Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World (Aristotle and Dante #2)(21)

“Wise guy.” He handed me some money.

“I have money, Dad.”

“Take it.”

I nodded. My father was giving me something. And it wasn’t money he was giving me. It was a piece of himself.

They waved at me from the porch as I started up the truck. Legs was looking at me as if I’d betrayed her by not taking her with me on the camping trip. Yeah, well, she didn’t look all that miserable as she sat between my parents. I mean, Dad loved that dog almost as much as I did.

I waved back at my parents.

They seemed so alive, my mom and dad. They seemed alive because they were alive, alive in a way that most people weren’t.



* * *



Dante and his parents were sitting on the front porch as I drove up in front of his house. As soon as I pulled up, Dante bounded down the steps, backpack and all. His parents waved at me. “If you run into any trouble, just get to a phone and call us collect.”

“I promise,” I yelled back.

I noticed Mr. Quintana was hugging Mrs. Quintana and kissing her on the cheek. He was whispering something to her.

As Dante climbed into the truck, he yelled back to his parents, “I love you.”

I liked that Dante’s parents acted like they had just gotten married. There was something about them that made me think they would be forever young. Dante was like them. He, too, would be young forever. And me? I already acted like an old man.

I turned on the ignition, and I was smiling or grinning, I don’t know which. Dante slipped off his tennis shoes, and he said, “I’ve been writing a poem for you. I haven’t finished it yet—but I have the ending. ‘You’re every street I’ve ever walked. You’re the tree outside my window, you’re a sparrow as he flies. You’re the book that I am reading. You’re every poem I’ve ever loved.’?”

I felt as though I were the center of the universe. Only Dante could make me feel like that. But I knew better—I would never be the center of the universe.





Thirty-Four


ONCE WE GOT ON THE road, I pointed at the bag on the seat. “There’s some burritos in the bag. My mom made them.”

“Your mom’s awesome.” He handed me a burrito and took one for himself. He pulled off the foil and grabbed a napkin from the bag. He took a bite and then another. “These are fucking brilliant.”

“Yeah, they are,” I said. “My mom made the tortillas last night.”

“Homemade tortillas? Wow. Will she teach my mom?”

“What if she doesn’t want to learn?”

“Why wouldn’t she want to learn?”

“Because they’re work. And once people get wind of the fact that you know how to make them, you’re screwed. My sisters, they said, ‘Oh, hell no.’ They buy them.”

Dante smiled. “Well, maybe your mom will teach me how to make them.”

“Sounds great to me. You can make as many tortillas for me as you want.”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. You think I’m going to be making tortillas for you all the time? Oh, hell no. You can buy yours at the store.”

“You probably wouldn’t be very good at making tortillas, anyway.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because learning how to make tortillas takes patience.”

“Are you saying I’m not patient?”

“I’m saying what I’m saying.”

“You keep talking like that and you’re going to have to kiss me again.”

“Patience, my good man, patience.” We joked around all the way to White Sands. Being with Dante made me playful. And for some reason, we were both really hungry. By the time we got to White Sands, we’d eaten three burritos apiece. And we were still hungry.





Thirty-Five


THE SECOND I PARKED THE truck at the foot of a large gypsum dune, Dante swung open the door and made a dash for the ocean of white sand that stood before us. “Ari! This is amazing! It’s fucking amazing!” Off went his shirt as he climbed to the top of the dune. “Oh my God!” I loved watching him, Dante uncensored, Dante unafraid to act like a little kid, Dante unafraid to act like a dork, unafraid to be himself, unafraid to be a part of everything around him. I watched as he spun himself and stretched out his arms. He would’ve taken in the entire landscape and held it in his arms if that had been possible. “Ari! Ari! Look! It goes on forever!”

I took off my shirt and grabbed the sunscreen from the glove compartment. I took my time climbing up the dune. The feel of the sand underneath my feet was soft and cool, the harsh elements unable to steal away the leftover innocence of the earth. I remembered the first time my mom and dad had brought me here. My sisters had buried me in the sand, and I’d held my mom’s hand as we watched the sunset. We’d stayed for some night program, and I remembered my dad carrying me on his shoulders as we made our way to the car. “Ari? Are you in your head again?”

“Sorry.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“You.”

“Liar.”

“You got me. I was thinking about the first time I came here with my mom and dad and my sisters. I must have been five years old.”