La Familia -- Jonathan

Jonathan (13) is small for his age, but he’s also remarkably mature. He helps Rafael with the yard chores, he helps other kids in class, and can generally diffuse a tense situation with his well-developed sense of humor. So basically, the perfect kid without the stain of being “the perfect kid.”



































































Elsa (early 30s) is the head of the household. She tries to be…Wait, lemme go back to Jonathan for a second. I wrote that description of him awhile ago – and still for the most part believe it – but for thoroughness’ sake I should probably add something. He stole all my money. He went into my room, searched through my bag, and stole everything. (Because I had no ATM card, that meant more than $200 worth.) With this money, he bought lots of Cheetos. And Lemon Fanta. The rest he deposited in this Raggedy Andy-ish doll in the kitchen. When Elsa, his mother, asked where he got the money for all those high-carb snacks, he said he found it, miraculously, in a loose stitch in the doll. Elsa clearly wasn’t buying that. Shortly thereafter, Jonathan confessed.

Shortly after that, he confessed again, to me, in an incredibly awkward exchange.
Me, amicably: “¿Qué pasa, Jona? ¿Qué onda?” (What’s up, Jona? How’s it going?)
Him: [Silence]
Me, confused: “¿Qué occurió? ¿Alguien o algo te molesta?” (What happened? Someone or something bothering you?)
Him, staring into the ground: “Acá son los 2,000 pesos yo robé de su maleta. Lo siento. Yo debo ir.” (Here are the 2,000 pesos I robbed from your suitcase. I am sorry. I should go).
Me, alone: [Silence]

It took me a while to get over that incident. I understood the temptation – and the misguided Robin Hood rationalization – but that didn’t make it any less of a betrayal. I guess when something’s “perfect,” that means there’s something wrong, but I don’t like to be that cynical. So, for a while, there was a rift.

Eventually, though, the rift lessened. And then disappeared. And we’re brothers once again.

He’s still to the closest to a “younger brother” I’ve ever had. We beat each other up all the time. We brag about our rolodex full of girlfriends. I’m sure if there were towels and undersized lockers available, we’d rat tail bond as well.

He’s said he’s not going to miss me: “To be free of the jabbering monkey -- what a relief!” We both know that’s a front. We’ll do our best to stay all pseudo-macho as long as we can, but each of us knows the last day is going to be rough.