Ernesto Cisneros - Falling Short

Marcos repeated tapping on my window sounds like Morse codereally, really loud Morse code.

I try to open my eyes, but my left one is being stubborn and refuses to obey. Go away, Marco! I say, almost pleading. Five more minutes.

Nope. Its our first day of sixth grade at Mendez Middle School. You agreed we should get to school extra early. You were very clear and made me promise to ignore anything you said... including bribes or threats.

Marcos fingertips tap dance against the window. You know Im gonna keep going until you get up.

Its not his fault. I did ask for his help.

Its just hard after last night.

I mean, I know that parents sometimes argue. And that its normal. Its part of life. I get that. But last night, Apa came by to talk with Am... and I had a tough time sleeping through the yelling.

All right, fine. My left eye finally cooperates. I kick off my sheets and walk over to open the window.

The tip of Marcos nose is squished flat against the glass, almost at eye level with me. This is strange because normally, even on his tiptoes, Marco can barely get his chin past my windowsill.

You know the saying, Good things come in small packages? Well, whoever said that was probably talking about Marco. Fun-sized is what he likes to call himself, which is way better than being called adorable, which he gets a lot. I wouldnt be surprised if he came home from middle school with bruises on his cheeks from all the older kidsespecially the girlssqueezing his face as if he were some sort of stuffed animal.

A word of advice: dont ever do that. He hates it.

Hates hearing how cute he is. Unless, of course, you are his dad, who refers to him as his own little Juju-bean, after the amazing Jujubes candyon account of Marco being half-Jewish, half-Mexican. Well, at least thats what he used to call him, before the divorce.

Anyway, Marco Honeyman is his whole name, and he cant stand getting picked up off the ground and twirled around like a rag dollsomething that happened all the time in elementary.

The thing is, he wont say anything about it. Hes just wired like that... really polite. Really nice. And super responsible. Nothing like me.

I slide the window all the way open. Marco looks wide awake. His hair is slicked and parted, and his shirt is buttoned to the top in Marco fashion. Of course hes ready.

I reach out my hand, offering to help him in, like I usually do most mornings.

Only Marco holds up his hand. Nope, not today. I got this.

I stand back and watch him leap inside. Its the most athletic thing Ive ever seen him do.

Before I can say a word, he leans outside the window and pulls in what looks like a small rolling cooler.

Whoa, what is that thing?

Marco shortens the length on the telescoping handlebar and wheels it over to me.

I look closer. Wait, what? Dude, is that a rolling backpack?

Not just any backpack, he says, patting down the side. This is a ZPPA. Not only will it keep me from hurting my back, it doubles as a chair.

Or a step stool, I say, pretending to step on his ZPPA.

Really? Are you height-shaming me? Marco says with a gleam of laughter in his eyes. Because I will leave right now. Immediately, he shoots me a toothy grin.

Thats too bad, I say back, because Im starting to smell pancakes and bacon coming from the kitchen. And you know how my Am is always trying to fatten you up.

Marco scratches his chin and pretends to be thinking the offer through. Fine, he finally answers. Youre just lucky I dont offend easily.

We both laugh.

Come on, I say. Lets eat.

Sounds good. But, uh... maybe you should put some pants on first.

Hes right. I am getting too old to be running around the house in my underwear.

I go over to my desk chair, reach for the school clothes I picked out last night, and spread my new jeans and favorite Lakers Nation jersey along the side of my bedthe shirt Ap got me at the last game we went to together.

Marco comes over and examines my choice of clothes. Wow, Im really impressed. He holds up my boxer-briefs by the waistband. You even picked out a pair of clean chonies and everything.

Clean? I answer, as straight-faced as possible. What makes you think those are clean?

He immediately drops them, jokingly wiping his hands along the side of his shirt. Dude, thats gross.

Am is in the kitchen, sipping on the same iced coffee she makes at the start of every week, only this morningafter last nightshes drinking it out of an oversized thermos.

Buenos das, mijos, she says, not at all surprised to see Marco joining us for breakfast. After so many years, its now kind of expected.

Marcos eyes double in size and he licks his lips at the buffet laid out before us. Fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, watermelon scoops, and smiley-faced pancakes stacked highyup, Ams definitely gone a bit overboard with breakfast, even for her.

Wow. Are you expecting company? Marco asks.

Am smiles. Only my favorite visitor.

She leans in and gives him a big squeeze. Marco wraps his arms around her, smiling. My Am is one of the few adults he gives free passes on hugs.

See, she says mid-hug, Marco doesnt mind my hugs. Do you?

Apparently, shes still bitter after I told her I was too big for hugs now that Im starting sixth grade. Making sure I get the point, Am comes close and offers me a straight-arm handshake. I go ahead and lock hands, only her mom instincts prove to be too strong and she pulls me in, squeezing me like Im an old tube of toothpaste.

Fine, I say. You can hug me here at homejust not at school.

Am crosses herself, promising to try.

I take a seat at the table next to Marco. Theres a second plate waiting for me. Its a lot of food, but Im used to it.

Ams like that at work too. Always cooking up a feast. When I think about it, Im not sure she knows how to make a small meal.

If it wasnt for her, our family restaurant, El Comedor Castillowell... back when it used to be onewould have gone under years ago. She works long shifts and does stuff an owner shouldnt be doing. But thats Am for you. Not too proud to unclog a toilet if needed.

Too bad Aps contracting job takes so much of his time. She could really use the help.

Am hands Marco a bottle of ketchup.

Thank you, Mrs. Castillo.

Am bites on her lower lip and sighs. Marco, just so you know, I wont be going by that name any longer. You can call me by my maiden name, Ms. Anguiano... or Isaacs momthat works too.

My heart sinks. Ams mentioned changing her last name before, but that doesnt make it any easier to hear. Shes been pressing Ap to sign the final divorce papers, only he keeps stalling. Keeps telling her that they could work things out. Keeps promising to stop drinking.

Well, Ms. Anguiano, I promise to remember.

Am smiles and gives him a second hug. Me, I fight back the urge to fling a pancake at him.

Hey, Marco, I call out, interrupting the hug, dont you need to wash your hands before you eat?

I know Im acting all semi-aggressive, but I just dont like the idea of Am and me no longer sharing a last name.

Marco looks down at his hands. Yeah, I probably should... especially after touching your chonies. Isaacs mom crinkles her nose but doesnt ask.