Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe (Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe #1)

by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

I wondered how that felt, to really like yourself. And I wondered why some people didn’t like themselves and others did. Maybe that’s just the way it was.

“For the same reason you can’t tell me about your dreams.”

The fever was back. I thought that maybe nothing would ever be the same. But I knew it was just the fever. I fell asleep again. The sparrows were falling from the sky. And it was me who was killing them.

“You’re not afraid of anything.” “I’m afraid of lots of things, Ari.” I could have asked What? What are you afraid of? I don’t think he would have told me.

I thought of my chair and how really it was a portrait of me. I was a chair. I felt sadder than I’d ever felt.

Maybe it was because Dante seemed to make himself fit everywhere he went. And me, I always felt that I didn’t belong anywhere. I didn’t even belong in my own body—especially in my own body. I was changing into someone I didn’t know. The change hurt but I didn’t know why it hurt. And nothing about my own emotions made any sense.

Someone who understood that using the “f” word wasn’t a measure of my lack of imagination. Sometimes using that word just made me feel free.

I could be something and nothing at the same time. I could be necessary and also invisible. Everyone would need me and no one would be able to see me.

“I mean, when do we start feeling like the world belongs to us?” I wanted to tell him that the world would never belong to us. “I don’t know,” I said. “Tomorrow.”

“You can ask me anything.” “Is it hard to love him?” “No.” She didn’t even hesitate. “Do you understand him?” “Not always. But Ari, I don’t always have to understand the people I love.” “Well, maybe I do.” “It’s hard for you, isn’t it?” “I don’t know him, Mom.” “I know you’re going to get mad at me when I say this, Ari, but I’m going to say it anyway. I think someday you will understand.” “Yeah,” I said. “Someday.” Someday, I would understand my father. Someday he would tell me who he was. Someday. I hated that word.

I have always felt terrible inside. The reasons for this keep changing.

The problem is not that I don’t love my mother and father. The problem is that I don’t know how to love them.

Dante is the first friend I’ve ever had. That scares me.

I think that if Dante really knew me, he wo...

It sounded like such a beautiful thing when she said it. Too beautiful for me.

I knew I had done that before, walked barefoot on a wet sidewalk, knew I had felt the breeze against my face. But it didn’t feel like I’d ever done that. It felt like this was happening for the first time.

pain. I looked at my dad. “It’s okay,” I said. “Everything’s okay.” I didn’t really believe what I was saying. My father was wearing a serious smile. “Ari, Ari,” he said. “You’re the bravest boy in the world.” “I’m not.” “You are.” “I’m the guy who’s afraid of his own dreams, Dad. Remember?”

“Did I say anything?” “You just moaned. You asked for Dante. He wouldn’t leave. He’s a very stubborn young man.”

“Dante’s hero. Just what I always wanted to be.” “Don’t do that, Ari. Don’t make fun. You almost got yourself killed.” “I didn’t do it on purpose.” He started crying. Dante and his tears. Dante and his tears. “You pushed me. You pushed me and you saved my life.” “Looks like I pushed you and beat the crap out of your face.” “I’ve got character now,” he said. “It was that damned bird,” I said. “We can blame it all on the bird. The whole thing.” “I’m done with birds.” “No you’re not.” He started crying again. “Knock it off,” I said. “My mom’s been crying, and now you’re crying—and even Dad looks like he wants to cry. Rules. I have rules. No crying.” “Okay,” he said, “No more crying. Boys don’t cry.” “Boys don’t cry,” I said. “Tears make me really tired.” Dante laughed. And then he got really serious. “You took a dive like you were in a swimming pool.” “We don’t have to talk about this.” He just kept talking. “You dove at me, like, I don’t know, like some kind of football player diving at the guy with the ball, and you pushed me out of the way. It all happened so fast and yet, you just, I don’t know, you just knew what

I remember Dante squeezing my hand. And I remember thinking, Forgive you? For what, Dante? What is there to forgive?

He had the hands of a pianist. I remember thinking that. But I didn’t know shit about pianists’ hands or surgeons’ hands and I remember dreaming them. His hands. In my dream, he healed Dante’s bird and set it free into the summer sky. It was a nice dream. I didn’t have those very often.

“Not really. That would be my mom.” “Yeah, well, moms and God generally get along pretty well.”

“Just a reflex? It just happened?” “Exactly.” “And you’re responsible for none of it?” “It was just one of those things.” “Just one of those things?” “Yeah.” “I have a different theory.” “Of course you do—you’re an adult.” He laughed. “What do you have against adults?” “They too have many ideas about who we are. Or who we should be.” “That’s our job.” “Nice,” I said. “Nice,” he said. “Listen, son, I know you don’t think of yourself as being brave or courageous or any of those things. Of course you don’t.” “I’m just a regular guy.” “Yeah, that’s how you see yourself. But, you pushed your friend out of the way of an oncoming car. You did

that, Ari, and you didn’t think about yourself or what would happen to you. You did that because that’s who you are. I’d think about that if I were you.”

