We stayed in Jacob’s room that night and when we got up Jacob’s mom took us to the police station. Said we needed to check in on Santos.
When we got there they let us see Santos. They had him wearing scrubs like at the hospital. Like the vet was wearing.
“They say I killed Eli,” he said as soon as he saw us. “I did not.” He looked so tired. Had bags under his eyes. Looked like an old man, like the first time I met him. I wondered if I looked that tired.
Jacob’s mom was trying to find words. “It’s not right but they might say you did it and deport you.”
“Deport?”
“Send you back home. To Mexico.”
“Home or Mexico?”
I told Jacob’s mom that Santos lived on a farm in Honduras.
She responded, “Oh, I’ve heard of Honduras. In the south of Mexico, right?”
At that point, someone started shouting outside the office we were sitting in. I knew the voice, Mrs. Glass was there. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but soon the door swung open.
“Come on, Santos. Let’s go get your things,” she said. She took Santos by one arm and an officer took him by the other. We followed them out, and Mrs. Glass spat on the floor next to the door on our way.
“That woman’s got balls,” Jacob’s mom muttered, probably thinking we couldn’t hear. Jacob and I couldn’t help but laugh at that.
We all drove back to the farm in Mrs. Glass’s car. There were cones in front of the walkway and Mrs. Glass drove right on top of them. We started going inside, and I started getting dizzy. It was the first time I’d been back, and the house was empty. I sat in Eli’s brown stained chair while they walked back to get Santos’s things.
While they did, Mrs. Glass joined me in the living room. Didn’t say anything for a minute, just sat by me. It was nice.
Then she told me they were going to deport Santos. Said they didn’t really have enough to convict him but he wasn’t here legally so they’re deporting him for that.
Then she grinned. “Remember when he said he’d be better off in Mexico?”
I nodded.
“Remember the papers I gave your father when he hired Santos?”
I nodded.
“Those papers say he’s from Mexico. I picked a nice safe village to say he was from. Always do that in case something like this happens.”
“Why?”
“You know how much shit these people put up with? Least we can do is send them somewhere nice if it doesn’t work out here. Somewhere they’ll be welcome.”
It reminded me of the city in heaven they talked about at church. Damn, it’d be nice to have somewhere to feel welcome. I started sobbing. I couldn’t think of anything to say, but it was nice to hear there was some good left in the world.
Santos came out of the hallway followed by the rest of the group. He looked like he’d been crying but I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just gave him a hug. We just stood there hugging and sobbing like a couple of babies. I didn’t want him to have to go. But at least he got to go somewhere he’d be welcome.
He was just carrying the little backpack he showed up with. I told him to wait, I think he forgot something. I ran back to our room and packed my old duffel bag with all the clothes I could for him. I gave him an old picture I printed out of us with my mom before she died. The one we took the day we made pickles and all felt damn happy.
I remembered Eli was behind on paying Santos. I figured he could probably use some cash so I gave him everything out of the box on my desk. It wasn’t much but I didn’t know where Eli’s cash was and I figured it was better than nothing.
I started sobbing more. I couldn’t control it. If it weren’t for Eli, we’d have had a damn happy time the whole time he was with us. I took a few deep breaths to try and calm myself down and realized everyone was still waiting on me. I grabbed a piece of paper to write a note. I wrote as fast as I could to say thank you for being a good friend. I don’t think I ever had a better friend, honestly.
I stuffed everything in the bag and zipped it up. I pulled myself together while I lugged it down the hall. “You almost forgot all your things,” I told him. He looked confused so I glared at him until I think he got it.
He rubbed his nose on his sleeve. “Thanks,” was all he could get out, then we had to load everything into Mrs. Glass’s car. She asked if I wanted to go with them, but I shook my head. This had to be the last place I saw him. Our home. Back when it was a home.
We waved while they drove off, but I couldn’t stand to be there. Couldn’t stand to see Santos leave just as fast as he showed up. I started sobbing again so I sat back on Eli’s old chair. It felt right to sit in Eli’s chair. I couldn’t stand up for Santos while he was here and I couldn’t do anything when they made him leave. They say if you stand by and watch a crime you’re just as bad as the criminal. I was a freaking coward and it made me just as bad as Eli I figured.
Jacob’s mom sat on the arm of the chair and started rubbing my back. It was nice to feel like someone cared I guess. She handed me an envelope with my name written on it.
“From Santos. You can read it when you’re feeling up to it,” she said.
“Thank you.” I meant it.
We sat in the living room for a while but I started remembering all the memories from being here. They were all turning bad. There were the memories that were just plain bad. Eli hitting me and my mom. That time we got home late and he hit Santos. But the good memories were turning bad too. Making pickles with two people who aren’t even around anymore. Meeting Santos and learning he was my same age. Sitting around saying all the good things we could about my mom.
It got to be a lot to think about so I excused myself and sat on my bed. The house felt so empty. I was alone in my room all the time before, but it was the first time I really felt like I was alone in there. So I opened Santos’s letter.
Dear Ben,
Thank you. You are a good friend. You are a kind person.
I did not kill Eli. I wanted to kill Eli but I did not.
I will remember you.
Santos
I had no idea what to think, so I just tucked the letter into a book on my desk. It stung to read that he thought I was a good friend. A good friend doesn’t stand there while Eli beats the shit out of you. A kind person doesn’t let you do all the work while he just sits there and mopes.