go home!I pass his apartment but the windows are dark; I putmy ear to the busted-up door and hear only the familiar hum of the air conditioner. I haven't decided yet ifI'll talk to him. I can go back to my dinner and twoyears will become three.Even from four blocks off I can hear the racket fromthe pool-radios too-and wonder if we were ever thatloud. Little has changed, not the stink of chlorine, notthe bottles exploding against the lifeguard station. Ihook my fingers through the plastic-coated opthefence, feeling stupid whenIsprawl on the dandelionsand the grass.Nice one, somebodY calls out'motherfucker inFuck me, I say' I'm not the oldestoff my shirt and my shoesthe place, brt it', .lose' I takeyounger,.rith., knife in' Many of the kids here arewith' Twoto go to schoolbrothers of the people I usedand they pauseof them swim nrti black and Latino,the guy who sells themwhen they see me, recogntzinghave their own man'their shitty dope' The crackheadswho drives in from PaterLucero, and some other guyin the atea'son, the only full-time commuterat the deep end I glideThe water feels good' Startingwithout kicking up a sPumeover the slick-tiled bottomsvrimmeror making a splash' Sometimes another than aof waterchurns past me, more a disturbance t a'Vhile every-"it'uP'comingbody. I can still go far withouteverything below isthing above i, io'd and bright'of coming up to find thewhispers. And always the riskout across the water'cops stabbing their searchlightsfeet slapping againstAnd then everyone running' wetofficers' you Puto suthe concrete, yelling, Fuck You'cios, fuck You'the shallow end'\[hen I'm tired I wade through tohis girlfriend' watchingpast some kid who's kissingto cut in' and I sit nearme as though I'm going to trythe day' No Horsethe sign that runs the pool duringNoNo Defecating' No [Jrinating'Ploy, No Running,Erorvn91

I94DROi/NExpectorating. Atthe bottom someone has scrawled inNo Whites, l/o Fat Cbiks and someone else has provided the missing c. I laugh. Beto hadn't known whatcollege. I told him, spitting a greener by the side of theToday a child has survived a seven-stoty fall, bustingnothing but his diaper. The hysterical baby-sitter,theabout three hundred pounds of her, is head-buttingpool.microphone.expectorating meant though he was the one leaving forShit, he said. Vhere did you learn that?I shrugged.Tell me. He hated when I knew something he didn't.He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed meItwNon thesofa and we watch television together. \(e settlefor me'Spanish-language news: drama for her, violenceunder. He was wearingacross and cutoff jeans. He wasstronger than me and held me down until water floodedIt's a goddamn miraclevilla, she cries'My mother asks me if I found Beto. I tell her that Ididn't look.That's too bad. He was telling me that he might bestarting at a school for business'So what?my nose and throat. Even then I didn't tell him; hethought I didn't read, not even dictionaries.don't speak anymore. I've tried to explain, all wise-like, that every-IVe live alone. My mother has enough for the rent andthing changes, but she thinks that sort of saying is onlyaround so you can Prove it wrong'He asked me what You were doing'Icover the phone bill, sometimes thecable. She's so quiet that most of the time I'm startledco find her in the apartment. I'll enter a room and she'll;tir, detaching herself from the cracking plaster walls,from the stained cabinets, and fright will pass throughme like a wire. She has discovered the secret to silence:pouring caf6 without a splash, walking between roomsas if gliding on a cushion of felt, crying without a sound.You have traveled to the East and learned many secretthings, I've told her. You're like a shadow warrior.And you're like a crazy,she says. Like a big crazy.\flhen I come in she's still awake, her hands pickingclots of lint from her skirt. I put a towel down on thegroceries andShe's never understood why wei\7hat did you saY?I told him you were fine'You should have told him I moved'And what if he ran into You ?I'm not allowed to visit mY mother?shouldShe notices the tightening of my arms' Yoube more like me and Your father'Can't you see I'm watching television?I was angry at him, wasn't I? But now we can talkto each other.Am I watching television here or what?Drown95

