Rogelia's House of Magic

by Jamie Martinez Wood

  Seventeen

  After the ceremony, Fern and Marina began their way home in a bit of a daze. Fern stepped aside for a gaggle of kids as they ran by with a long jump rope.

  “That was unbelievable!” Fern shrieked. “Couldn’t you just feel the room vibrating with magic? And when Rogelia looked at you? Remind me never to lie to her.” She paused. “Not that I believe in lying.”

  Marina nodded in agreement, although she was happy just being around Rogelia. She liked her sense of humor, her kindness, and her strength. She wondered if Rogelia was anything like her own nana.

  “And next time we’ll hike to a waterfall,” Fern prattled. “Remember Xochitl said Rogelia can walk for a long time and we had better bring good shoes. This is just too cool.”

  “Walk me to the bus stop?” Marina asked.

  “Of course,” Fern said, giving Marina a questioning look. “Are you taking the bus all the way home?”

  “Only to the mall, to Fashion Island. Mom is taking me and Monica shopping for Grandpy’s birthday party a week from Sunday. She went through my closet last night and decided I had nothing fit to wear.” Marina rolled her eyes. “Whatever, I’ll get new clothes.”

  “She’s really making a big deal out of this one,” Fern observed.

  “He’ll be sixty,” Marina said. “The family is coming in from all over. We’ll be taking over a whole room at some fancy restaurant called the White House.”

  “How very white of your family,” Fern joked.

  Marina laughed uncomfortably.

  “Hey, don’t forget the Los Lobos concert is coming up,” Fern said. “I got the tickets. Xochitl said she can’t come, but we’ll have fun.”

  Marina twirled her hair nervously. “I never…exactly…said I could go…,” she said haltingly. “I just said I’d like to go.”

  “Come on, Marina,” Fern said. “You have to come.”

  “I don’t think my mom would let me, much less the night before a family party,” Marina said. Not to mention the grief she’d dish out about the crowd Los Lobos will attract, she thought dryly.

  “But I’ve already bought the tickets,” Fern persisted. She grabbed Marina’s hand and gave her a pleading puppy-dog stare with her amber eyes.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t go.” Marina pulled her hand free. She had a hard time admitting even to Fern how deep her mother’s harsh judgment of Mexican people ran.

  “You can sneak out,” Fern suggested.

  Marina sighed heavily. Could she risk it? She had never sneaked out before. She was such a sucker for her friend’s begging that she studied the narrow sidewalks of the neighborhood in order to avoid Fern’s eyes. The cement squares were buckled by the roots of the huge, sprawling trees on either side. The city trimmed the trees on the Peraltas’ street every week to maintain their resemblance to overgrown lollipops. But here in Santa Ana, everything had more life. It reminded Marina of how much more connected and alive she felt when she spent time at Rogelia’s house.

  Differences can do that, the woman’s voice said in Marina’s head.

  Marina sighed as she inhaled the smell of pinto beans cooking and the clean scent of lime soap that floated over from a bright red house.

  “Come on. It will be fun. Pilar won’t tell,” Fern insisted.

  “Why don’t you just ask Tristán to go with you?” Marina said playfully.

  Fern frowned and put her hands on her hips. “I wanted it to be a girls’ night, but you and Xochitl aren’t getting with the program, comprendes?”

  “Okay, okay,” Marina relented as they reached the bus stop. “The last thing I want is for you to be all mad at me.”

  “Hooray! We’ll have a blast.” Fern brought Marina in for a quick bear hug. Marina leaned on the bus stop bench for support. “You’re a regular bus rider now,” Fern teased. “Maybe once you get your license, they’ll let you drive the bus.”

  “Whatever,” Marina replied.

  “Why didn’t you ask Pilar for a ride? Or have your mom pick you up?” Fern asked.

  “I kind of like the excitement of public transportation,” Marina joked. The real reason she didn’t ask Fern’s sister for a ride was because Pilar might let it slip and tell her mother that Marina had been in the old neighborhood. And no one in Fern’s family knew about Mrs. Peralta’s low opinion of Santa Ana. Naturally, Marina tried to keep all that to herself. “Besides, you know what a pain Friday traffic can be,” she added to make sure Fern didn’t catch on.

