Chapter One
Mr. Anderson's Cooper - Trespassing - Truth and Consequence.
Just before the sun finished off the remainder of day, two backyards sat side-by-side. One belonged to Roberto and Fernando Alvarez and their parents.
The two little Puerto Rican boys played Wiffle Ball as the streetlights began to hum and flicker. Fireflies buzzed, giving off their quick yellow beacons. Although it was only the fifth inning, the boys agreed to move ahead to the top of the ninth.
It was Fernando’s last at-bat. He wore a Fernando Valenzuela jersey his dad bought for him. Although he was Fernando’s favorite player, the old Dodger had not played ball in over a generation.
Roberto was named after Roberto Clemente – another of Mr. Alvarez’s boyhood heroes. He had not played in 2 generations. It did not matter, though. Just like any other backyard during the summertime, Ruth could play with Mays, Bonds could play with Aaron, and Clemente could pitch to Valenzuela.
Behind a twist of Poison Ivy and Virginia Creeper, a middle-aged man went to work. He unlocked the hatchback of his Mini-Cooper and reached inside, tugging on the handle of an old steamer trunk. His 6’2”, 180-pound frame barely fit into the tiny hatch. The worn out plastic handle bent and then broke under the strain of his pull and the weight inside.
"Son of a bitch," he snarled.
He crawled into the tiny hatch, squeezing between the steamer trunk and interior of the car. He worked the trunk back and forth, wiggling it to the edge of the hatch before tipping it backwards and. letting it drop. It hit the ground with a thud before doing a half-flip.
He followed the trunk out the back, lifting it and flipping it, end-over-end. He steadily worked his way to the cellar doors at the back of the house.
Roberto pitched the ball slowly to his little brother. The rule had always been that Fernando had an unlimited number of strikes and anything either of them hit over the fence was an automatic out.
“Ready?”
Fernando nodded.
“Here it comes.”
Roberto lobbed the pitch to his little brother. Fernando chopped the bat at the ball. With a whack, he hit it toward the fence separating the two yards. Fernando sprinted around the bases as Roberto fished the ball out of the vines. Before he could, Fernando had already touched home.
“Home run!” he shouted as he hopped on the patch of dirt called home plate. Meanwhile, Roberto was still crouched by the fence.
“Hey, come here, I can’t find it.”
Fernando went to the fence and helped his brother. Meanwhile, the sound of the heavy trunk hitting the ground repeatedly echoed from the other side of the fence.
"Ando! Shhh," whispered Roberto. Ando looked up to his bigger brother, trying to be as quiet as possible. Their’ mother had warned them about the man who lived next door. "Nunca," she repeatedly told them.
It meant never – and, for the most part, that's all she had to say to her little boys. Today, however, it would not be warning enough.
The fence that separated the Alvarez family from Mr. Anderson was eight feet high. Mr. Anderson put it up thirty years earlier, just after he bought the house. Rust corroded most of the fence links, even those he haphazardly washed with silver paint. The associated vines and greenery clutched onto the fence, winding itself between the individual links.
Roberto tore at a patch of leaves to form a window for spying through the fence. Ando mimicked his big brother, tearing a second hole in the blanket of ivy.
Mr. Anderson dug a ring of keys from his pocket. He fumbled with them for a few moments before unlocking the Master lock fastening the cellar doors. He opened the doors wide and shuffled the steamer trunk to the top step.
He tied a heavy rope to the one good handle and slowly eased the trunk down the steps. It clunked on the steps each time Mr. Anderson gave slack to the rope. When it reached the bottom stair, he let go, tossing the rope into the cellar. He closed the doors and went around to the back porch.
The screen door slammed.
"Alright, let's go," commanded Roberto.
Althought Mr. Anderson closed the cellar doors, he left the Mini-Cooper’s hatch wide open.
It was an invitation to danger.
"Esta loco?" hissed Ando.
"Come on," said Roberto.
Little Ando followed his big brother up the fence. It swayed back and forth under the weight of their bodies. The metal strained, too. Although Ando was only six, Roberto was almost eleven, which meant he was twice as heavy as his little brother. When he reached the top, Roberto threw a leg over the fence’s crossbar. It creaked and bowed.
"Stop it, Ando! You're shaking it," Roberto called down to his little brother.
That wasn't the case, though. The 110-pound boy at the top of the fence was the one shaking it. It was also his old blue jeans, which snagged in one of the unsecured fence links. Its jagged point looked for either a stray piece of clothing or skin to grab onto. This time, it caught a pant leg.
Roberto reached up and unfastened the cuff. Right at that moment, Mr. Anderson opened the back door of his house.
Roberto and little Ando froze in place. A lone black Chuck Taylor tennis shoe and part of a leg poked out of the vegetation at the top of the fence. Mr. Anderson kept his head down as he walked to the car. Without looking up for a moment, he grabbed the hatch and slammed it shut. He returned to the house. The screen door slammed again. The back door, however, did not.