96EROWNSaturdays she asks me to take her to the mall. As a sonI fccl I owe her that much,even though neither of usto walk two miles through redncck territory to catch the M15.Before we head out she drags us through the apartment to make sure the windows are locked. She can'treach the latches so she has me test them. With the airconditioner on we never open windows but I gothrough the routine anyway. Putting my hand on thelatch is not enough-she wants to hear it rattle. Thisplace just isn't safe, she tells me. Lorena got lazy andlook what they did to her. They punched her and kepther locked ,p in her place. Those morenos ate all herfood and even made phone calls. Phone calls!That's *hy we don't have long-distance, I tell herbut she shakes her head. That's not funnI, she says.She doesn't go out much, so when she does it's a bigdeal. She dresses up, even puts on makeup. Vhich is whyI don't give hen lip about taking her to the mall eventhough I usually make a fortune on Saturdays, selling tothose kids going down to Belmar or out to Spruce Run.I recognizelike half the kids on the bus. I keep myhead buried in my cap, praying that nobody tries toscore. She watches the traffic, her hands somewhereinside her purse, doesn't say a word.\[hen we arrive at the mall I give her fifty dollars.Buy something, I say, hating the image I have of her,picking through the sale bins, wrinkling everything.Back in the day, my father would give her a hundredhas a car and we havefor my new clothesdollars at the end of each spmmera week to spend it, evenand she would take nearlythan a couple of tthough it never amounted to moreShe folds the bills into ashirts and two pairs of ieans'she says'square. I'11 see you at three'in sight of theI wander through the stores' stayingreason to follow me' Thecashiers so they won't havesince my looting days.circuit I make has not changedshop' Macy's' MeBookstore, record store, comic-bookmad from these places' two'and Beto used to steal likein an outing' Our systemthree hundred dollars of shitwassimple-wewalkedintoaStorewithashoppingBack then security wasn'tbag and came out loaded'exit' \fle stopped righttight. The only trick was in thechecked out someat the entrance of the store and)from. gettingpeoplestoPjunktoofworthless piece'we asked each other'suspicious. \flhat do you ssmooth about them'atwork. All grab and run' nothingslow' like a fat sevNot us. \fle idled out of the storesthe best' He even talked toenties car. At this, Beto g his shoppants. \flhen he finished he smiled'ping bag uP to hit me'I told him' I'mYou got to stoP that messing around'that'not going to iail for bullshit likeThey iust turnYou don', go to lail for shoplifting'you over to Your old man'Erorvn97

11IDROWNI don't know about Iou, but my pops hits like amotherfucker.He laughed. You know my dad. He flexed his hands.The nigger's got arthritis.My mother never suspected, even when my clothescouldn't all fit in my closet, but my father wasn't thateasy. He knew what things cost and knew that I didn'thave a regular job.You're going to get caught, he told me one day. Justyou wait. 'When you do I'll show them everythingyou've taken and then they'll throw your stupid assaway like a bad piece of meat.He was a charmer, ffiy pop, arealasshole, but he wasright. Nobody can stay smooth forever, especially kidslike us. One day at the bookstore, we didn't even hidethe drops. Four issues of the same Playboy for kicks,enough audio books to start our own library. No lastminute juke either. The lady who stepped in front ofus didn't look old, even with her white hair. Her silkshirt was half unbuttoned and a silver horn necklace saton the freckled top of her chest. I'm sorry fellows, butIyour bag, she said. I kept moving, andlooked back all annoyed, like she was asking us for aquarter or something. Beto got polite and stopped. Nohave to checka plainclothes warttngroo scared to take it, imaginingthat when the rent-a,o .frn the cuffs on' I remembersaid'against the fender andcop taPPed his nightstickot't ht" real slow' I startedYou little shits b;;t' comehis face stretched out andto cry. Beto did";;;y aword'mine' the bones in our fingersgra!this hand squeezingpressing together'Danny' The Malibou BarNights I drink with Alex andthe sucias we can con intoandis no good, iust washoutsproblem, he said, slamming the heavy bag into her face.She hit the cold tile with a squawk, her palms slappingthe ground. There you go, Beto said.Security found us across from the bus stop, under aold.J.p Cherokee. Athan sPeak.bus had come and gone, both of usandroar at each otherjoining us. 'We drink too much )move closer to the phone'make the skinny bartenderdartboard and a BrunswickOn the *rff f""gs a corkits bumpersGold Crown b"locks the bathroom'like old skin'squashed, the felt pulledlike ashake back and forthWhen tht b" btgi" tofieldsgo home' through therumba, I call i" "igi' andIn the distance you canthat surround the apartments'sameas an earthworm' thesee the Raritan, as shinyschool on' The dump hasriver my homeboy goes toit likegrass has spread overlong since shut dow"' "'dhandwhere I stand' my righta sickly f',tzz',and fromof piss downward' thedirecting a colorless streamanda blond head' squarelandfill might be the top ofis already up'motherIn the mornings I run' MyShe says nothing todressing for her hl''"ttl"aning iob'to the mangri she has preparedme, would rather pointDron'n99