I First Saw Him

When I first saw him sitting on the wall, relaxed and looking out over the water, I was sure he wasn't a local. Not including children, there are only about 250 or 300 of us in this area full-time, though that number is ten-fold in the summer, and I know everyone at least by sight or by family resemblance. And yet, the way he sat looked familiar and started my mind sorting and discarding among the families I knew, not quite like this one, not quite like that one.

I walked by behind him, and he didn't turn. By the time I got to the school, I had to focus on the day ahead of me, but my mind kept working on the problem of who he reminded me of in the background.

The next day, he was there too, and again, his posture, or maybe just the posture with which he sat, resembled something familiar. He didn't move as I passed, but I thought I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked on.

It was around lunchtime that it came to me. Senora Mendez's grandson! She had been ill over the winter. Her daughter Maria had returned to care for her for several weeks, but now that time was over. Most likely, she still needed some care.

Her house was just a short walk from the water. Maria, Senora Mendez's daughter, was at school with me, but we weren't close since we were a little competitive over grades and boys. Maria sat just like that, but in skirts in the old days, arm draped around one knee, staring out across the water, just the same, just the same.

The next day, I left home a little early on my way to the school, and he was there again, staring out. This time, I went up and stood next to him.

“You must be Sra. Mendez' grandson,” I said, not quite nervously. He turned and stared a little.

“Rosa, Rosa Garcia. I'm one of the teachers at the school. I went to school with your mother, Maria.”

“Luis,” he said. “Luis Manuel Ruiz Mendez. I came to help my grandmother. I have off work for a month.”

“Oh,” I said. “What do you do?” Not a teacher.

“No,” he said. “I work on an offshore rig.”

“You mean an oil rig?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “I work two weeks on and three weeks off. So it was easy for me to come. I help around the yard, and she cooks. It's easy compared to roughnecking it on the rig.”

“What's it like, living like that?” I asked out loud, but mainly to myself.

“At first, it was hard,” he said.” The hours are long when you are out there, and there's nowhere to go when you are off. You sleep a lot, but the food is good, and the pay.”

“Have you ever been out there in a storm?”

“Yeah, but not in a hurricane. They shut down production for those and, fly us off back to the mainland. I lose money when that happens. My boss started as a roughneck and he's seen it all though. He makes sure we're ready to get out. How did you know who I am?”

“I was in class with your mother, I sat behind her most of the time, and when the teacher left the room, even for a second, we would turn in our seats to look out the window and bring a knee up like that and she would look out with the same expression. It was the posture, and process of elimination.”

I stopped there, a little embarrassed from comparing him to a woman, even if it was his mother, but he didn't seem to mind.

“Hey,” he said, “I'd love to hear more about my mother. Why don't you come over some evening and eat with us?”

“Sure,” I answered, before remembering the reason that probably wouldn't be a good idea.

That reason was his father.

“I have to get to school now,” I said. “I'll see you around.” I was thinking that he would probably forget all about the invitation. I mean, what guy spends time thinking about his mother's schoolmate?

After school, I started walking home, thinking I'd use a different route in the morning to avoid going by him, but he was there waiting.

“Hey, my grandmother says come on by tomorrow evening around seven.”

I hesitated.

“She's making her tamales from scratch.”

I smiled in relief. Everyone knew about Sra. Mendez and her tamales. It signaled a welcome. Also, you didn't want to turn her down when she spent an entire day making them.

“Thank you. I will see you then.”

The next morning, Luis waved a greeting as I passed, but we had no further conversation.

At seven, I stood on the Mendez doorstep inside their front garden and called out. Luis opened the door and bowed slightly as he let me pass. The house smelled like a delicious dinner, the table set for three.

In the center, a clear glass bowl of bright zinnias gleamed, picked from the groups of flowers around the doorway. The plates were cheerfully colored, and a dish of empanadas, some corn, beans, tortillas, pico de gallo, and cilantro rice were in place where the fourth person might be. Senora Mendez came bustling in with a small crockery dish full of her tamales.

“You've outdone yourself, Senora, this is a feast. I live alone and never cook for myself in this elaborate way.”

“Sit, relax,” she said, taking off an apron she had donned over her day dress. Luis, pour some wine for us.

“You look well, Senora.”

“Yes, yes, I am much better,” she said, smiling.

I looked over at Luis for confirmation. He gave a short nod that seemed he could have said more if his grandmother hadn't been sitting there.

The dinner was delicious, as expected. I was beginning to relax and enjoy myself when Senora Mendez jumped up and began to clear the table.

“Luis,” she said, “bring out the photo albums and show them to Rosa.”

I looked at him. We both groaned inwardly and then smiled, recognizing fellow feeling in our eyes. Luis crossed the room and came back with an armload of books. He selected one.

“No, no, not that one!” cried the Senora. “This one, from when Maria and Rosa were in school.” We took the book and began to glance through it.

First grade, second, flipping pages, looking through and telling a story here and there when I remembered something about the photo, and then suddenly landing on a photo from when we were in 10th grade. It was a large black and white photo of Luis' father grinning with one arm around Maria, who was beaming, and one draped casually over my shoulder. I looked into the camera seriously.

I stopped short. Ah!

Luis looked at the photo and then over at me. I suppose my face was suddenly bright red.

“You knew my father?”

I took a deep breath inward and sighed. “Yes. I went out with him before your mother did. He was my boyfriend in that photo.”

“Oh?”

Luis' grandmother quietly got up and went into the kitchen.

“Why did you break up with him?”

“I didn't. I left town for a few months after graduation, then he left. He left town for a while for work and came back. When I came back, he was seeing your mother. They were in love. They were engaged, so I didn't have the heart to say anything about it.”

Luis' gaze sharpened. “About what? You didn't have the heart to say anything about what?”

I made a quick decision not to acknowledge the truth. “Oh, just how sad I was that he hadn't waited for me. That's all. They were about to get married, then right after that, they moved away, and I went to the teacher's college.”

Luis abruptly leaned back in his chair, his face still. Like his father's when I said I was leaving town. “Are you trying to say I have a brother or sister somewhere?” he demanded.

“No, I don't believe you do,” I said.

Senora Mendez returned with a pot of coffee, and Luis sprang up to help her with dessert, her flan, famous in these parts. We chatted over inconsequential things for a while, then I thanked them and excused myself to walk home.

I opened the door, flicked on a light in the living room and the bedroom, fed the cat, and let him out. I picked up my pocketbook to store it in its place in the closet and then stopped.

Setting it down, I opened it and took out my wallet. There, in a small pocket, was a tattered photo. One such as the staff takes in the hospital, a tiny baby face visible, sleeping, swaddled.

I put the photo back in the wallet. I thought of Luis looking out over the water from the wall. On second thought, he looked more like his father than his mother.

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Author's note:

Thanks to Mackenzie Davis for running this challenge! And to Alexander McEvoy for permission to use his inspiring photo "Wanderlust" at the top and for giving me a clue as to where it was taken. This knowledge helped influence the direction my story took. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed the process of researching various elements involved and writing it. Natalie