"Venga, Venga, Roberto!"
"I'm stuck. Come up here and help me."
"Nunca!"
"Please, Ando. I need your help."
Ando let out a deep breath and climbed the fence. As Roberto turned his foot, Ando pulled on the torn pant leg. Roberto’s ankle jerked free. It skidded across the top of the fence and caught the stray fence link. It ripped right across the top of his ankle. Roberto grimaced, but did not say a thing.
"Come on, let's go," said Roberto as he flipped his leg up and over the fence. As he popped the rest of the way over, he looked at his little brother. Little Ando carefully followed his brother over the top of the fence. Roberto jumped down, quickly climbing to his feet and pulling Ando safely off the fence.
"What are we doing?"
"We're looking around," Roberto replied.
"For what?"
"For whatever."
Roberto hunkered over as he walked toward Mr. Anderson's porch. Ando followed closely behind. They crept to the back of the house and looked across the top of the porch deck. The kitchen at the back the house was empty.
Roberto turned from his left to his right and looked through the basement window. He could see the concrete floor of the basement and a small workbench. Other than that, there was nothing to see.
Mr. Anderson tugged on the steamer trunk and carefully moved it across the basement floor. With each move, metal ground against concrete.
The two Puerto Rican boys listened intently. Although Ando imagined the steamer trunk kicking up a billow of dust, it did not. The steps had been carefully polished with furniture wax. The floor had been mopped, too. Just like everything else in the basement, the steps were spotless and clean.
After Mr. Anderson moved the trunk into place beneath the window, he stopped. He could feel pairs of eyes watching him. He paused for a second more, then tugged on the pull-cord for the overhead lightbulb. The room went dark.
Outside, two boys continued looking into the window, unaware that the streetlight behind them threw shadows on everything it lit, including two nosy boys.
"What do you see?" asked Ando.
"Nothing," said Roberto.
Roberto laid flat on his belly, wiggling over the
"Maybe we should sneak in."
"Sneak in where?" said a booming voice. It was Mr. Anderson, who stood behind the two little boys. He reached out and grabbed each one by an arm. His hands dug into their armpits, tugging the boys upright. He dragged them all the way around his house. The narrow sidewalk was just wide enough for one grown man, yet three were making use of it. Roberto brushed against the ivy while Ando slid along the dingy gray siding that covered the side of the house. He looked down as he shuffled his feet. First, he avoided the garden hose. Next, it was the pipes for the water meter. Lastly, he tried avoiding the bay window. His right hand smacked the window, leaving a smeared handprint.
"Now look what you've done," growled Mr. Anderson.
Ando pulled away from the window as he followed Mr. Anderson. Mr. Anderson let go of Ando just long enough to unfasten the hinge on the metal gate before grabbing him again. The tips of his fingernails dug into the inside of Ando's tiny bicep.
They uickly climbed the Alvarez porch before stopping just in front of the door.
"Knock," said Mr. Anderson.
Roberto glared at him.
"Knock."
Roberto knocked on the door. His mother answered.
"What's going on?"
"Your boys were in my back yard."
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Anderson."
"Sorry doesn't cut it. I don't want your little mongrels in my yard."
"Hey..."
"Hey, nothing. Keep them out or I will."
Mr. Anderson's words startled Mrs. Alvarez so much so that it left her speechless. Mr. Anderson glared at the boys and then turned and walked away. He grumbled the entire way back to his house, slamming his front gate as he went. The latch, which he hadn't fastened, rattled against the pole. The gate swung gently open before falling back into place against the latch. Like so many other parts of Mr. Anderson’s house, it knew that the best response to a ton of anger is an ounce of meekness.
Mrs. Alvarez sighed and then explained to the boys about Mr. Anderson.
"Why does he have to be such a jerk?"
"Roberto, he is a lonely old man."
"That's no excuse."
"He doesn’t need an excuse. It's his yard. Just be gentlemen and stay out. He has a fence. Don't cross it."
While she spoke, the television played in the background. Ando tried focusing on his mother's words, but all he could do was listen to the television. It was an old Soap Opera. It was his one of his mother's favorites.
”But mom....” whined Roberto.
“Nunca!” she scolded, "In fact, you're both grounded for the next two weeks.
Roberto pursed his lips.
"If you want, I'll have your father decide your punishment.”
"No, that's alright," said Roberto.
"Good. Now let's keep this between you and me. You know how your father is. He'll want to put Mr. Anderson's lights out."
"I wish he would."
"Don't...say...a...word. Two weeks and then let us put this behind us, alright?"
"Alright, mom."
Mrs. Alvarez scruffed her boys' thick black hair and returned her attention to the television. Ando watched t.v. with her. Roberto stormed upstairs to his room. Ando was glad it was over. Roberto, on the other hand, had a very different point of view.
