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parents who love him so much.
“Okay, now that you’ve met them, I want you to show me something. I just want to swap my car for my motorcycle, it’s a nice day for a ride.” He starts to lead me back downstairs, but I tug on his arm to stop him.
“Reece, where are we going? What could you want me to show you?”
“I want to see that playground. The one where that scene in your book happened.”
I stop, my throat tight, not with emotion, but with anxiety. I’m not sure that I’m ready for that. When I tell him that, he turns me to face him and puts his hands on my shoulders.
“Okay, what about it scares you?” he prods gently.
“I’m not scared,” I answer honestly. Unable to meet his eye. “I just don’t want to go back there. I escaped that. I’ve built a new life. That neighborhood, that playground, it’s all in the past.”
He takes my hand and sits back down next to me.
“Okay, I get that. But you have to also know that the life you’ve built, your book, even your new name, can’t be taken away from you. You’ve earned them. They’re yours and always will be.”
When he says it, I almost believe it. But it’s not really my name and I still have moments when I feel like I’m living an imposter’s life. But, maybe I need to prove to myself that stepping back in that neighborhood won’t turn my carriage back into a pumpkin.
“Okay, if you really want to see it. I’ll take you.”
29
Reece
We left my parents’ house on my motorcycle. In Los Angeles, most guys drive Ducatis or BMWs, but my baby’s a Harley. I always love riding her; but, tonight with Lucía behind me, it’s a fucking joyride. Her thighs hug my hips, I can feel the heat of her body through my jacket. My most fervent wish is that we could go straight to my house and take all our clothes off and really get acquainted.
When we get there, there won’t be any going back for me. This tiny, vulnerable, woman with the courage of a lioness has become my hero. I’ve known her for such a short time, yet our relationship feels substantive and grounded. Watching her go after her dreams, has made me want to step up my game. I want to be as badass as she is. I made a decision this week and I’m going to tell her tonight.
We pull off the 101 at Whittier Boulevard in the part of the city that is usually known by the monolithic reference of “East Los Angeles.” I’m familiar with this part of town. I volunteered at a recreation center in Salazar Park before the city shut it down. When Lucía asked me to take us there, I didn’t need directions.
We pull up to the park and it’s as I suspected; the playground is still there, but the equipment is rusty and in desperate need of replacement. The recreation center, once a beautifully maintained building decorated with wall-sized murals has a tarnished chain holding the front doors together.
“See, it’s changed so much. It used to be so beautiful,” Lucía mumbles as she walks toward the playground. She sits down on one of the swings. I’m dubious about its ability to hold her up. The rusted chains creak as she uses her legs to propel herself forward, but it’s clearly sturdier than it looks.
“Push me?” she asks, shielding her eyes from the low afternoon sun. It shadows most of her face, but I can see a smile playing across her lips.
I stand behind her and give her a big shove. A little cry of excitement fills the air as she gains momentum.
“Faster!” She shouts as she swings back to me.
I push her harder and she soars, her hair flying, her laughter ringing out. If I close my eyes, I can imagine a five-year-old Lucía on these swings.
I push her until she tells me to stop and I grab the chain of the swing to slow her down. I hold onto the metal— warm from where her hands had grasped it. I slide my hands down and let them rest on her shoulders. She tips her head and leans back, turning my torso into a backrest. I start to sift my fingers through her hair, caressing her scalps. She moans her approval. A comfortable silence falls between us. We’re lost in our thoughts as we stare out at the park. I see possibility and I want to do something to make this a place that serves the community again.
“You feel okay?” I ask after a few minutes. I know she’d been anxious about coming here.
“Actually, yes. I’m fine. I thought we’d get here and someone would recognize me and call me Ana. I used to think about this park and remember the day that girl hit me and my mother did nothing. Now, I’ll think of it and remember today with you.” She laughs and it’s so light and melodic. “So, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Luc.”
“I’m Ana,” she declares. “I’m Lucía, too. Neither one cancels out the other. Maybe they can even co-exist. Ana was actually a pretty remarkable girl. This neighborhood was my home. I’m glad to be back,” she says, wonder tingeing her tone.
I almost sag with relief. “I’m glad you feel that way because I have an idea.”
“Of course you do,” she says wryly as she uses her foot to push herself on the swings again.
I speak to her departing back. “I want to make a difference. I want to do more than put a Band-Aid on a problem. Knowing you, seeing how you’re putting yourself out there for the sake of what you believe in—it’s made me want to do the same.”
