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April 16 - April 17, 2025
Feeling sorry for myself was an art. I think a part of me liked doing that.
I got to thinking that poems were like people. Some people you got right off the bat. Some people you just didn’t get—and never would get.
That afternoon, I learned two new words. “Inscrutable.” And “friend.” Words were different when they lived inside of you.
That seemed not to fit with the picture I had of my father. But I liked the idea.
“Someday, I’m going to discover all the secrets of the universe.”
And why was it that some guys had tears in them and some had no tears at all? Different boys lived by different rules.
“And are you always trying to find me?” “Mostly I think I’m trying to find me, Dad.” It was strange to talk to him about something real. But it scared me too. I wanted to keep talking, but I didn’t know exactly how to say what I was holding inside me.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m so far away.” “It’s okay,” I said. “No,” he said. “No, it’s not.”
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.
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.
“What position am I applying for?” “Best friend.” “I thought I already had the job.”
I wondered what that was like, to hold someone’s hand. I bet you could sometimes find all of the mysteries of the universe in someone’s hand.
The way she said that. The way she looked at me. Sometimes there was so much love in her voice that I just couldn’t stand it.
And even though I felt it was a beautiful thing, I also felt it was a weight. Not that she meant it to be a weight. But love was always something heavy for me. Something I had to carry.
One of the secrets of the universe was that our instincts were sometimes stronger than our minds.
Another secret of the universe: Sometimes pain was like a storm that came out of nowhere. The clearest summer morning could end in a downpour. Could end in lightning and thunder.
“Do you wish you hadn’t saved my life? Is that it? Do you wish I was dead?” “Of course not,” I whispered.
serious look on his face. More serious than usual. “Your brother loved you, Ari. He did. And he didn’t want you to be around. He didn’t want you to think of him that way.”
I listened to my dad cry. I pulled the car over to the side of the road. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know, Dad.”
“Dad, sometimes I hated you and mom for pretending he was dead.” “I know. I’m sorry, Ari. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“When we get back home,” she said. “I’d like to show you some pictures of your brother. Would that be okay?”
I closed my eyes and made the tears stop. And then I said, “I think I’m crying because I’m happy.”
The summer sun was not meant for boys like me. Boys like me belonged to the rain.
“I don’t care about grandchildren. I care about Dante.” I hated watching the tears falling down Sam’s face. “I love Dante,” he whispered. “I love that kid.”
Maybe dogs were one of the secrets of the universe.
Part of me was glad I’d broken Julian’s nose. I was only sorry that I’d hurt my mom.
“I don’t know how to fight it, Dad.” “You should ask for help,” he said. “I don’t know how to do that, either.”
“Don’t say that, Mom. I’ll only disappoint you.” “No, amor. Not ever.” “What I did today. I hurt you.” “No,” she said. “I think I understand.”
And loved my father too, for the careful way he spoke. I came to understand that my father was a careful man. To be careful with people and with words was a rare and beautiful thing.
Dante laughed. “I wasn’t really kissing Daniel. In my head, I was kissing you.”
My father reached over and took my hand in his. “I deserved that one.” He kept squeezing my hand. Then he let go.
“You would’ve been killed too,” I whispered. “Maybe. But I didn’t do my job.” “Dad, don’t. Please—” I felt my mother reaching across the table, combing my hair with her hands and wiping my tears. “You don’t have to talk about this, Dad. You don’t.”
“I think you love him more than you can bear.” “Dad? Dad, no. No. I can’t. I can’t. Why are you saying these things?”
“Because I can’t stand watching all that loneliness that lives inside you. Because I love you, Ari.” My mother and father watched me cry. I thought maybe I was going to cry forever. But I didn’t.
“Dad, I think I liked it better when you didn’t talk.” My mother laughed. I loved her laugh. And then my father was l...
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“How can you love me so much?”
“How could I not love you? You’re the most beautiful boy in the world.” “I’m not.” “You are. You are.”
Dante and I kept looking at each other and laughing.
“You said I wasn’t scared of anything. That’s not true. You. That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of you, Dante.” I took a deep breath. “Try it again,” I said. “Kiss me.”
Imagine that. Aristotle Mendoza, a free man. I wasn’t afraid anymore. I thought of that look on my mother’s face when I’d told her I was ashamed. I thought of that look of love and compassion that she wore as she looked at me. “Ashamed? Of loving Dante?”
How could I have ever been ashamed of loving Dante Quintana?