“I know your kind, Ari. I’m on to you.” I don’t know exactly what he meant by that. But he was smiling.

“You’re the best friend he’s ever had. I think you should know that.”

“Why do you think that, Ari?” “What?” “Why do you think you’re boring?”

Before she left, Mrs. Quintana took my face between her two hands, looked right into my eyes, and whispered, “Aristotle Mendoza, I will love you forever.” Her voice was soft and sure and fierce and there weren’t any tears in her eyes. Her words were serene and sober and she looked right at me because she wanted me to know that she meant every word of what she’d said to me. This is what I understood: a woman like Mrs. Quintana didn’t use the word “love” very often. When she said that word, she meant it. And one more thing I understood: Dante’s mother loved him more than he would ever know. I didn’t know what to do with that piece of information.

So I just kept it inside. That’s what I did with everything. Kept it inside.

“Okay, so what are the rules? “Rule number one: We won’t talk about the accident. Not ever. Rule number two: Stop saying thank you. Rule number three: This whole thing is not your fault. Rule number four: Let’s just move on.” “I’m not sure I like the rules, Ari.”

don’t know that I really listened to the story. I guess it was enough just to hear the sound of Dante’s voice. It was like listening to a song. I kept thinking about the bird with the broken wing. Nobody told me what happened to the bird. And I couldn’t even ask because I would be breaking my own rule about not talking about the accident. Dante kept telling the story about the man on the bus and the aliens in Roswell and how some had escaped to El Paso and were planning on taking over the transportation system.

“You think you and Dad are the only ones who can keep things on the inside? Dad keeps a whole war inside of him. I can keep things on the inside too.”

As I stared out, I looked for birds. I wanted to close my eyes and let the silence swallow me whole.

When she left the room, I broke down and sobbed. I had never been this sad. I have never been this sad. I have never been this sad.

I bet you could sometimes find all of the mysteries of the universe in someone’s hand.

“It’s a sad book,” I said. “Yeah. That’s why you like it.” “Yeah,” I said. “That’s exactly right.”

“It helped,” he said. “Going to the counselor. It wasn’t so bad. It really did help.” “Are you going back?” “Maybe.” I nodded. “Talking doesn’t help everybody.” Dante smiled. “Not that you’d know.” I smiled back. “Yeah. Not that I’d know.”

And all I wanted to do was put my fist through his jaw. I couldn’t stand my own cruelty.

But I hated them. And I hated Dante too. And I hated myself for hating them. So there it was, my own vicious cycle. My own private universe of hate.

“Maybe not good as new,” I said. “But good anyway.” His face had healed. In the evening light, he was perfect again. “I went swimming today,” he said. “How was it?” “I love swimming.” “I know,” I said. “I love swimming,” he said again. He was quiet for a little while. And then he said, “I love swimming—and you.” I didn’t say anything. “Swimming and you, Ari. Those are the things I love the most.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” I said. “It’s true.” “I didn’t say it wasn’t true. I just said you shouldn’t say it.” “Why not?” “Dante, I don’t—” “You don’t have to say anything. I know that we’re different. We’re not the same.” “No, we’re not the same.” I knew what he was saying and I wished to God he was someone else, someone who didn’t have to say things out loud. I just kept nodding. “Do you hate me?” I don’t know what happened just then. Since the accident, I’d been mad at everyone, hated everyone, hated Dante, hated Mom and Dad, hated myself. Everyone. But right then, I knew I didn’t really hate everyone. Not really. I didn’t hate Dante at all. I didn’t know how to be his friend. I didn’t know how to be anybody’s friend. But that didn’t mean I hated him. “No,” I said. “I don’t hate you, Dante.” We just sat there, not saying anything. “Will we be friends? When I come back from Chicago?” “Yes,” I said. “Really?” “Yes.” “Do you promise?” I looked into his perfect face. “I promise.” He smiled. He wasn’t crying.

I felt like I was the saddest boy in the universe. Summer had come and gone. Summer had come and gone. And the world was ending.

walked away. I was smiling the rest of the day. Sometimes, all you have to do is tell people the truth. They won’t believe you. After that, they’ll leave you alone.

I learned how to swim this summer. No, that’s not true. Someone taught me. Dante. I tore out the page.

Her eyes were like the night sky in the desert. It felt like there was a whole world living inside her. I didn’t know anything about that world.

I guess I did miss Dante—even though I tried hard to not think about him. The problem with trying hard not to think about something was that you thought about it even more. Dante.

And I think of you. Always, Dante

What does a girl taste like when you kiss her?

I sometimes think that I don’t let myself know what I’m really thinking about. That doesn’t make much sense but it makes sense to me. I have this idea that the reason we have dreams is that we’re thinking about things that we don’t know we’re thinking about—and those things, well, they sneak out of us in our dreams. Maybe we’re like tires with too much air in them. The air has to leak out. That’s what dreams are.

The air is leaking out. I don’t want to think about this.