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His eyes were pure Rosa, like al to a little point in the corners After athe truck along the wood slats of the porch

I realized he probably did not speak any English I searched for the few phrases I kneell enough to say competently Most of my Spanish involved beer, pool,else that ht interest a small child

"¿Tu es Manuelito?" I asked

He scowled suddenly and sainst his chest "Me llahed Made sense I wouldn’t want to be called "little" either

"Manuel, then"

He pushed his truck around a bitwhy I was there "¿Tienes chicle?"

Thankfully that was also one of the feords I knew, as children along the border were always selling boxes of gu, "¡Chicle! One dollar! ¡Chicle!"

I shook my head "No" I fuusta chicle?"

He nodded, then abruptly ju his truck

Rosa approached then, sitting on the top step "What do you think, Gavinito?"

I shrugged Yes, I thought it was possible But I wasn’t giving any ga him If he was mine, then I wasn’t sure who Rosa was to me anymore

"You didn’t tell me about him before All those years"

Rosa pushed the truck back and forth on the porch, the plastic tires ru over the boards "Too late I not find you when I carry hione"

"I could have helped you then"

The door pushed open wider and Manuel ca out a clear plastic tub filled with little square gum packets "¡Chicle!" he said "¿Mama Rosa?"

Rosa shook her head, so he pushed the container at me "¿Chicle?"

I took one of the little squares of packaged gum, four yellow pieces wrapped in clear plastic "Gracias, Manuel I like yellow"

He set the tub on the porch and reached in, fishing around until he found a green one

"You like the green?" I asked At his quizzical look, I said, "Te gusta…" Crap I didn’t know "green"

"Verde," Rosa said "¿Verde es bueno, no?"