Trick pauses and I want to ask more questions but I know he’s not done with the story. He works his lower lip between his teeth, so I wait.
“A week after they started college my mom found out she was pregnant with me. Her parents campaigned for an abortion, and his basically disowned him. His parents found religion…” he glances over at me “…and I say that because had they actually found God there’s no way they would have disowned their own child over the creation of a life.”
“I take it they decided to keep the baby.” I grin and he does too.
“Yes, I’m here.” He sighs as if the story has only just begun. “My dad had planned on majoring in business and working on Wall Street, and my mom was studying music and had dreams of attending Juilliard. So with both parents against them and having basically nothing except a baby on the way, they moved to New York. My dad got an entry level job on Wall Street, aka as a janitor, and my mom taught piano lessons through a music outreach program in the city. They had a one room apartment…” another glance over at me “…not as in one bedroom, as in one room. Even making rent on it was a struggle for them. Then I came along and with no insurance they brought home a baby and a truckload of hospital bills. By the time I was five the outreach program had shut down and three weeks later my dad lost his job … I guess when Wall Street isn’t doing well even the janitorial staff is affected. Neither one could find work and eventually they were evicted.”
I hate hearing this because there’s such a misconception about the homeless, as if all of the people who end up on the street are addicts and lazy people with no work ethic. I will never look at a homeless person the same way again.
“So why didn’t they go home?”
Trick shrugs. “Neither one had talked to their parents since they left for New York. Five years later I don’t think they felt like they still had family. I’m sure pride was a big factor too. My dad was a proud man, even with nothing but the clothes on his back, he was still a proud man. He was never a panhandler and hated it when he saw my mom doing it. She had a child to feed and would toss her pride aside and beg for money to buy food. I admired them both for what they believed in. My dad never let the circumstances define him, and my mother … I think she would have asked family for help, but she loved my dad too much to ever do that to him.”
I wipe away a few tears. I’m sure it would never get made into a movie, but right now I feel the story of Trick’s parents, the forbidden, unstoppable love, and the way they truly lived out their “for better or worse,” was just … beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful love story I have ever heard.
*
There’s a cloud of somberness over the rest of our drive to Todos Santos. I imagine Trick’s mind stays with his past, maybe the times he remembers, maybe trying to figure out the parts he doesn’t. I think about my own life and what different paths we both took to get here. I would never say it out loud, but a part of me envies what he had growing up. It sounds crazy, I know it does, but he had two parents who loved each other and adored him. I had everything I needed and plenty I didn’t, and thankfully, so very thankfully, I had my nana. But I am the poster child for money can’t buy happiness.
Everything about Trick’s past spirals back to his parents. How did they both just disappear? He was still a child, fifteen, but still a child—their only child. It doesn’t make sense that they would leave him without a single word. But it also doesn’t make sense that they would both just vanish or die without a trace. But every time I mention my suspicion or lack of understanding to Trick, his pain makes me feel like I’m stomping on their graves.
“What do you think?” Trick asks as we pull up and stop on a dirt drive.
I hop out and scuff my flip-flopped feet across the hard dirt to an old wooden gate painted rustic red.
“It’s all I could come up with on short notice…” Trick walks up behind me “…we’re just renting it. I know it’s nothing huge—”
“I love it.” I turn and throw my arms around his neck. He hugs me back, lifting me off the ground. “I love it … it’s perfect.”