explain things a little? Pope said I was whipped. I’d be like, that’s no way to talk about your sister. She’s better than all of you people! He’d just look at me out of those squinty Apache eyes. “Maybe,” he’d drawl. “Maybe …” And I was just thinking about all that on Saturday, going crazier and crazier with the desire to see her sweet face every morning, her hair on my skin every night, mad in love with her, and I was IM-ing her that she should just book. Run away. She was almost seventeen already. She could catch a bus and be in Phoenix in a few hours and we’d jump on I-10 and drive to Cali. I didn’t know what I imagined—just us, in love, on a beach. And suddenly the laptop crashed. Just gone—black screen before Amapola could answer me. That was weird, I thought. I cursed and kicked stuff, then I grabbed a shower and rolled.
When I cruised over to Aunt Cuca’s, she was gone. So was Pope. Uncle Arnie was sitting in the living room in his uniform, sipping coffee.
“They all go on vacation,” he said. “Just you and me.”
Vacation? Pope hadn’t said anything about vacations. Not that he was what my English profs would call a reliable narrator.
Arnie gestured for me to sit. I stood there.
“Coffee?” he offered.
“No, thanks.”
“Sit!”
I sat.
I can’t relate the conversation very clearly, since I never knew what the F Arnie was mumbling, to tell you the truth. His accent was all bandido. I often just nodded and smiled, hoping not to offend the dude, lest he freak out and bust caps in me. That’s a joke. Kind of. But then I’d wonder what I’d just agreed to.
“You love Amapola,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He smiled sadly, put his hand on my knee.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
He nodded. Sighed. “Love,” he said. “Is good, love.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You not going away, right?”
I shook my head. “No way.”
“So. What this means? You marry the girl?”
Whoa. Marry? I … guess … I was going to marry her. Someday.
Sure, you think about it. But to say it out loud. That was hard. Yet I felt like some kind of breakthrough was happening here. The older generation had sent an emissary.
“I believe,” I said, mustering some balls, “yes. I will marry Amapola. Someday. You know.”
He shrugged, sadly. I thought that was a little odd, frankly. He held up a finger and busted out a cell phone, hit the speed button, and muttered in Spanish. Snapped it shut. Sipped his coffee.
“We have big family reunion tomorrow. You come. Okay? I’ll fix up all with Amapola’s papá. You see. Yes?”
I smiled at him, not believing this turn of events.
“Big Mexican rancho. Horses. Good food. Mariachis.” He laughed. “And love! Two kids in love!”
We slapped hands. We smiled and chuckled. I had some coffee.
“I pick you up here at 7 in the morning,” he said. “Don’t be late.”
The morning desert was purple and orange. The air was almost cool. Arnie had a Styrofoam cooler loaded with Dr. Peppers and Cokes. He drove a bitchin’ S-Class Benz. It smelled like leather and aftershave. He kept the satellite tuned to BBC Radio 1. “You like the crazy maricón music, right?” he asked.
“… Ah … right.”
It was more like flying than driving, and when he sped past Arivaca, I wasn’t all that concerned. I figured we were going to Nogales, Arizona. But we slid through that little dry town like a shark and crossed into Mex without slowing down. He just raised a finger off the steering wheel and motored along, saying, “You going to like this.”
And then we were through Nogales, Mexico, too. Black and tan desert. Saguaros and freaky burned-looking cactuses. I don’t know what that stuff was. It was spiky.
We took a long dirt side road. I was craning around, looking at the bad black mountains around us.
“Suspension makes this road feel like butter,” Arnie noted.
We came out in a big valley. There was an airfield of some sort there. Mexican army stuff—trucks, Humvees. Three or four hangars or warehouses. Some shiny Cadillacs and SUVs scattered around.
“You going to like this,” Arnie said. “It’s a surprise.”
There was Big Poppa Popo, the old man himself. He was standing with his hands on his hips. With a tall American. Those dark gray lenses turned toward us. We parked. We got out.