Xochitl nearly fell over with excitement. This was exactly what she had been waiting for. She placed the rose on the altar.
“We will begin with something a little closer to earth than to heaven. Imagine anyplace that you can see, taste, hear, and feel.”
“Home,” Xochitl said quietly. “Mamá at home.”
Nana smiled a little sadly. “Breathe deeply. In through your nose and out through your mouth. With each breath, visualize your energy field puffing out larger and larger. If you get scared, look down at your hands. That will help you feel connected with something you understand.”
Xochitl concentrated on her breath and sent her energy out in waves. Flashing colors sparkled before her closed eyes. She thought of her village in Mexico, and with a swoosh of wind, she was there in an instant, watching her mother bustle around the kitchen. “I see Mamá. She’s stirring the mole. Oh, I can smell the chili powder and the chocolate. José is chasing Pepito. Oops, Pepito knocked a bag of flour off the table. Tano is doing homework. Of course, Amelia is brushing her hair.”
“Let’s try something different,” Nana suggested. “Where are Fern and Marina?”
Xochitl let her attention linger on her family for a while. Then she thought of Fern, and immediately Xochitl hovered above Fern’s house. “Fern is in her bedroom staring at her phone.” Xochitl sent her awareness to Marina and watched her pay her bus fare. “Marina is riding the bus,” she said dully. Now that Xochitl was experiencing a rush from learning this new piece of magic from Nana, she could understand Fern and Marina’s excitement.
“And now, Graciela,” Nana said.
Xochitl went immediately to the accident scene. She felt the jerky bouncing of the truck, the launching over the embankment, and then she shot into space. Darkness surrounded her, and she felt weightless. She wheeled backward through a star-strewn universe, completely against the natural clockwise direction of the planets. Xochitl tumbled over and over. She could feel herself everywhere and nowhere at once. There was no end to her expansion. Her awareness encompassed everything. It felt as if she had previously seen life through a pinhole and now her vision took in all directions at the same time. She floated light-years away, watching the stars streaking and planets coming in and out of view.
Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Xochitl began to feel a slight tug back to her body. She could hear the distant call of “Xochitl!” very far away. She looked around, and no matter where she reached out, she passed through everything she saw, as if she were a ghost. The lack of boundaries and depth perception frightened her. She tried to recall where her body lay. She vaguely remembered last seeing Nana’s face in the living room. She mustered all her concentration on her nana, and in a flash she zoomed back to her house.
Xochitl hovered above the altar dedicated to La Virgen de Guadalupe, watching Nana shake her body. Xochitl saw her own glazed expression and drooping limbs hanging lifelessly by her side. She tried to lift an arm or a leg, but she couldn’t. Her awareness, her consciousness, seemed to be locked out of her body. Xochitl watched helplessly as her body collapsed.
Nana fell to her knees by Xochitl and bent her head closer to Xochitl’s mouth. When she couldn’t detect breath, Nana placed her fingers on Xochitl’s neck behind her ears to check for her pulse. Nana pumped on her chest and breathed into her mouth, performing CPR.
Nana turned a pleading look at La Virgen de Guadalupe. “Please, Mother. Please help me. Help bring my baby back. I can’t lose them both.”
Xochitl tried to send her energy like a bullet to her heart. She felt a whoosh of energy and then nothing. She disappeared instantly. There was no warning. No floating sensation telling her that her body had begun to turn invisible.
Nana grasped at the thin air where Xochitl had been lying. Nana looked around in wild desperation. She obviously could not see Xochitl. Nana patted the ground, searching. Finding nothing, her eyes grew wild with worry and fear.
Xochitl tried to force her energy back to her body, but she had completely lost the handle of her energy. She had swung from one end of the pendulum to the other, from deep space outside her body to the deep space within her body.
Nana struggled to her feet. “Xochitl!” she called, stumbling from the living room to the kitchen. “Xochitl!” Nana screamed repeatedly as she ran from room to room.
Xochitl followed her nana as a misty waif in spirit form. “I’m here. I’m right here!” she cried silently.