  No está bien, the girl’s voice said.

  You’re not being very honest with Fern, the woman’s voice said.

  Marina batted hair off her ear, as if she could shake off the voices.

  “It was pretty cool for Xochitl to let us into her inner sanctum,” Fern said abruptly.

  “Why do you say that?” Marina asked.

  Fern watched the rolling clouds for a moment before answering. “Well, I don’t think it can be very easy for her to have us learning from her nana. Xochitl is pretty guarded,” Fern said.

  “Did you see another aura?” Marina asked, fascinated.

  “No. It’s just a feeling I have. Rogelia works for your family, too. That’s got to be awkward,” Fern said as she swung around the bus stop pole.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Marina objected.

  Fern shrugged as the bus came to a stop in front of them.

  “See ya,” Marina said in an annoyed tone as she stepped onto the bus and expertly slid her dollar bill into the receptacle.

  Fern had definitely touched a nerve. Marina hadn’t thought about how their training with Rogelia might raise complications for Xochitl. But now that the subject was brought up, Marina wondered if Xochitl thought they were horning in on one of the only relatives Xochitl had living with her.

  Marina’s cell phone rang, jolting her out of her thoughts. She looked at the phone and winced before opening it. Just to be on the safe side, she held the phone several inches from her ear.

  “You said you would be at Anthropologie at six. It’s 6:03!” Marina’s mother exclaimed.

  Marina gazed through the large windshield of the bus. They were a few lights away from her stop. “Um, I got caught up at the music store.” Marina quickly muffled the mouthpiece as the automatic recorder announced the major intersection they were crossing.

  “What was that?” Marina’s mother asked.

  “They announced the need for another checker at the checkout,” Marina lied. “I’ll be right there, Mom.”

  Marina snapped the phone shut and stood up, ready to spring off the bus at her stop.

  The woman’s voice said. One of these days, you’ll need to find the courage to speak your truth.

  Claro que sí. The girl’s voice seemed to be affirming what the woman said.

  Even though the voices were right, Marina couldn’t help feeling a little indignation. Shouldn’t voices in your head be helpful and supportive?

  We are being supportive, my dear, insisted the woman. We are trying to encourage the power within you that, so far, you have failed to recognize.

  Marina shook her head at the voices’ confidence in her as she jumped off the bus and ran through Fashion Island’s massive parking lot. They had no idea what she was up against. She slowed to a brisk walk as she neared the first group of kids loitering around the directory sign. Marina ran up the escalators and didn’t even bother turning around to catch one of her favorite views of the ocean and Newport Beach. She raced past the Venetian carousel, a ton of high-end stores like BCBG Max Azria, an art gallery or two, and hip shops like Juicy Couture. She pulled open the gigantic wooden doors of Anthropologie and slipped inside. She found her mother shaking her head at the dresses on display.

  Standing beside their mother, Monica looked at Marina’s disheveled hair and mouthed, Where were you?

  Xochitl’s, Marina mimed.

  Monica’s hazel eyes widened in amazement as she quickly raked her fingers through the front of Marina’s hair and patted d
own the flyaway strands on top, then nodded her approval.

  “Hey, Mom,” Marina said merrily.

  Marina’s mother turned. “There you are.” She flicked her finger at the dress she had been scrutinizing. “None of these will do. These dresses are too strange. We should have gone to one of the department stores.”

  “So we can buy cookie-cutter outfits,” Monica mumbled.

  Marina giggled. Her mother glared menacingly at Monica. Marina sobered up and stepped in front of her sister as if to guard her. “Mom, we like these clothes.”

  See? You have power when you want it, the woman’s voice said. Marina smiled inwardly at the encouragement.

  “They aren’t nice enough for Grandpy’s party,” Marina’s mother complained.

  “We’ll find something,” Marina said reassuringly.

  Within fifteen minutes, Marina and Monica had selected a few dresses and skirts and were headed to the fitting rooms. Marina’s mother beelined for the handicapped room.

