María Dolores insisted on buying him a new hat, T-shirt, and pair of jeans as
well as the shoes. “You can’t go around with your ankles exposed like that,” she
said in reference to his too-small jeans, and even he had to admit his original T-
shirt was lthy; between the mud party he’d attended with his cousins and
sle eping in the abandoned shack for several nights, its original color had long
since disappeared.
“How can you a ord to be so generous?” The words es caped his mouth
before he could stop them. Now he’d done it. If he’d learned anything being
passed from one ungrateful relative to another, it was to never mention money.
He pr epared to give up the shoes, the clothes, and the trip to e l o t r o l a d o , when
she laughed.
“I’m not rich.” She gestured up and down at her faded jeans and T-shirt. “A
few days ago, I made the choice to leave my old life behind and sell something I
no longer wanted in order to get to El Norte one way or the other. I’m just
getting what we need and hope I ke ep making the right choices to ke ep us safe.”
Finally convinced they had everything, María Dolores let Santiago lead them
to the bus terminal. The bus route she settled on took ve hours longer than the
direct one but ended up saving her thirty pesos. But then she bought them two
huge sandwiches, and a roll for Alegría, all bursting with di erent meats and
oozing with mustard.
“The thing is,” she said, biting into her sandwich while they waited on hard
plastic chairs for their bus to Capaz, “even though I don’t have much, I like to
support hardworking people trying to make a living. I know what it’s like to
survive on little.”
“I try not to take from people who have less either,” Santiago admitted,
pleased that she talked to him like an equal, like an adult. “Where is Capaz
anyway? Is that in e l o t r o l a d o ?”
“Nearly. It’s where we’ll cross. I’ve never been there, but my sister warned me
it’s like any border town: lled with crime and corruption.”
“Sounds like my family,” Santiago joked. Exc ept it wasn’t exactly funny.
María Dolores raised an eyebrow. “Trust me, my family is pretty screwed up
too.”
Once on the bus, Santiago watched the familiar town pass by. With each tire
rotation, he felt lighter and happier than he remembered feeling in a long time.
Buses usually meant returning to l a m a l v a d a ’s house. This time, on this bus, he
was traveling far, far away. If that wasn’t reason to smile, he didn’t know what
was.
“Santi, can you read this for me?” Alegría pulled out a coloring book from
her new brown-and-pink backpack. A few sentences at the bottom of each page
told the story of the characters, some of whom still waited to be colored.
He leafed through the pages. With the disappearing light, even the images
were hard to see. From what he could tell, it wasn’t a very interesting story.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he whispered in Alegría’s ear. She widened her eyes
while nodding excitedly. “I’m not very good at reading.”
More accurately, he couldn’t read at all. According to l a m a l v a d a , Santiago
would never amount to anything, so what was the point in spending money to
educate him? For the most part he got along ne not being able to read—he
knew what the food packages looked like and was great at directions without
reading the street names. But at times like this, when there was a book to read
and share, he wished he could.
“I can read my name,” Alegría said. “And Mami’s. I’ll teach you.”
“I’d love that.” He smiled as he reached for a strand of hair that had come
loose from her pigtails and tucked it behind her ear. “So, why don’t we make up
the story? It’s about two bears, right?”
“Yeah! And they’re scared of a bee.”
“Exactly. Because the bee thinks the bears stole his honey when really they
didn’t.”
They added to their story, introducing characters and events that weren’t
shown in the pictures, until the last page, where the bears and bee celebrated
with a honey party.
“Again, again!” Alegría shrieked so loudly her m a m á opened an eye long
enough to see they were ne and shifted back to sle ep.
“The same story?” Santiago whispered.
“ S í , p o r f a v o r , ” Alegría whispered back.
“Okay...” He pretended to sigh, as if Alegría would soon regret hearing the
story again. She didn’t. She had him tell the story four more times, adding new
elements with each telling.
When m a d r e e h i j a were both sound asle ep, Santiago leaned back on the rear
bench and relaxed but didn’t close his eyes. The lights of each passing vehicle
reminded him how lucky he was.