Nana pulled open the sliding back door. “Xochitl!” she yelled. Nana clutched the doorjamb with her right hand and gripped her chest with her other hand. She stumbled down the back steps. With purposeful determination, Nana marched toward her herb garden. She veered toward the poisonous plants. Nana looked back at the house. “Xochitl, where have you gone?” Nana whispered imploringly.
Xochitl trailed behind Nana, frantically wishing she could force the wind to blow or a bird to chirp to let Nana know she was okay.
Nana began to pant and reached out to the tall, flowering foxglove. With a trembling hand she pinched off a bright purple petal, tore the petal in half, and popped one half into her mouth.
Xochitl watched Nana suspiciously, nervously wondering why she had eaten that particular plant. It was part of her poison garden. And that worried her to no end.
Nana whispered a prayer to the plant. Her posture drooped as if a large weight had been placed upon her shoulders. She trembled, and her left arm shook.
Xochitl had never seen Nana look so weak before. Nana, what’s wrong? What’s going on? she cried silently. But no words reached Nana’s ears.
Then, without warning, Nana swayed and fainted, her body crumpling to the ground in a heap.
The shock of seeing her formidable nana lying unconscious on the ground drove Xochitl back into her body. She twitched violently, like someone waking from a bad dream. Xochitl opened her eyes and found she was still in the living room. She stood up, and though she felt weak, she ran outside, hurtled down the dirt path, and dropped beside her fallen nana. Xochitl shook Rogelia, trying to rouse her, but her nana would not awaken.
Twenty-three
On the bus ride home, Marina felt like her insides had been torn to shreds. She hadn’t meant to appear condescending with her peace offering, as though she thought she could buy friendship or she was better than Xochitl.
She’ll come around, the woman’s voice said comfortingly in her ear.
Marina wasn’t sure. Xochitl still seemed so upset with her, and nothing she said made a difference. She bounced along from the backseat for a while; then another concern descended upon her when she stepped off the bus: I should have been home for dinner an hour ago.
Marina picked up her pace and ran up the hill to her house. It would be just her luck if this was the night her mother chose to break out the Pampered Chef stone casserole dish and make enchiladas. If sauce or rice simmered in the heavy black and white speckled cast-iron skillet of her great-grandmother, then Marina would really be in for it.
Once in the house, Marina caught her reflection in the mirror of the hall tree directly in front of the door. She ran her fingers through her thick caramel-colored hair until it lay perfectly smooth. She glanced to her left. Samantha sat cross-legged in front of the television, watching cartoons. Thankfully, the smell of dinner didn’t ill the air. Marina inched down the short passageway to the kitchen. No pots or pans littered the counters. Monica sat on a high wooden stool, scooping spoonfuls of Shredded Wheat into her mouth with loud slurping noises.
“Where’s Mom?” Marina asked.
“Dunno,” Monica said, revealing bits of cereal stuck in her teeth.
Marina relaxed with a deep sigh. At least she didn’t have to deal with a demented mother in addition to her guilty feelings about hurting Xochitl. Marina turned and headed down the hallway to her bedroom. She would go and relax, listen to Los Lobos, or check her e-mails. Or maybe she’d write in their journal about how much Xochitl meant to her. That way if Xochitl ever
read the journal, she would see how much Marina truly valued their friendship.
Marina opened her bedroom door. Her mother was sitting on the edge of her bed, reading the journal. She glanced up. For a fleeting second Marina thought she saw an expression of terror flicker across her mother’s face—the exact kind of look one should have if caught invading another’s privacy.
“What are you doing?” Marina roared. She marched to her mother and lunged for the journal.
Marina’s mother swung the journal out of her reach. “What is this?”
“None of your business,” Marina yelled. “Give it back!” She leaned heavily on her mother and leveraged the book out of her grip. A couple of crow feathers fell off and fluttered to the carpet. “How could you read this?” she asked angrily.
“I have to see what you’re up to,” her mother said. “Who you’re talking to, where you are. I don’t know what you’re up to with these girls.”