  “Mom, that room is for handicapped people,” Marina protested.

  “People with special needs,” Monica interjected.

  Marina’s mother looked around arrogantly. “Well, I don’t see anyone with special needs but us. We need the space.”

  Marina and Monica exchanged looks as if to say, Sometimes there is no stopping her.

  Mrs. Peralta settled comfortably on a cushioned bench in the large fitting room. Marina closed the door and turned her back to her mother when she took off her shirt. Her mother watched her in the mirror.

  “You need another bra,” Marina’s mother said brusquely. “That one is too small.”

  Marina whipped the shirt back over her head. She wanted to tell her mom off, but she couldn’t think of a response in time to stop another devastating remark.

  “Didn’t we just buy you a bra?” her mother continued. “I didn’t grow that fast. Maybe you’ve put on a few pounds. How much do you weigh?”

  “Mom!” Monica and Marina objected together.

  “I was only asking.” Marina’s mother balked, hands in the air as if she were innocently shielding off a brutal attack from her daughters.

  “You know, Mom,” Monica began carefully, “why don’t you wait for us outside?”

  Mrs. Peralta patted the cushion. “There’s a bench in here. I’m tired.”

  Marina grabbed a dress and Monica’s arm and yanked her sister out of the fitting room. Once they were safely secluded in another dressing room, Marina whispered, “She’s the one with special needs.”

  Monica stifled a laugh. “Come on, hurry up before she hunts us down.”

  Marina tried on a white dress with a pink ribbon sash. It wasn’t exactly her style, but she figured her mom would like it and they could get out of here sooner. Marina looked at herself in the mirror before walking out. What was her style, anyway?

  You have yet to find it, my dear, said the woman’s voice.

  Sí, the girl responded in agreement.

  Marina sighed. Fern and even the voices are right. I always buy whatever is in fashion. I don’t have a color scheme, except for whatever appears the most in my magazines. If the clothing was expensive, displayed on a mannequin, or with a popular label, she bought it. But that didn’t mean she always liked it or felt comfortable wearing it. How many times had she gone into her jam-packed closet and still not been able to find anything she wanted to wear?

  Marina opened the door to the handicapped room to model for her mother. Marina’s mother lounged on the bench as if she were kicking back poolside at some fancy resort. All she needed was one cabana boy to feed her peeled grapes and another one to fan her with a palm frond.

  Marina’s mother sat up. “You look lumpy,” she said.

  “How can you say something so mean? You’re my mother,” Marina asked in a small and confused voice.

  Keep calm, the woman’s voice said.

  Marina felt Monica walk up behind her. The extra support reminded Marina of how strong she felt around Rogelia, who would never say anything like that to her.

  “I thought you would want me to be honest,” Marina’s mother said frostily.

  Hable tu verdad, the girl’s voice said.

  Yes, just speak your truth, the woman said.

  “There is a difference between honesty and cruelty,” Marina stated.

  Marina’s mother gathered her purse and stood up. “Marina, I’m sorry, but I just don’t know how to love you.”

  “What?” Marina asked.

  “Not the way you want me to.” Marina’s mother pushed past Marina and stormed out of the fitting room.

  A store clerk walked up at that opportune moment. Red-faced, she looked from Marina to the retreating form of her mother. “Um, do you need any other sizes?”

  “No.” Marina sniffed. “I think we’re done here.”

  After the unfortunate shopping excursion, Marina waited in anticipation all weekend for Rogelia to come back to their house. She woke early Monday morning and listened to the birds chirping outside. Finally, she heard Rogelia opening the front door. Marina whipped off her bedcover.

  Esperate, came the girl’s voice.

  Yes, wait until she gets her work done, said the woman.

  Marina sighed and obeyed the voices, even though she didn’t quite understand why she couldn’t talk to Rogelia while she worked. But then, she guessed Rogelia would speak more openly with her if they had some privacy. Marina put on a baby-doll tank and a pair of light pink lounge pants and, with no electronic distractions in her room, as per Rogelia’s instructions, she read magazines in her room for a few hours. Finally, Rogelia shuffled Samantha off on a playdate with one of her little buddies and took her lunch into her room. Marina knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Rogelia called.

