It'll All Turn Out Okay, One Day

Raul searches for a way to honor his fallen family members with the inspiration of his brother's last words. "It'll all turn out okay, one day." © Akea Robinson, All rights reserved.

Sometimes it’s hard to see Emanuel with Salvador. When he slips and complains about how annoying Sal is, he always gets this look on his face. It’s like a solemn, apologetic look.

And I hate it.

He knows I hate it.

And yet, that’s how he’s lookin’ at me now.

“Sorry, Waha-lo.”

The nickname causes me to smile a little. Emanuel made it up a while ago, saying I was light like a Hawaiian. It’s kinda weird, considering it doesn’t actually mean anything in Hawaiian, at least, not that I know of. But it does come in handy.

If you yell Raul out in our neighborhood, half the street will turn to you, but yell out Waha-lo and you just get this one light-skinned kid.

I punch him in the arm. “Whatever, pendejo.”

A slow grin lights Emanuel’s face. “So what’re we going to do? Ya’ know, to honor our fallen homie?”

It sounds like a joke, but he’s muy serious.

I shrug. “I don’ know.”

He starts to give me that look again and I sigh.

Two years ago today, my brother Caesar got killed in a drive-by. He wasn’t some innocent by-stander like you see on the news, he was there to sell heroin for the gang he was in. But they set him up. Two shots to the heart and one to the cabeza to mock the fact the he was book-smart, but not street-smart enough to see the set-up. But that doesn’t really matter now.

“I bet Caesar ‘ould want us to party,” Emanuel smirks. He’s probably right.

We were never close, I mean as non-close as a couple of teenage brothers with no real parental supervision can be. It’s not that we didn’t get along, it’s just that he always did his thing and I did mine. It wasn’t really acceptable of me to have let my little brother die or not have known what he was doing all the time. Even if we were only two and a half years apart, I was expected to protect him.

I definitely failed at that task.

He had to have been fourteen when he was recruited, fifteen when he was jumped in. And a year later, they set him up to get shot. I don’t really know why and that probably bothers me the most. Not knowing why.

Throwing the foam ball in my hands to Emanuel, I look around Caesar’s old room. From the floor, you can see all of his rap posters and gang bandanas. But what I notice are the school certificates and trophies. The kind I could only ever dream of having.

Emanuel throws the ball toward the plastic hoop on Caesar’s closet door and misses.

“I don’ know. Maybe we should just chill in his room all day.”

Emanuel c***s his head to the side. “You mean his . . . And your mom’s?”

I swallow the lump in my throat and sigh out a “yeah”.

One year ago today, my mother took her own life. The fact that it’s also the day my brother died, is no coincidence. The dramatic woman killed herself today because she “couldn’t live with the memories of her ‘little boy’, knowing they were only memories”. I know that’s a bunch of bull. She worked far too hard and far too much to really raise us. I know she committed suicide because she wanted to punish me for not raising Caesar for her. And she succeeded.

I live with that guilt every day.

I heard she’s inspired many sermons from Father Hernandez about how suicide leads you to hell. He just doesn’t want to lose any of his tithe-payers. That’s one of the reasons I haven’t been to church since mi mama’s funeral.

I just hope she’s up there with her “little boy”.

“I don’t think that’s enough,” Emanuel states, shooting the ball again.

I raise an eyebrow. “What’s not enough?”

“Just sitting in their rooms, grieving. We need to do something to honor them.”

Honor the gang-banger and woman who took her own life? Whatever you say, Emanuel. “You’re right, Manny.”

Emanuel grins. “Okay, so what are we going to do?”

I squint at him. “We gotta visit Luis.”

“Buenas tardes, Raul,” Mrs. Cervantes greets as Emanuel navigates toward his room.

I give her a small smile. “Buenas tardes, Senora Cervantes.”

She gives me a hug that’s about as bad as her son’s dark- eyed, apologetic look.

I remember when it seemed like she was over every day. Manny and I would hang out while she and Mama gossiped. They fell off though, when me and Manny were like ten. But she was back every day after Caesar died.

The definition of a real homie. Just like her son.

I plop into a chair at the kitchen table.

“You want something to eat, Raul?”

“Uh, no thanks, Senora.”

“Waha-lo, what’s up, man?” Salvador smiles.

