The Other End of the Call

      "What should I do?" Esteban asked his father.

     "I don't know. Go to work I guess."
     "You think I should?"
     "You might as well. This is between me and him."
     Esteban didn't know whether to go to school or not. He didn't know whether to go to work or not. He didn't know whether to stay in San Francisco or not. It felt like a fever dream, and he didn't see it getting any better.

     "Okay, then. Will I see you tomorrow?"
     "No," his father said, very sure of it, but Esteban had a feeling he'd think better of it tomorrow.

     I mean, he had to, right? He had to show up tomorrow or else he'd be fired, and that would be it, that would be the end of everything he had built up in his life over the last twenty years. Every penny he still had, every bit of his effort and energy.

     But he wouldn't tell his dad that. He just hoped his dad would know.

     "What will happen to the house?" Esteban said.

     "I don't know," his father said. "I don't know what happens with anything. But don't worry about it. Go to school. Go to work. Do your thing. You graduate from high school, you put some money in your pocket, that's it. That's everything. Don't worry about the rest."
     But the truth was, Santos was on the other end of the phone crying. He felt it. The whole of his effort and energy for the whole of his life had been for just about nothing.