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March 14 - May 22, 2018
“Are you going to say good morning?” “I’m thinking about it,” I said. “Well, at least you dragged yourself out of bed.” “I had to think about it for a long time.”
“Dante’s good at a lot of things. But he’s not very good at cleaning his room. Cleaning a room is too closely related to the word work.”
“Don’t you have hobbies?” “Sure. Staring at the blank walls.”
“Nothing. It’s just that most smart people are perfect shits.”
Dante had found a game as an excuse to beat the crap out of his tennis shoes.
Tears all over the damned place. Maybe tears were something you caught.
“What position am I applying for?” “Best friend.” “I thought I already had the job.” “Don’t be so sure, you arrogant son of a bitch.”
He looked at the hail. “It’s like pissed off snow,” he said.
“I love swimming,” he said again. He was quiet for a little while. And then he said, “I love swimming—and you.”
Watching my parents dance to Tex-Mex music was my idea of hell.
“I’ll never lie to you about anything,” he said. “I might lie to you,” I said.
“My dad is the worst driver in the universe,” he said. “That’s not true,” Mr. Quintana said. “Just the worst driver in El Paso.”
But love was always something heavy for me. Something I had to carry.
“I talk, Dante. Don’t be a shit.” “Sometimes you talk. Other times you just, I don’t know, you just avoid.”
“Daniel doesn’t care about you.” “He was scared.” “So what? We’re all scared.”
“Can I tell you a secret, Ari?” “Can I stop you?”
“Dad, I think I liked it better when you didn’t talk.”
“Say you’re sorry. I don’t like people who don’t know how to say they’re sorry.” “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Have you ever gone?” “Of course I have. I’m not good at it.” “Do you have to be good at everything?” “Yes.”