“Mom, you’ve know Fern for—”
“I saw what you wrote about me,” Marina’s mother interrupted. “And you went to a concert without telling me? Los Lobos,” she added in disgust. “I can’t imagine what kind of people were there.”
“No, I…,” Marina began, but stopped. What was the point in lying? She was being backed into a corner. The truth was the only way out. “Los Lobos’s music and their crowd made me happy.”
Marina’s mother shook her head. “You simply don’t get it. You don’t understand what it’s like to be Mexican.”
“I am Mexican,” Marina shot back.
“You’re only half Mexican,” her mother said dismissively. “A true Mexican daughter would never be so unkind to her mother.”
“So now you’re blaming me for being only half Mexican?” All her life her mother had been keeping her from her Mexican roots, and now she was giving Marina a hard time for not being Mexican enough. It was too much. “What next? Do you blame me for your mother’s death, the fact that my deadbeat dad left you all alone?” Marina looked all over her room and lifted her hands as if she were a preacher talking to her congregation. “Why not blame me for your hideous taste in decorating?”
“How dare you!” Marina’s mother barked.
“You call our old neighborhood the barrio, and yet you grew up there. Why are you so embarrassed to be Mexican? You know what, Mom—as far as I’m concerned I’m not Mexican enough.” Marina’s voice had begun to shake. “Or didn’t you read that?” she added scathingly.
“Don’t you speak to me in that ungrateful tone. I am your mother!”
“As if I could forget,” Marina shot back.
Marina’s mother moved to slap Marina. She refrained, her hand trembling in midair. Marina looked boldly into her mother’s eyes. Her mother lowered her hand but seemed to grow a couple of menacing inches as her posture straightened.
“At least you have a mother,” Marina’s mother said. “I wish I had my mother with me every day of my life. And look at you. Look at the way you treat me. I never treated my mother like this.”
Time has a way of making us look better, the woman’s voice said. Be loving. The voice seemed to echo through the room.
Marina’s hold on her journal loosened.
Love each other. I beg you. The woman’s voice, which sounded so sad, drifted through the room, and with it, a slight breeze.
Marina’s mother faltered for a split second, as though she heard something, but regained her composure quickly. She charged forward and grabbed the journal, wheeled around, and stormed out of Marina’s bedroom.
Marina felt numb. She wanted to cry, but it seemed like there were no tears left.
Calm down, Marina, Graciela said in English. Either that or Marina was beginning to translate Spanish so quickly in her head, she didn’t recognize the difference.
Marina paced back and forth across her room. She couldn’t calm down. She had to get out of the house. Where would she go? Neither Grandpy nor Aunt Carmen would harbor her. She could stay at Fern’s. Mr. and Mrs. Fuego wouldn’t notice. She could be gone for a week or so, maybe more, before she would call home. That would give her mother a big scare. Then maybe for once she would think about how horrible it would be to lose a daughter.
Just go get the journal, the woman’s voice said.
We won’t let you get caught, Graciela said.
Yes. She needed the journal. Marina felt a shield of protection like a golden, glowing shell surround her. She silently pulled the door open and tiptoed down the hall.
You look like you’re up to something, Graciela said. Just pretend you’re getting a glass of water.
Marina stood straight and tried to act as if she weren’t planning on escaping. Her heart thumped against her chest as she stepped into the kitchen. She walked to the pantry and pulled out two black garbage bags to put some clothes into. She stuffed the bags behind her in the waistband of her jeans. Marina checked the pantry shelves in case her mother had hidden the journal there. Her gaze slid across the kitchen countertops. Could her mother have taken the journal to her bedroom?
Marina jumped when she heard the turning of a page. She peeked around the corner. Her mother was reading in the den.
The book is in the cabinet, the woman’s voice said.
Marina noticed one of the doors of the china cabinet ajar. She crept to the cabinet and pulled it open. The feather-covered book had been shoved to the back. Marina lifted the journal, careful not to make any noise. She closed the door. It creaked and Marina froze. She waited. Evidently her mother hadn’t heard.