I dap him up. “Sal. You comin’ with us?”

“A donde?” he responds, pouring himself some juice. Talking to him is kinda like talking to a perfect version of Caesar.

“To see Luis.”

“Luis Gonzalez or tu primo?”

“My cousin. He told me my aunt’s having a hard time today.”

So the last part’s kinda a lie. I can’t have Senora Cervantes suspicious. Everyone knows my cousin Luis is the guy you go to when you wanna get illegal stuff done.

Sal turns to me suddenly. “Today is . . . el dia?”

Emanuel and Salvador like to call the day my brother was shot and mother committed suicide “el dia” because, apparently, it’s “cursed with death and should never be said aloud.”

“Sí, chico.”

Instead of giving an apologetic look like his brother or a comforting hug like his mom, Salvador looks at me with sincerity.

“It’ll all turn out okay, one day.”

The seven words threaten to make tears fall from my eyes.

If there’s one thing I miss about Caesar, it’s that. His optimism.

Every day, before he left to go shoot up rival ‘hoods and sell drugs on street corners, he’d turn and smile at me with his almost-white teeth and say, “It’ll all turn out okay, one day.”

And no matter what was going on, I always replied with the Spanish version of “one day.”

“Un día,” I smile and Salvador nods in understanding.

He and Caesar were kinda close when they were little, like most kids whose moms are friends. But when Caesar got jumped in, Salvador grabbed a bat. Sal’s the youngest kid on the varsity baseball team and already has colleges swarming in his sophomore year.

He’s gonna make it far. A lot farther than Caesar did.

“Listos?” Emanuel asks, sliding his wallet into his pocket.

“Sí.” I get up from the chair and hug Mrs. Cervantes before heading out. Emanuel kisses her forehead and Salvador her cheek. Being around a real familia, really makes me wish I had one.

The door swings open to reveal my curly-haired cousin Luis.

“What’re you doin’ ‘ere?” he asks with a raised brow.

I push past him, Emanuel and Salvador following. “Came to see you, man.”

He slinks back to his room and we follow. “What’d you guys want?”

“I was wondering if you could get me some fireworks.”

Luis stares into my brown eyes with his hazel. “What for?”

“We’re gonna make ‘em spell out my brother and madre’s names.”

I don’t know where the idea came from, but I’m actually a little excited about it now.

“Yeah? I forgot it was today . . .” Luis says in a softer tone. It doesn’t quite compete with Emanuel’s apologetic look or Mrs. Cervantes’s comforting hug. “How much do you need?”

I shrug. “I don’ know, Luis. You’re the illegals expert.”

Luis smirks. “Alright, I got you, brah. Just let me make a few calls.”

He turns around and picks up his home-line with the bandana wrapped around it.

Even though we grew up together, me and Luis never really got along too well. He was always too arrogant and uncaring to hang around. Luis was jumped into the gang long before Caesar, but he’s not really a street corner kind of guy. He hooks them up with all the right people and places to get what they need to terrorize the town. In my opinion, he’s way more threatening than the street corner guys.

After a good forty-five minutes of listening to him argue and threaten people in Espanol, he slams the phone down and smiles at me.

“It’s all set, ese. We have to go pick it up though.”

Sighing, I agree. It sucks to be ashamed of my cousin, but Luis just isn’t the kind of guy you wanna be seen in public with, no matter who’s around.

We file out of his house and walk a couple blocks before he tells us to wait. Luis goes into an old warehouse that I’ve probably seen thousands of times, but never noticed.

“Is it safe to be around Luis?” Salvador asks, a bit timid. I can understand why he’s scared of my cousin. Even though Luis isn’t a super-muscular, tattooed cholo, he is still kinda intimidating. You never know what he can do with the amount of street cred and power he has.

“He’s harmless,” I lie to Sal. Emanuel shrugs when Salvador looks at him.

Ten minutes later, Luis is still in the warehouse and we’re getting a little restless.

“Waha-lo! What’s up homie?” I turn to see my brother’s friend, Wallie.

“What’s up, Wallie?” I ask, dappin’ him up.

“Es cool.” I chuckle inwardly at his reoccurring attempts to be Latino. Wallie is one of about ten Asian kids in our neighborhood. Growing up around Latinos, especially ones like Caesar, has encouraged him to embrace his inner Latino to fit in. It works most of the time.

