Free The Revolution of Evelyn Serrano by Sonia Manzano

said.
    â€œThat’s right, it is your house,” Abuela said slowly.
    Mami and Abuela each slipped into their respective rooms, closing doors behind them.
    I dressed in the emptiness, then went downstairs. I walked toward Migdalia’s stoop. It was as if she were waiting for me. We hadn’t seen each other since the Young Lords set the garbage on fire and here it was, already Labor Day weekend. I didn’t tell her about all that was happening between Mami and Abuela. “Miggy, did you see the article about Young Lords in the newspaper?” I asked.
    â€œNo, but I saw us on television. I mean not us , but all the people and our neighborhood.”
    â€œBut I guess a revolution has to come to El Barrio .”
    I was eager to share Abuela’s stories.
    â€œYou know — it’s not really the first time Puerto Ricans have stood up for themselves,” I began carefully. I told her everything Abuela had shared with me about the Ponce Massacre. Everything except the stuff about my grandfather being one of the shooters.
    Migdalia listened. “Wow, Evelyn, your grandmother is some lady. No wonder she’s brave enough to sweep up garbage — and wear eye shadow the color of the sky.”
    The sun rose high above us. It was hot but felt good on my face.
    â€œLet’s try and find señor Santiago,” I said. “I need a cold piragua .”
    â€œMe, too,” said Migdalia, and we walked, looking for señor Santiago’s cart, which was parked just a few blocks uptown. We got our ices and made our way back toward my place. When we approached, there were two police cars parked in front of the bodega .
    Mami was crying.
    Pops was trying to comfort Mami.
    Abuela was nowhere in sight.
    Wilfredo was in handcuffs.
    Migdalia tried to make her way to Wilfredo.
    â€œHey — kid — step back,” a policeman yelled.
    â€œSis, do what he says,” said Wilfredo helplessly.
    â€œWhat happened?” Migdalia yelled.
    â€œQuiet, everyone,” the policeman said.
    My mother hugged me. “Mami, ¿qué pasó? ” I said.
    â€œWho are you?” the policeman asked.
    â€œI’m their daughter.”
    He eyed me suspiciously and then turned back to my father.
    â€œSir, tell me what happened.”
    â€œOkay — we closed around three o’clock today because it’s the start of the Labor Day weekend.”
    â€œAnd that young man over there, who is he?”
    â€œThat’s our friend Wilfredo Menéndez,” I piped in. “He —”
    â€œJust a second. How old are you?”
    â€œI’m fourteen years old.”
    â€œWhere were you between noon and now?”
    â€œJust hanging out with my friend!”
    Was he accusing me?
    The policeman turned back to my father. “Let’s go into the store.”
    We went into the store. It was a mess. Candy and cigarettes were all over the floor. The television was missing.
    â€œWhat happened?” the detective asked again.
    Pops halted nervously, then trudged on.
    â€œI came back to check on the store around seven o’clock, and the door was wide open. When I go inside, I saw Wilfredo, and I saw that the safety bars had been broke off the back window. Look — Wilfredo — we know him. He —”
    But my mother didn’t let him finish. “Why was he inside the store?” she asked him.
    â€œ Mujer , I am sure he had nothing to do with it!”
    â€œHow do you know? He was hanging out with those Young Lord people — who knows what they do?”
    I couldn’t believe she was saying that. “Mami, what do you mean? We know Wilfredo didn’t have anything todo with this.” But even as I defended him, I thought about how he had wanted me to make an illegal key and how he had bought a crowbar.
    â€œAll right. All right. If he didn’t — he didn’t. We’ll find out at the station house.” The detective