Free Someone Like Summer by M. E. Kerr Page A

something slightly naked-looking about Esteban and his brown skin, shoulders, arms; you could see his nipples.
    â€œDoes Mitzi ever go to the Casa?” I asked him. I’d know the answer to that myself if I’d ever hang out with her again. Free time wasn’t anything I knew about since Esteban.
    â€œNo, no Mitzi. Virgil and Ramón don’t bring guests.”
    â€œWhat made you three leave Holy Family? The music at the Casa? I hear it sometimes when I’m driving to the IGA Sundays.”
    I knew I was trying to keep him with me, stalling, asking questions, anything.
    â€œI like the music at Casa Pentecostal. I do. Very much. But that is not the reason. At Catholic church it is the same thing over and over. A sermon that has nothing to do with us, then recitations, some even in Latin.”
    â€œStill? I thought they stopped that.”
    â€œNot in all churches. Has there ever been a Hispanic pope? There are not even many priests here who can speak our language. Even though I speak English, things I say in confession have no discussion. They say how many Hail Marys to recite for penance and tell me to go.”
    â€œIs it different in Providencia?”
    â€œCatholic churches are often the same everywhere. But here we are needy in a new way, in a country we don’t know. A nun came to our door once where we all live. Chino was very sick, and we thought she had come to help him because we tried to get a nurse nun to visit him. This nun knew nothing about Chino. She had come to collect for the new convent. The one they built overlooking the ocean. You know how much that cost? Millions of dollars, and they go from house to house of poor people who have trouble even paying the rent.”
    â€œIt isn’t fair, I know.”
    â€œWhat is, Anna?” Then he stood up. “I see there is a notice about computer lessons. Find out when they give them, would you please,Anna? I need to learn what everyone seems to know. I will never get anywhere if I do not become modern.”
    â€œIf you get a computer, we can e-mail each other.”
    â€œRamón has one I can always use. I just have to learn how. I feel dumb not knowing how. And I am not dumb, Anna!”
    â€œI know you’re not. And I’ll help you.”
    â€œThey say never let your girlfriend teach you how to drive, so maybe it is the same with computers. Besides, I do not want you to see I know nothing about the internet. You and your friends know so much. I want to learn, Anna.”
    â€œI’ll find out when the classes are.”
    â€œThank you. I have work to finish and I am already too long away. Can you meet me in front of the Casa? Six o’clock? I must go home and change first, also get you your pañuelo . How will you get there?”
    â€œKenyon will drive me.”
    â€œI hope you will not feel disappointment,” Esteban said.
    I said, “I won’t. I’ll be with you.”
    I think that was all I cared about that summer. The war in Iraq seemed to have nothing to do with me. I’d hear my father arguing about it with Larkin. He was for it and she was very definitely against it. I was in some kind of limbo, incapable of any opinion that didn’t have to do with Esteban Santiago.

FOURTEEN
    I N FRONT OF THE C ASA there was a tent where inside a man sold small flags and pañuelos . They were in boxes with labels saying Argentina, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cuba, República Dominicana, on and on. Ten dollars for the little flags; fifteen for the pañuelos . There were also small lapel pins for five dollars.
    Esteban waited for me by the tent, his black hair parted on one side, neatly combed like his sideburns. He wore jeans and a guayabera , a lightweight blue cotton shirt with four pockets.
    â€œThis is my Canul Jr. Number One,” he said proudly. “The other is yellow. I wear them on special occasions only.”
    Around his neck he wore the yellow, blue, and