“Bones” by Jon Michaud
--page 6

         He stood up. “Come,” he said. “We’re going right now to talk to him. I want him to say it to my face.”
         “I don’t know where he is,” I said.
         “We’ll go find him. He’s at the pool or in the park someplace. We’ll look all over Washington Heights.”
         “What about your shift?” I asked.
         “I took the day off.”
         “You wouldn’t find him,” I said. “He could be anywhere. Meet me here next week. I will bring him. I promise.”
         He sat back down. “I don’t want to wait a week to see my muchachito. What about tomorrow?”
         “I can’t come tomorrow,” I said. “Next week.”
         “O.K. Next week,” he said, shaking his head like a man who’d paid too much for something. “You bring him. Promise me. I want to see my boy.”
         “I’ll bring him,” I said.
         He sipped from his beer. “Eat your ribs, flacita” he said. “Don’t worry about me.”

~

         I left the restaurant and walked the five blocks back to Loup’s studio in a daze. For once, the spectacle of the city streets held no interest for me. I was early, so I sat on the steps outside the studio and waited for Bones. I took a book from my bag and tried to read, but after a few minutes, I put it down and let my mind drift. Part of me wished that Papi would just go away. I didn’t want to deal with him any more. I would have to tell Bones and Mami now; it was going to be awful. My only consolation was that soon enough I would be leaving all of this behind.
         It seemed like no time at all before some of the kids from the class started coming out the doors. They made their way in groups of two and three towards the subway entrance on Eighth Avenue. Presently, Bones came out talking to one of his classmates, Earl, and an older dancer named Vincent who helped Loup run the studio. All three of them were still wearing their tights, though Earl and Bones had put on their tennis shoes and sweatshirts. They were laughing at something and stood together for a moment, letting the joke, whatever it was, run its course. Then Bones and Earl hugged Vincent who turned and went back into the studio, locking the door. “See you next week,” said Earl and headed down the block.
         “Hey Sis,” said Bones. “What are you doing here so early?”
         “Nothing,” I said.
         A car horn sounded from the street, followed by a voice calling, “Edgardo!” It was our father, I knew it before I saw him and a shiver went through me. He was double-parked in front of us. “Edgardo!” he called again.
         “Papi?” said Bones as he crossed the sidewalk in front of the studio. I watched him go, petrified, speechless.
         “Papi, is that you?” said Bones. He looked back at me to see if I knew what was going on. Then he stepped between two parked cars and walked around to the driver’s side of the Town Car.  Bones lowered his face towards the rolled-down window just as Papi’s hand came out and struck him, knocking him to the pavement.
         “Maricon!” shouted Papi as he gunned the engine and pulled the cab into the steady cross-town traffic. Bones got up, but it was clear that he was disoriented. He walked unsteadily forward, staggering to the left and right, calling out “Papi, wait! Papi!” before he was struck from behind by a car speeding to make the Eighth Avenue light.

~

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