Page 48 of Sicken of the Calm
“Don’t tempt me,” she says. “Youhave no idea how many collejas I would dish out if I were let anywhere near anyone of those macarras. They have no shame. No shame!”
At that moment, Ezra makes alittle noise behind me, and I turn to look at him without thinking.
“Who is that? Is there someonethere with you?” My mom says immediately. I turn back to her with a sheepishgrin.
“Um…”
“In your apartment?” she asksincredulously. I’m infamous in my family for having a practicallyfootball-field worth of personal space for people who aren’t family, Iva, or,more recently, Moore, whom most of my family have already met when he visitedme over the summer.
“Yeah, that friend I was tellingyou about. From high school? Ezra.” At the mention of his name, I hear Ezrashift on the bed behind me.
“And he’s hiding away because…?”she says, her hawk eyes on me.
“Um…” I turn to look at Ezra. “Mymom wants to say hi,” I tell him in English. For some reason, this makes himlook slightly terrified, but he slides off the bed, walking over to the laptoplike he’s approaching a wild animal. I scoot a little, and he drags the otherchair beside me before sitting down. I feel a clench in my stomach as my momand Ezra look at each other, and it only gets worse when Elisa’s face appears on-screenbeside my mom’s.
“Joaquin has friends?” Elisasays. I scowl at her as Ezra waves awkwardly.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hello,” my mom says, switchingto English. “Niño, you look skinnier than my son. Is this la moda nowadays?What did you have for lunch?” My mom grills. I close my eyes.
“Mamá…” I groan.
“Another sandwich!” My mom says,even though Ezra hasn’t even replied. I think it can’t get worse, but then mysister lifts a finger, pointing it from me to Ezra and back again.
“What’s going on here?” she says,as subtle as ever. I feel myself tense up as my mom freezes, looking betweenEzra and me, her eyes lighting up. I feel my stomach sink.
“Anda!” My mom says.
“We’re just-”
“What are you studying?” My mominterrupts me.
“Um, journalism,” Ezra replies.
“Oh! Do you write for theuniversity newspaper?” she asks him, eyes bright, all her attention on Ezra.Elisa, however, is looking straight at me with raised eyebrows. I glare at her,and I’m glad the two other members of the conversation are too distracted tonotice the silent argument.
“Yeah, I’m a senior editor there.And I have a blog as well…it does ok,” Ezra says. I look at him in surprise. Ihadn’t known either of those things.
“A blog? On the internet?” My momsays. At Ezra’s nod, she asks, “What’s it about?”
“Oh, um, well, I kind of…talkabout current events, like the big stuff that’s happening nowadays, which seemsto happen every week, honestly. I compare it to something similar that’shappened in the past. Like, I talk about the differences, like if there are anyimprovements on how we handle it and stuff, but it’s a lot about thesimilarities between political and social events across time. Like, if thereare common leading factors and the impact the events have and have had. Like,looking at patterns in history but using stuff that’s happeningnowyouknow? And then I use what’s happened in the past to speculate on how what’shappening now can evolve, and making some suggestions on how we can improve…”He trails off, looking a little awkward, but my mom looks enthralled, and so amI.
“Why did you choose that as thetheme of the blog?” My mom asks. Ezra shrugs, looking down.
“I don’t know…I guess, I mean, Ithink, as a whole, we’re improving. Like, as bad as things are now, and theyarebad, there have been big leaps in human rights especially, but it’svery slow going, and it’s a very circular process. I feel like people keepgetting trapped in the same cycles. I think if we were willing to use the past,and not even our own past, but the past of other countries and cultures tolearn from our mistakes, that process would go a little smoother. I mean,obviously justknowingour past mistakes doesn’t mean the people incharge actually want tochangethings, which is probably the main issue.But…yeah. I don’t know. I think it could be useful. And it could empower us,like, the ‘common people’ or whatever, to enact change by knowing how thesepolitical systems work and how to force change from the outside,” Ezra says,becoming more animated. Every gesture and flicker of his expression shows howpassionate he is about the topic, and I feel a swell inside me.
My mom is nodding emphatically.Ezra has the perfect audience for this. She asks him about the current state ofPuerto Rico, and Ezra dives right into the debate, hands gesturing widely, hisexpression open and bright. By the end, my mom has her hands pressed togetherlike she’s about to start clapping at any moment.
“Your parents must be so proud,”she says, and Ezra dims a little, although I’m not sure if a person who doesn’tknow him as well as I’m beginning to would notice.
“Well, they don’t…I mean, yeah,sure,” he says. My sister looks at him shrewdly before pointing at me.
“We like him,” she says, beforedisappearing from the screen. My mom nods again.
“Yes. Joaquin, you need to startsending me the newspaper issues. Or, can I subscribe to them myself?”
“Uh, yeah, I think you can,” Ezraanswers for me. I feel a bolt of guilt. I’ve never read the publication, evenwhen Ezra told me his major.
