Benjamin Alire Sáenz

So I renamed myself Ari.

If I switched the letter, my name was Air.

I thought it might be a great thing to be the air.

I could be something and nothing at the same time. I could be necessary and also invisible. Everyone would need me and no one would be able to see me.

I liked hearing him laugh. It made things seem normal. A part of me thought things would never be normal again.

“Your smile is back.” That’s what Dante said.

“Smiles are like that. They come and go.”

Summer was supposed to be about freedom and youth and no school and possibilities and adventure and exploration. Summer was a book of hope. That’s why I loved and hated summers. Because they made me want to believe.

“In transition? What kind of a Mexican mother are you?”

“I’m an educated woman. That doesn’t un-Mexicanize me, Ari.”

“Okay, Mom,” I said. “Maybe I’ll fall in love.”

“Why not?” she said.

Sometimes parents loved their sons so much that they made a romance out of their lives. They thought our youth could help us overcome everything. Maybe moms and dads forgot about this one small fact: being on the verge of seventeen could be harsh and painful and confusing. Being on the verge of seventeen could really suck

But I had learned how to hide what I felt. No, that’s not true. There was no learning involved. I had been born knowing how to hide what I felt

And even though I felt it was a beautiful thing, I also felt it was a weight. Not that she meant it to be a weight. But love was always something heavy for me. Something I had to carry

Mostly I think we were busy avoiding each other. Even though we hadn’t wanted that kiss to be a big thing, it had been a big thing. It took a while for the ghost of that kiss to disappear.

I imagined my argument: Obsession, Dad? You know what I’ve learned from you and Mom? I’ve learned not to talk. I’ve learned how to keep everything I feel buried deep inside of me. And I hate you for it