Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

“I love you,” she whispered. “Do you know how much I love you?” It was nice the way she said that. She hadn’t said that to me in a long time. “Love you more.” When I was a boy, I used to say that to her.

“The car ran over your legs.” “It wasn’t the driver’s fault,” I said. She nodded. “You had a very, very fine surgeon. All the breaks are below the knees. God—” She stopped. “They thought you might lose your legs—” She stopped and wiped the tears from her face. “I’m never going to let you out of the house, ever again.” “Fascist,” I whispered. She kissed me. “You sweet, beautiful kid.” “I’m not that sweet, Mom.” “Don’t argue with me.” “Okay,” I said. “I’m sweet.” She started crying again. “It’s okay,” I said. “Everything’s okay.”

He had two black eyes and he was wearing a cast on his right arm. “Hi,” he said. “Hi,” I said. “We sort of match,” he said. “I got you beat,” I whispered. “Finally, you get to win an argument.” “Yeah, finally,” I said. “You look like shit.” He was standing right next to me. “So do you.”

“You saved my life, Ari.” “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.” “B...

“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 to do. Only you could have gotten yourself killed.” I watched the tears falling from his face. “And all because I’m an idiot, standing in the middle of the road trying to save a stupid bird.” “You’re breaking the no-crying rule again,” I said. “And birds aren’t stupid.”

“You don’t much like being a hero, do you?” “I told Dante I didn’t do it on purpose. Everyone thought that was funny. It wasn’t a joke. I don’t even remember diving toward him. It wasn’t as if I said to myself, I’m going to save my friend, Dante. It wasn’t like that. It was just a reflex, you know, like when someone hits your funny bone below the knee. Your leg just jerks. That’s how it was. It just happened.” “Just a reflex? It just happened?” “Exactly.”

“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.”

“You know what I think?” she said. “I think Dante’s going to miss you. I think that’s the real reason he doesn’t want to leave.” “I’ll miss him too,” I said. I was sorry I’d said that. It was true, okay, but I didn’t have to say it.

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.

When he finally left, I stared at his sketch pad. He’d never let anybody look at his sketches. And now he was showing them to me. To me. Ari. I knew he was only letting me see his work because he was grateful.

Dante felt he owed me something. I didn’t want that. Not that. I took his sketch pad in my hands and flung it across the room.

Even when I wanted to hate my mother, I loved her. I wondered if it was normal for fifteen-year-old boys to love their mothers. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t.

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. My heart hurt even more than my legs. I know my mom heard me. She had the decency to let me cry alone.

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

IT WAS A RAINY SUMMER. EVERY AFTERNOON, THE clouds would gather like a flock of crows, and it would rain. I fell in love with the thunder.

I decided I wanted to read all the books by Ernest Hemingway. My father decided he would read everything that I read. Maybe that was our way of talking.

I wasn’t going to argue with him. I was never going to out-stubborn Dante Quintana. So every day he would read a chapter of the book. And then we would talk about it.

He never asked me anything about what I thought of his sketches. I was glad about that. I had placed his sketchbook under my bed and refused to look at it. I think I was punishing Dante. He had given me a piece of himself that he had never given to another human being. And I hadn’t even bothered to look at it. Why was I doing that?

I DON’T KNOW HOW IT HAPPENED, BUT ONE MORNING Dante came over and decided he’d be the one to give me a sponge bath. “Is it okay?” he said. “Well, it’s kind of my mom’s job,” I said. “She said it was okay,” he said. “You asked her?” “Yeah.”

He was quiet. “I won’t hurt you.” You’ve already hurt me. That’s what I wanted to say. Those were the words that entered my head. Those were the words I wanted to slap him with. The words were mean. I was mean.

Instead of telling him to go screw himself, I said okay. I’d learned to make myself perfectly passive when my mother bathed and shaved me. I would shut my eyes and think about the characters in the book I was reading. Somehow that got me through. I closed my eyes.

Dante’s hands were bigger than my mother’s. And softer. He was slow, methodical, careful. He made me feel as fragile as porcelain. I never once opened my eyes. We didn’t say a word.

Dante had this look on his face. He looked like an angel. And all I wanted to do was put my fist through his jaw. I couldn’t stand my own cruelty.

“I only have two questions. The first question is this: Are you getting me a car because you feel bad that I’m an invalid?”

My mother was ready for that one. “No. You’ll be an invalid for another three or four weeks. Then you’ll do some therapy. Then you’ll be fine. And you won’t be invalid. You’ll just return to being a pain in the ass.” My mother never cussed. This was serious business.

I HATED LIVING IN THE SMALL AND CLAUSTROPHOBIC atmosphere of my house. It didn’t feel like home anymore. I felt like an unwanted guest. I hated being waited on all the time. I hated that my parents were so patient with me. I did. That’s the truth. They didn’t do anything wrong.

They were just trying to help me. 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.

I was actually almost happy. Me, Ari, almost happy. “Your smile is back.” That’s what Dante said. “Smiles are like that. They come and go.”

I woke up one day, made my way to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. Who are you?

We drank coffee together, me and my mom. We didn’t talk a lot. Mostly I watched her look through her folders. The morning light always came through the kitchen. And just then, she looked young. I thought she was really beautiful. She was beautiful. I envied her. She had always known exactly who she was.

I wanted to ask her, Mom, when will I know who I am? But I didn’t.

Physical therapy will be coming up soon. Doctor says swimming will be very good. Swimming will make me think of Dante. Shit.

Dante’s leaving in a week. I’m glad. I need a break from him. I’m sick of him coming over every day just because he feels bad. I don’t know if we will ever be friends again.

I don’t know who I am.

What I really want for my birthday: for someone to talk about my brother. I want to see his picture on one of the walls of our house.

Somehow I’d hoped that this would be the summer that I would discover that I was alive. The world my mom and dad said was out there waiting fo...

He stretched out his arm, the one that had been broken in the accident. I stretched out my arm, the one that had been broken in the accident. “All better,” he said. We both smiled.

“When something gets broken, it can be fixed.” He stretched out his arm again. “Good as new.” “Maybe not good as new,” I said. “But good anyway.” His face had healed. In the evening light, he was perfect again.

“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.”

“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.”

I flipped the page and stared at a sketch of me. I didn’t say anything. There were five or six sketches he’d done of me the day he’d come over. I studied them carefully. There was nothing careless about his sketches. Nothing careless at all. They were exact and deliberate and full of all the things he felt. And yet they seemed to be so spontaneous.

“Someday,” he said. “Listen, you don’t have to keep the sketchbook.” “You gave it to me. It’s mine.” That’s all we said. Then we just sat there.

We didn’t really say good-bye that night. Not really. Mr. Quintana kissed me on the cheek. That was his thing. Mrs. Quintana placed her hand on my chin and lifted my head up. She looked into my eyes as if she wanted to remind me of what she’d said to me in the hospital. Dante hugged me. I hugged him back.

“See you in a few months,” he said. “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll write,” he said. I knew he would. I wa...

It started to rain and we just sat. Sat and watched the rain in silence. I kept seeing Dante standing in the rain holding a bird with a broken wing. I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or not. What if he’d lost his smile? I bit my lip so I wouldn’t cry. “...

I felt like I was the saddest boy in the universe. Summer had come and gone. Summer had come and go...