Marina tucked the book under her shirt and fairly raced back to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She rifled through her closet and chest of drawers for pants, skirts, socks, and underwear, and stuffed them all into the two bags. Marina pushed the end table below the window next to her bed. She stood on the table, poked her head through the window, and looked around to make sure the coast was clear. Then she gritted her teeth and shoved the first bag of clothes through the window.
Marina jumped off the table to collect the other bag when her cell phone rang. She kicked the second bag toward the wall behind the bed. “Wild Thing,” Fern’s signature song, blared from Marina’s phone.
Marina hesitated for a moment. She didn’t want to lose her nerve to run away. Then she decided it would probably be a good idea to give Fern a heads-up that she would be spending the next several days with her. Marina scooped the phone off her bed and flicked it open. “Hey, Fern, I—”
“Marina,” Fern interrupted, her voice panicky. “Rogelia’s collapsed. She’s been taken to St. Joseph’s Hospital.”
“What happened?” Marina asked, her gaze falling on the feather-encrusted journal, which lay on her bed. Tightness began to constrict her chest and throat.
“I don’t know. Xochitl was crying so hard when she called I could barely understand her. But it doesn’t sound good. My mom and I are leaving now. Can you meet us there?”
“Of course,” Marina said.
“Okay, see you soon.”
“Bye.” Marina snapped the phone closed. She stuffed the journal into one of her bigger purses.
Rogelia is going to be okay, she tried to convince herself as she thundered down the hallway while fearful thoughts flooded her head. She ran through the kitchen to the den, where she found her mother still reading on the couch. “Mom, I need you to take me to the hospital. Rogelia’s sick.”
Mrs. Peralta glanced up from her book. “Can’t this wait until the morning?”
“No! We need to go right away!” Marina screamed. She was so scared she started shaking. Her breathing was short and shallow.
“Well, okay, if it means that much to you.” Marina’s mother put her book on the glass coffee table and stretched. “Let me put on some makeup first.”
“Mom, Fern said it’s urgent. We need to go now!”
Twenty-four
On the drive to St. Joseph’s, Mrs. Fuego noticed Fern’s trembling hands. “You really care for Rogelia?
” she inquired.
“Yes,” Fern said. “She’s been very helpful lately.” And reliable and available.
Fern’s mother looked remorsefully at her daughter. She reached out and squeezed Fern’s hand. “Rogelia will be okay.”
“Uh-huh,” Fern agreed, although she didn’t sound convinced.
As the looming structure of the hospital complex came into sight, Fern felt her heart race. She had developed a dislike for hospitals and a distrust of doctors after they misdiag-nosed her appendicitis when she was nine. From that moment forward, Fern only used naturopathic and alternative remedies if she became ill. She hadn’t even been able to bring herself to visit Pilar in the hospital when she’d given birth to Danny or Miguel.
Since it was after business hours, the parking lot was nearly empty. Fern’s mother drove under the raised arm of the gate and found a spot. Fern opened the door before her mother’s car had come to a complete stop.
“Uno momento, mi amor,” Fern’s mother said.
Fern jumped out and waited for her mother to emerge from the car. Together they raced under the long and winding outdoor corridors to the hospital entrance. Fern glanced around the waiting room but didn’t see Marina or Xochitl sitting on any of the steel-blue chairs.
Fern’s mother approached the woman sitting behind the reception counter. “Is Rogelia Garcia registered here?”
The woman scanned the computer on her desk. “She’s just left the ER. Are you family?”
“Yes,” Fern’s mother answered immediately, staring the woman directly in the eye.
The woman nodded and peeled off two orange visitor passes. Mrs. Fuego glanced sideways at her daughter and gave her a sly wink.
The woman looked up and handed the stickers to Fern’s mother. “Go straight down the hall, turn right, up the elevator one floor, left, then right again. She’ll be in room two-twenty-nine.”
Rogelia's House of Magic Page 21