“Dude, what’s your problem? Chill out, man. You remind me of my mother, for Chrissakes!”
“All right, L’Enfant,” he said. “Forget it. I’m only joking.” But he didn’t say he was sorry or anything; he just changed the subject.
“Do you want to go play baseball today?” Paul and I played ball in a park near my house every time the weather was good. It was pretty cool, because I beat him in just more than half of the games we played, and I knew he hated that.
“Sure, dude. Play ball!” And I yelled it out just like an umpire does at the beginning of a ball game.
So we hung up and I met him at the park. He beat me five to one—he hit one grand slam and another solo shot. I got a bases-loaded triple, but I only got one run because I missed the bag on the way around first. It didn’t matter; I was so happy about the Air Force thing that I couldn’t care less about baseball.
I couldn’t wait to tell Maria about what the Air Force had sent me in the mail, and about how I wanted to take her up in a jet over the Rockies. She’d given me her aunt and uncle’s phone number, just in case I wanted to call her. I’d told her that I’d probably be busy with work that week, and that it would be hard to get in touch with her. But I only said that so she’d be all the more surprised when I finally called.
I remember the phone ringing, thinking, Maria’s gonna be home soon and I still haven’t written her song. For some reason, I had a severe case of writer’s block. I was immersed in thoughts of my future in the Air Force, lost in the clouds that I would someday fly through at Mach 1. Seeking inspiration, I gave Maria a call. There was something peculiar about her voice that day, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on what it was. She seemed hesitant and quiet.
“What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet?” I inquired, anxiously.
“I’m holding my little cousin in my arms. He’s only seven months old, and he just fell asleep.”
“Are you sure that’s all? Are you hiding something from me?”
“No,” she said, exasperated, muffling her little yell.
“Who have you been hanging out with all week?”
“Well, mostly my cousins,” she whispered. “That’s really it.”
“Are you sure you’ve been a good little girl? I hate it when you’re so terse and quiet.”
“I told you, my cousin—“
I cut her off. I was too excited about flying to bother pressing the issue. My heart was pounding.
“You’ll never guess what happened?” I said.
“What?”
“I got some information in the mail from the Air Force, and I think I’m qualified for the Academy.”
“Really? That’s great! I’m so proud of you.” That’s what I liked about Maria—she was proud of me even though I really hadn’t done anything yet. She was a lot different than some people reading this letter, or anyone else for that matter.
“I’m going to take you flying,” I said, whispering, even though the baby was in her arms and not mine, “just like I told you a few weeks ago at the beach.” I was so happy just saying that. “The only thing is that I have to get a recommendation from a military person or something, and I don’t know who to ask.”
Maria was quiet for a moment. I felt so nervous. “A.J.,” she finally said, “I think I know someone who was in the Air Force. But he doesn’t know you that well.”
I was busting at the thought. “Who?” I asked.
“My father.”
Maria had never told me that her father was in the Air Force. She wasn’t very proud of anything that he did. He’d let her down so often, I’m sure she was afraid to mention anything positive about the guy at all.
“But I barely know your father!” I’d only met him once or twice. Just hello and goodbye.
“I know, but it’s funny you should mention this, A.J., because this week I’ve been thinking about introducing you to him formally, maybe over a nice dinner. I don’t know when it’ll happen, but it’ll happen.”
“Holy shit!” I said. “That’s great! Do you think he’ll like me?”
“Don’t worry about that,” she said. “He will.”
I was shocked at the thought of having her father write me a recommendation. From the way she described him, I don’t know. He didn’t sound like a good guy. I didn’t get ahead of myself, though. I didn’t want to expect the recommendation. After all, I hadn’t really met the guy. But I have to admit, the thought of having a pilot write me the letter made me smile. I was so confident that day. Maria always seemed to make me feel that way.
“I have to go—I have to change little Anthony,” she said.
“Who’s Anthony? New boyfriend?”
She paused. “It’s my little baby cousin. He’s so cute, you should see him. He looks just like you—cute as a button.”
Shivers tickled my body when she said that; she knew just how to compliment me, and I knew that she meant it, too. I wanted to jump through the phone and hug her right then and there, and sprinkle her with kisses.
“And just like you, even when he’s cranky, I love him.”
I laughed. No, I guffawed. (That’s the first time in this letter I used an SAT word—guffaw: to laugh loudly and boisterously. “Maria, I love you so much. Thank you for—for being you.”
Maria blushed. “I really do have to go,” she said. Her heart was racing, and filled with joy. “But I’ll call you when I get home in a few days.”
“Okay, baby, I love you.”
“I love you, too, A.J.” I loved hearing her say my name. She said it like I was the coolest guy in the world.
And I was.
Thing is, despite her love for me, I still worried about Maria’s past every minute of every hour of every day. It was the weirdest thing. All weekend long while Maria was away Upstate, I envisioned her cheating on me. I’d sit in my dimly-lit hazy room, swallowing cigarette smoke, getting angry over something I knew wouldn’t happen. Even though I hooked up with those chicks in Virginia, I still wasn’t—I still don’t know the word—
—satisfied? Yes, that’s it. I remember being plagued with doubts that, despite Maria, I’d never be satisfied. Whether sitting in class or walking to the store or eating dinner or working in the deli, all I heard was this endless echo of hollowness in the pit of my stomach. I felt like a cave—solid on the outside, but dark and shallow within. I used to wonder if I was truly going crazy. I was so sad about the imaginary events swirling throughout my head.
I remember you and Tracy worrying about me. I’d get home from school, looking depressed and angry, and Mom would ask “What’s your problem?” Committed to my vow of silence, I refused to respond. Dad, you were more subtle. “Is something wrong? Is there anything you want to talk about?” you’d ask each day. “Oh, no, nothing,” I’d respond. “I’m just worried about getting into the Air Force Academy.” But that really wasn’t true. I should have been worried about that. I should have been worried about college. But I wasn’t. All that worried me was Maria.
When she returned home from her trip Upstate she called me immediately. We talked for a while, but she seemed diffident. Just to give you an idea of how paranoid I was, I remember thinking: She’s always this way—as if she’s hiding something from me. But that night it was painfully obvious. I thought about attacking it from the beginning, asking her what the hell was the matter real quick. But, for some reason, my plan was to wait. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t push Maria to reveal her secret.
As she told me about her cousin, Anthony, and her uncle’s barbecue, and a bunch of other stuff, I just sat back, smoking a butt, waiting for her to blurt out the bad news. She was speaking casually, but I didn’t hear a word she said. I was just waiting, waiting, waiting. Just when I started to think that maybe I was inventing it all, when I began contemplating the possibility that maybe I was crazy, that maybe Maria wasn’t hiding a thing from me… just when I began blaming myself for my worries and not her, just when a guilt began to set in as it never had before… Maria gave me every reason in the world to never trust her again.