  Marina opened the door and inhaled deeply, beginning to find comfort in the scent of copal. She handed Rogelia an embroidered handkerchief she had bought just for her.

  “Gracias. Sit down here, Marina.” Rogelia patted the bed. “What do you want to talk about?” Rogelia pulled up a chair so that she faced Marina.

  Marina sat on the bed. “It’s my mom,” she said, looking into her teacher’s tender gaze. She was beginning to trust those wrinkles of Rogelia’s. “She gets so mad at me, and I don’t know why I let it hurt me, but it does.”

  “There is something innate in most everyone that needs to have that connection with their mother,” Rogelia said. “Have you been practicing your meditation work?”

  “A little,” Marina said, wondering why Rogelia was changing the subject.

  “It will help you strengthen your will,” Rogelia assured her. “And then you won’t be bothered so much by other people’s opinions or outbursts.”

  “So when I get good at hearing these voices, will I be able to read minds like you?” Marina asked.

  “Maybe,” Rogelia chuckled. “I knew you were going to need some privacy to talk with me today,” she said.

  “How did you know that?” Marina asked, gazing with admiration at Rogelia. She was just about the coolest person Marina had ever met. “I didn’t even think that in your presence.”

  “Intuition, mi amor.” Rogelia smiled. “I keep telling you and Fern how important it is. I think you will understand this lesson better if we go outside.”

  Marina followed Rogelia through the house. Monica glanced at them curiously when they passed her bedroom. They walked outside and followed the path to the far end of the yard, near where Fern and Marina had buried the god’s eyes.

  “Watch those hummingbirds.” Rogelia pointed to the small birds.

  Marina peered at two ruby-throated birds diving in and soaring out of the Australian bottlebrush tree, stopping on occasion to stick their long beaks into the mass of conelike red flowers.

  “What are they saying?” Rogelia asked.

  “I don’t know,” Marina said. How was she supposed to know that? Did Rogelia think she spoke bird language?

  She’ll
explain, just give her a moment, the woman’s voice said.

  “Listen,” Rogelia said. “And you will be able to understand.”

  Marina listened to the birds and clearly heard agitated buzzing and chirping as the birds zipped back and forth. “They’re buzzing?” she said questioningly.

  “Yes, but I believe you can understand what their voices are saying,” Rogelia said as she watched the birds fly in and out of the tree. “You just need to trust your intuition, and no more second-guessing yourself. Tell me, when do you most often hear the voices in your head?”

  “I hear them when I’m by myself, and once when I was really scared,” Marina said. “But mostly as I’m waking up or just before I fall asleep.”

  “Sit down and close your eyes,” Rogelia said.

  Marina glanced once more at the birds, then found a smooth place on the ground to sit. She closed her eyes.

  “Take three deep breaths,” Rogelia said soothingly. “Pretend you are lying in your bed. You are enjoying a dream of floating on a cloud.”

  Marina imagined just that, and she could feel her body relaxing.

  “Ever so slowly, the cloud drifts down from the heavens. You’re still far above the earth, but getting closer all the time.”

  Marina felt the gentle sway of the cloud’s descent.

  “Now you’ve landed on the top of a mountain peak, where there sits a lone tree. What do you hear?” Rogelia asked.

  “Get off my branch,” Marina repeated. Her eyes flew open. “It’s the birds!”

  “Now, watch the birds,” Rogelia instructed. “But hold on to the dreamy state you had during the visualization.”

  Marina gazed at the birds. They continued to chirp, but instead of indecipherable noise, she discovered that she understood them. She laughed. Instead of buzzing, she heard words. “They’re fighting over the pollen,” Marina reported. She pointed out the smaller of the two birds. “That one just told the other bird to get out of his tree.” Marina laughed even harder as one of the birds zoomed off. “The one that left, he just said, ‘I hope your beak gets stuck in a bees’ nest.’”