Have You Seen Luis Velez?(24)

“If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know,” the man added.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Do you have to go home and tell her you didn’t find the right guy?”

“No. She doesn’t know I’m looking. For just that reason. So I’m not always having to let her down. But I worry that I’m going to find out she was right, that something terrible happened to him. And then I’ll have to tell her. I’m really not looking forward to that. Or that nothing terrible happened to him. That he just stopped coming and didn’t bother to let her know. That might even be worse for her.”

“Well, you took it on. You’ll deal with it.”

“I suppose.”

“Why don’t you just call people on the phone? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

Raymond started to tell him about the toll call issue. But he realized it wasn’t entirely true. He could have called the phone company and gotten guidance on what was and was not a free call. No, there were more reasons.

He opened his mouth and landed on the most important one. Which felt odd to him, because he had never consciously acknowledged it before speaking it out loud to Luis Javier Velez.

“I was just thinking . . . let’s say it’s the second thing. He just stopped coming. Didn’t even bother to tell her. That’s a pretty lousy thing to do to a woman like that who needs a lot of help and doesn’t have a ton of options. So if I ask if he’s the guy who did that, he might not want to tell me the truth. I wanted to see people’s faces when I asked the question.”

There was also the looming possibility of a language translation situation at any given doorway, but it seemed less important, so he didn’t mention it. Plus, Mrs. G had tried phone calls and gotten nowhere.

The man nodded thoughtfully. Maybe more thoughtfully than the simple statement warranted.

“I guess that makes sense,” he said. “Well. Good luck.”

Raymond walked out the door, which Luis Velez, Esquire, was holding open. Just for a split second he thought he felt something touch the back of his jeans. Touch his butt, lightly, just over his right back pocket. His backpack was hanging from his left shoulder only. His first thought was one of the dogs. But he whipped his head around and there was nothing there. Nothing at all. Just the door swinging shut behind him.

He stood waiting for the elevator, lost in thought. And yet, if someone had asked him what thoughts they were, it might have been hard to say. He turned around again and looked back down at his jeaned butt. Felt around a little back there. Stuck his hand into his right rear pocket.

There was something there that had not been there before.

He pulled it out just as the elevator doors opened with a loud bing. It was a hundred-dollar bill, new and crisp. Folded over twice.

Raymond stepped onto the elevator, still staring at it.

Apparently Luis Velez, Esquire, thought Raymond deserved more than he was getting.

He shoved the bill deep into his front pocket as he rode down to the lobby.

He crossed Luis Javier Velez off second place on his list.

This time he had thought to bring a fresh pen.



He sat in his usual chair, the former Luis chair, gazing out through Mrs. G’s curtained window. Gazing down into the street. He could see cars and cabs and pedestrians go by, but only as shapes. Contrast of dark against a lighter, less distinct world. He wondered if that was the way Mrs. G saw the world. He figured she probably saw even less.

The cat jumped up onto his lap, and he scratched behind her ears.

“What would you think,” he said, but not to the cat, “if a boy told you this?”

But then he didn’t go on to tell her anything.

“A boy like you?” she asked after a time.

She extended the plate with the cookies on it, reminding him he should already have taken some. He was still a little full from breakfast, but he took three all the same. It felt good to be full.

“Well. Any boy. But, you know what? Never mind. Forget I brought it up.”

“It’s completely up to you,” she said, leaning her ancient forearms on her lace placemat. “But I don’t know one single person you know. And even if I did, I never tell tales. This I can promise you.” She punctuated her promise by stabbing the air with one raised index finger.

Raymond sat a moment, thinking. Or, actually . . . not thinking. It felt more as though he was waiting. Waiting to see what he would decide. But whatever it would be, there seemed to be no thoughts leading him there, or away from there.

“What if a boy told you he didn’t like girls? I mean . . . not like that. Didn’t really feel anything for them, like all the boys around him are feeling. But he didn’t feel that way about other boys, either?”

“He just doesn’t have those feelings.”

“Right.”

“Then I would think he just doesn’t have those feelings.”

“But people think it’s abnormal.” She didn’t answer right away, so he added, “Or they seem to, anyway. Do you think it’s abnormal?”

“What is abnormal, though? Normal is just the norm. The norm is just what the average person feels. Most people have those feelings. But some don’t. Those who don’t are in the minority, so in that sense abnormal. But we don’t use ‘abnormal’ in that sense when we speak. We use it to say ‘bad.’ It’s not bad. It just is. Some people just are. Maybe schoolmates make a thing out to be bad, but only because they don’t understand it. People laugh at things they don’t understand. It makes them feel safe. But it’s a false feeling. They are no safer. They just feel as if they are. The world is full of people too foolish to judge the difference.”