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Who knows? It could be true. I mean, if I can build a car out of spare parts on a shelf, who’s to say Tommy hasn’t stepped into another reality. I dream shit up to do with metal all the time. He dreams up stuff about time travel and alternate dimensions. If I dream shit up and make it real, why can’t he dream shit up and make it real?
    I mean, in my reality, he probably fell in a sinkhole. But in his reality? Who knows?



 
    MAY 14 . TEN DAYS MISSING
    THE COMIC BOOK
    Maricela hurries along the edge of US 281 until she reaches the wide patch of dirt along the edge of the road. Even in the predawn darkness, she can see a few other workers. Some girls are sitting on the logs rolled under a bank of trees and bushes. Two of them hold lumps of children still asleep in their arms. A few men stand in the center, their heads topped with silhouettes of cowboy hats and gimme caps. Maricela looks for a space on one of the logs. She shuffles toward an opening, careful not to trip in the potholes.
    Taking off her small pack, Maricela stuffs it under her legs and sits. Today’s ride is supposed to be a couple of hours. Then they’ll work. Then they’ll find someplace to sleep. Then they’ll do it again the next day and the next day. Once all the fields are planted, they circle back and pick them clean.
    Maricela has been planting and picking for four seasons. Before that, she travelled with her parents and stayed out of their way while they worked. Every time she moves, she wishes she could stay a little longer in one place.
    A pickup roars by and then screeches to a stop on the highway. Two more workers hop out of the back. One of them trips and swears . “Chinga.” The other one laughs. Maricela recognizes Alfredo, the one who tripped. Both of them are loud, and the way their boots kick the rocks, almost tripping over them, Maricela can tell they are drunk. Some of the younger men drink all night to stay awake for the truck and then sleep until the next field. The pickup accelerates down the highway and the smell of exhaust drifts over everyone like dust. Then there is silence. All of them are listening for the sound of the vehicle that will take them away from this waiting place.
    Maricela watches the horizon. She is waiting for dawn to crack the edge so she can read the comic book she found under the mattress in the trailer where she slept last night. She loves comic books. Especially the romantic ones. This one looks like an action comic with a masked figure on the front. Maricela imagines it belonged to a boy. He must have left it behind. Maybe as a gift. Or maybe he is hoping it will be there when he comes back. Maybe when she finishes it, she’ll leave it behind in another trailer for someone like her. Maybe. Now she wants the sun to rise so she can read the pictures and figure out some of the English words.
    “Chicle. Chicle.” Juany’s boy is whining for gum. As usual, Juany is ignoring him. Without looking, Maricela knows that Juany is fixed on Alfredo, while her little boy is searching her pockets for something to eat. Niño. That’s all Juany’s ever called him. She still hasn’t given him a name. At least not one that Maricela has ever heard. Always, Juany is looking at Alfredo. Especially after he has been drinking all night. Always, she wants to make sure Alfredo’s eyes are on her.
    Maricela glances at Alfredo, standing in the middle of the pull-out. In the dim light, Maricela can see Alfredo is not looking at Juany. Or their boy. He is staring directly at her.
    Maricela sucks her breath in and bends over the comic book. If Juany sees her looking back at Alfredo, she’ll come over and slap her. Not Alfredo. The look would be Maricela’s fault. Maricela would be the whore, la puta.
    That’s how it is with Juany. Alfredo is her man ever since she went with him. No one else can have him and if anyone looks at him, Juany calls her every kind of whore. So the girls ignore Alfredo. At least when Juany is