“Same here.”

Wallie stares at me. It’s not sympathetic or apologetic or anything, but I can tell he knows what today is. But, I mean, he was one of Caesar’s best friends.

“Hey, what’s up, Raul?” a voice comes from behind me and I turn. Desmond walks toward me with determination on his face. Although I appreciate Salvador’s recitation of Caesar’s last words and Wallie’s serious stare, Desmond’s response to Caesar’s death day is my favorite.

Desmond has been making t-shirts for a couple years. He sells them at school and actually gets a lot of business. He can make one for anything, from sports to books to Latin-American hometowns.

And people.

The black t-shirt Desmond is wearing has a dim picture of Caesar’s face as he works hard at the desk in his room. I took the picture while Caesar was doing his homework one night, his dim lamp only illuminating his face and papers lightly. I took it on my old cellphone to prove to mom that he was doing homework when she was at work late. Desmond pulled the image off of the phone and fixed it up so that it looks professional on the tee he’s wearing.

I smile at Des. “Hey, bro.”

Desmond gives me a backwards nod. “How’s everything going?”

I shrug. “Okay. How’re things with you?”

Desmond’s gold-colored eyes squint and he heaves a sigh. “Just try’na make it through, man.”

Desmond and Wallie were never recruited by any of the cholos around here for some reason. Probably because they’re not Latino. They’re lucky.

“So when’s your next game?” I ask Des, leaning against one of the telephone poles.

He smiles a little. “Tuesday.”

I nod.

Desmond and Wallie were playing basketball the first time I met them and have been ever since. In fact, this is only the second time I’ve ever seen Desmond without a basketball in his hands in the six years I’ve known him. The other time was at Caesar’s funeral.

“ ‘Ey, Raul! Ven aqui!” My head whips to the right at the sound of my name and I see Luis standing in front of the warehouse.

“What happened?” I ask when I reach him. Emanuel, Salvador, Wallie, and Desmond glance over at us.

Luis spits on the ground. “It’s all set, man. I told them to take it down to the docks. Thought you’d want them over the water.”

Suddenly, I realize this is the first time Luis and I have ever bonded. It’s the first time I’ve ever asked him to do anything for me and definitely the first time he’s sounded like he cared about anything I was doing. I realize he’s the only family I have left, beside my aunt.

“Uh, yeah that’s cool, man. Thanks.”

Luis nods and looks up at the cloudy, gray sky. “Um, you need me to show you where it is?”

One look at my cousin and I can tell he’s nervous, that he wants to be a part of this, but doesn’t want to seem eager. A part of me wants to tell him no, that he can’t be a part of this brilliant honoring of my dead brother. That he can’t participate because he didn’t protect Caesar when he was alive, because he didn’t warn me that they were going to kill him, because he didn’t try to stop it himself. I want to tell him he doesn’t deserve to honor someone that he could have kept alive. But I don’t. Because he already knows all of that.

“Por supuesto, Luis. You’re always invited.”

It doesn’t take very long to get down to the docks, but it’s a gloomy trail. We have to pass the store Caesar was shot in front of and the hospital that was unable to revive mi madre. At the docks, I see the lines of fireworks set up already.

“So do any of you know how to work these?” I ask.

Luis shrugs, Emanuel shakes his head, and Wallie and Desmond stand silently.

Salvador clears his throat. “Before . . . Caesar went to do his last sale . . . we were hanging out and . . . playing around down here at the docks. He showed me how to work these.”

My eyebrows furrow in question. “You were with him . . . that day?”

Salvador nods. “We were hanging out. He was still my amigo, ya know.”

I take in a deep breath. “Well, work your magic, Sal.”

Salvador smiles and begins setting up. Wallie and Desmond help him out. I stand with Luis and Emanuel.

“I can’t believe how this has all turned out.”

Emanuel glances at me. “Everything happens for a reason.”

Luis shrugs. “That’s life, cuz.”

We watch Sal, Wallie, and Desmond.

“Hombres, you ready for this?!” Sal yells. We all laugh and holler as Des and Wallie step back quickly.

Sal starts the fireworks and the beautiful words blaze against the gray sky.

It’ll All Turn Out Okay, One Day.

Author's Note

Suggestions welcome.