Illustrations by Oscar Arredondo and Gail Swanlund Design by Gail Swanlund RAMON By Cathryn A. Camper Never seen a more handsome kid through school than Ramon. He was sharp, not movie star sharp, but instead the sharpness of plain old scratch paper that, could cut your thumb same as a knife blade. Also, he was quick and smart, because he knew what people wanted, and he could grant their wishes in cut rate time. Wasn’t a girl in school that didn’t waste some time over Ramon. Other guys thinking, “What’s he got that I don’t have?” Well, any girl could answer, but not so boys could understand. “It’s not the way that he is, but sort of the way he stands,” they might say. Or, “It’s not what he says, but the way he can make his voice melt all warm about you like you’re something special.” Cause it wasn’t Ramon alone, but his way of being cool that made him magnetic and indescribable like some smell you remember, but don’t know from where. He had beautiful girls all the time, and the senior girls, and even the girls in love with other guys. But he went far and beyond other dudes, cause he had ugly girls'too. Treated them just the same with that soft-as- butter smile as if they were the first thing in his day. Like the time he gave fat Angie a squeeze, and she blushed tulip red, because most guys wouldn’t speak to her, and because she suddenly felt shy, having all- important Ramon giving her such mainline attention. It surprised no kids at all when Ramon started hanging out in the first floor girls’ john, instead of going to seventh period studyhall. Course he’d get caught sometimes, but he’d just sneak right on in there, the next day, soon as the teachers forgot. No girls complained. They just tried like anything to get a bathroom pass, to escape from their studyhalls to that bathroom. Ramon would sometimes stand on a toilet seat so he looked real tall, and just comb his wavy-round-the- side hair, surveying the whole scene, smiling. Sometimes he’d swing on the stall doors goofing off, or get hot and flirty with girls that could think up fast answers. Other times, he’d bring his radio, and play it real low and smoke cigarettes, offering them to everyone around. Even if they weren’t the kind of girls who’d smoke, he’d offer, making them feel cool just cause he’d asked. He was always king and jester both, and the guys who might have told on him didn’t, cause it was the girls’ john, and they knew nothing about what was going on inside. We all knew how Ramon was, because we all grew up together. But my friend Amy, she fell for him like a stone off the roof. She was staying with me for a few months, while her folks were on vacation. She just didn’t understand that those luscious looks he was throwing her he was also passing out to every other girl in school. She’d come up to me at my locker and whisper, “That Ramon! He’s got such nice eyes,” like it was some big secret. I don’t know why, but girls always act like the dude they’re looking at is some new discovery. Gotta tell you all the details as if they’re the ones making up his reputation. As if the dude didn’t know about it first. So I warned her, cause I know, see, cause I been there before. But Amy’s never been around a guy so slick and sweet. She just said back to me, “What’s the matter? You jealous? Bet I can get that guy in a week,” and flounced off, her curls bouncing every which way across her shoulders. Well, she caught him, not in the all-exclusive way she would have us believe, but she maintained his interest. He still hung out in the bathroom with all us girls, the same as always. But Amy ignored that, making out like she and him were some special twosome that we should take note of. “She’s crazy,” we’d say, and shake our heads. Then one day, about a month later, Amy and I were sitting out on the front steps painting our nails. She’s using this hot pink nail polish that’s real pretty, but she keeps messing it up. First she gums up one finger, then when she takes a tissue to clean it off, she messes up the nails on her other hand. All of a sudden, I see that she’s crying, her mascara running in big She just didn’t understand that those luscious ' looks he was throwing her he was also passing out to every other girl in school. black tear drops down her cheeks. “Amy what’s wrong?” I said, knowing it was something more than the nail polish. She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I’m pregnant,” she said in the kind of low voice you use when you’re telling bad news out loud for the first time. “Maybe you’re just late,” I said, rubbing her shoulder, trying to comfort her. “ No, I already got the test. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” She sobbed again, rubbing her eyes into black smudges. I didn’t know what to say, and all I could think of was how dumb makeup is, sometimes. “Did you tell Ramon?” “ I figure, I’ll tell him tomorrow. If I go over in the morning, he’ll probably be home. Cecilia, you gotta go with me.” “Uh-uh. No way. That’s between you two.” “You don’t have to come inside. I just... I mean, what if he tells me to just get lost...then I’ll be all by myself...” She started crying again, putting her head down on her knees. “Okay, I’ll go with you. But you got to talk to him alone, because I don’t want any part of it.” She nodded eagerly, like she would go along with whatever I said, so long as I stuck by her. So the next morning, we went over to Ramon’s. He lived in a nice two-story house with his father. When we got there, he was out back working in the garden. “Okay, pow you go up there and talk to him, and I’ll wait here,” I said, planting my feet firmly on the driveway. Amy started walking up the drive. The early sun was shining through the bushes from the east. You could tell it was going to be hot, later on in the day. Ramon was pulling up carrots. They weren’t like the kind you buy in the grocery store; they were short and stubby, as if they couldn’t grow down, and so grew sideways instead. He was bent over, his legs straddling either side of the row, pulling up bunches at a time and shaking the dirt off of them. Amy said something to him, and he smiled that prize winning smile. She spoke again, and he stood up, still shaking the dirt away, still smiling. Then she said something else that changed his smile. He tilted his head, reached out and cupped her .cheek in his hand, talking to her. She shook her head no„ and nodded in my direction. I saw Ramon take me in with his eyes, like he was figuring the situation. Then he talked for a while, and when he was done, she nodded in agreement. He kissed her, and she turned and walked back to where I was waiting. “What’d he say?” I said as we started walking home. “He said he’d marry me,” she answered, her voice all trembly. “You want to marry Ramon?” I said it sharply, cause all I could think of was how it would be trying to keep a finger on someone like that. “Nnno,” she stuttered. I thought she might start crying, but she didn’t. “Can you imagine my folks if I told them I was marrying a Catholic?” That’s the least of it, I thought. “ Itold him Iwanted an abortion,” she said, as if she were trying to convince herself. “What did he say?” “He said okay, whatever I wanted. He’s going to talk to his father and see if he can borrow the money.” “How much does it cost?” “They say two hundred and fifty dollars at the clinic. I hope he can get it, because I sure can’t. He’s going to call me tonight.” As it turned out, Ramon came by that afternoon. He didn’t look too cool. “What did you father say?” Amy asked. Ramon ran his hands through his hair, not caring that he was messing it up. “He kicked me out. He called me a bum,” he said, looking off across the street, and not at Amy. ‘‘What...do you think..we should do?” “I think we ought to cruise by Lamberto’s,” Ramon replied, taking Amy’s arm by the elbow. Now Lamberto was Ramon’s halfbrother, and he was the kind of guy you don’t want to get involved with. Unless you enjoy hanging out with criminals. To his credit, he’d never done time, and he’d never killed anyone, but you wouldn’t want to introduce your sister to the dude. So when Ramon suggested they go by there, I included myself in the invitation, because Amy wasn’t in any shape to 36 Clinton St. Quarterly—Summer, 1988
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