Page 1 of Wasted On Us

Prologue

Mateo

Twenty years earlier…

“What is wrong, Mateo? You look like you have eaten a sour lemon.”

Abuelita’s kind eyes are the first thing that has made sense to me in days. There have been so many strange people in and out of the house for a week now, people that Papa says are family and friends. Some of them bring cards. Some of them bring food. All of them look very worried about Papa. I have heard them talk about how nice Mama was, how they are sorry, and that she is somewhere better now, where it doesn’t hurt.

I don’t care. I wish she was here instead.

BecauseIhurt.

“It’s my shoes, Abuelita.” I cross my arms tightly across my chest, kicking a foot against the chair leg. “They pinch my toes. I don’t get why I can’t wear my sneakers. They don’t bother me at all.”

I don’t want to go to the funeral. Mama will not be there. She is gone now and won’t know or care if I stand in a church all day with strangers. I would much rather stay home and draw with my pencils or watch a video. Everyone around me is so uptight today that it makes me want to go sit in the mud just to spite them. Papa has been all over me this morning.

First, he combed my hair and put a gel in it that smelled weird and made sure it laid down flat like he wanted. But no matter how much smelly stuff he puts in there, my cowlick is always going to win. Then he made me wear a black shirt and black pants, and these terrible black shoes that pinch my toes and make me feel like my feet are being chewed on by a bear. If I look down, I can see my reflection in them. I would much rather wear my sneakers instead. They are red, and the soles light up when I walk, and they don’t hurt me at all. I don’t think Mama would make me wear these shoes today. I don’t think Mama would make me go to church at all.

Mama loves me. Loved me, I guess. And that soft, gentle feeling always wound its way around me like a hug.

I’m going to miss Mama. I still don’t really understand why she’s gone or where she went because everyone keeps talking in hushed voices and saying, “She’s still with us.”

“I understand.” Abuelita nods. She picks up the hem of her long black skirt and points to the black-heeled shoes she wears. “I have to wear uncomfortable shoes today, too,mijo. Do you know why?”

I think very hard, as hard as I possibly can, and come up with an answer that feels just grown-up enough to be right. “Because Papa is mad at everyone and wants to punish them?”

She laughs, but the smile on her face seems sad. “No. And he is not mad. He is frightened. He loved your mother very much, and now he must be without her. And alone is a very scary thing to be. Especially when you have loved someone so much that you would give up your own life to save theirs. But your Papa couldn’t make such a deal with God. And now the future he was promised has been snatched away from him by the cruel hand of fate.”

I didn’t realize fate had hands.

“But he isn’t alone.” I pick at the crease in my stiff pants.

Abuelita is usually much smarter than me. That is why I was so happy to hear that she was coming to live with us now. Any question I have, my abuelita knows just what the answer is. That, and she makes very good tres leches. And when she makes Arroz con leche, she lets me lick the spoon. But as smart as she is, this time, she is wrong. She has to be.

I gaze up into Abuelita’s wise face. “He has you. And he has everyone at work. He tells me lots of people need to buy cars, and that all of his employees need so much help, and that is why he is there all the time now.”

“You are a very smart boy, and you would do well to remember that he is never alone if he has you.” Abuelita kisses me on the forehead, then makes sure that my hair is straight just the way Papa likes it. Mama always liked it when it was wild and curly. She said it made me look like an angel. “But that still doesn’t solve our problem about the shoes, does it?”

“No.” I think very hard again, but still cannot see the answer to her question. All of this is very frustrating, and my toes are starting to feel prickly and tingly, like when you lay your head on your arm for too long. It is making it very hard to sit still or think. “I give up. Just tell me, Abuelita! Tell me why we have to wear such miserable shoes. Is it because I have been bad?”

Abuelita clucks her tongue. “It is so that no matter what happens, no matter what foolish thought falls into our heads, we do not laugh inside the church.”

“That is very smart, Abuelita. But I don’t think Mama would mind if we laughed. She laughed all the time.” Every memory I have of her, she is smiling. Even if I did something wrong or that Papa might call stupid, she would find a way to laugh just the same.

“Yes. But it would embarrass your father.” She motions for me to climb down from the chair, so she can inspect my clothes for any wrinkles or places where things have come untucked. My jacket must not be on right, because she spends a few minutes tugging on the sleeves and fiddling with the collar. “He has always been very serious, even when he was a little boy like you. He laughed more with your mother than he had laughed for his entire life before her. You must promise me that you will try to save his laughter from extinction.”

It is hard for me to imagine Papa as a little boy. All I can picture is the way he looks now, only smaller. The thought of a small boy with glasses and a shiny bald spot on the top of his head is enough to make me laugh a little, but then my toes start to hurt again, and I stop. Abuelita was right. The shoes work.

“What if I can’t?” I whisper.

It is a scary thought, one that occurs to me suddenly and makes my stomach feel sick. I don’t know if I can stand the idea of Papa being sad for the rest of forever. I also don’t know if I can save his laugh as Abuelita asks—if anyone can do that—or if anyone ever has before.

“I think you will do enough laughing for the both of you.” Abuelita brings me into a hug, holding her arms out wide so she doesn’t mess up my clothes. It is a serious job she has given me, but one that I think I can do well. I will laugh for both of us. With God as my witness and Mama as my inspiration, I promise to keep Papa happy.

Taking me by the hand, Abuelita starts to lead me out to the car. “Come, Teo. If you can make it through today in those terrible shoes, we can make hot chocolate tonight and you can run barefoot in the yard to your heart’s content.”

I would like to be barefoot and run through the grass and watch while Abuelita shows me all the stars in the sky. I think Mama would like that.