But how do I tell such a friendly face I need silence, and total concentration, to help unburden myself from all I’m going through?
“No problem. I love puppies. Neruda’s my favorite poet. What a brill name for a dog.” She recites a few of her favorite Neruda lines verbatim. I’m amazed she seems to enjoy him as much as I do but stay quiet about it.
She dries her face, wrings the bottom of her T, and slips on white sneakers. She brings her purple towel closer to me and plops on it. “I’m Tazer.”
“Hi. I’m Shai.” I try hard to smile.
“S-h-y?” Tazer slides her glasses down to her nose, and her hazel eyes look up over them.
“Sounds the same but it’s spelled, S-h-a-i.” I clutch my hair with both hands and stare away from her, into nothingness.
“Beautiful name. It doesn’t sound Cuban.”
“Thanks. My mom loves America because it’s given us so much. That’s the reason she gave me an English sounding first name.”
“Epic. You okay?” She catches on.
“Fantastic.” Sarcasm usually has restorative powers but it’s not working for me right now.
“What happened?”
“Just had a beautiful fight with my mother.” I feel my chin trembling. I clutch Neruda in my arms and squeeze her tightly against me.
“That’s terrible. Why?”
“Because she’s a case.” I kiss Neruda’s head and stare at the frothy ocean waves. What have I got to lose by telling an unfamiliar person something about my messed-up life? Maybe she’ll have valuable insight that’ll help me reflect on the destruction humanity brings upon itself and say things like, “Consider yourself lucky. Most artists’ work becomes more and more powerful with suffering and pain.”
Suddenly, words just pour out and I can’t stop them.
“In second grade, I brought home a picture book called, Birthday in the Barrio, about rebel eight-year-old Chavi and her best friend Rosario. My mom read the author’s blog where she stated that in her next novel, the girls are twenty-year-old lesbian girlfriends. She tore the book into pieces, threw it in the trash and said, ‘Authors like these plant seeds in girls’ minds about choosing different lifestyles when they’re all grown up. Girls can do anything they set their minds to. You could be president, but no one will hire you for the job if you turn into a woman uninterested in men. I don’t want you transforming into one of those.’”
“Qué loca.” Tazer totally gets it.
“Well . . . she’s a great mom except for some things. Right now, she wants to tear up my life and throw it away in the garbage.”
I hate talking about my mother that way. I should present Tazer with a complete history of all the great moments my mom and I have shared, like the day we entered a daughter and mother singing contest and won, or how we usually walk hand-in-hand, singing together, in harmony, whenever we’re out and about.
A sympathetic ear to relieve what I’m feeling might be a good thing, though. But maybe not. I don’t want Tazer to think my mom is disposable just because of one character flaw. I really shouldn’t tell her what Mami just did to me.
A bunch of wild green parrots startle us as they circle the palm trees above us. I stand to catch a clearer view. “How beautiful. I have four in the backyard of my house.” I want to change the subject from me, to anything at all.
Neruda growls and barks up at them. Tazer lifts her, belly up, and pets her chubby stomach. “We’ve got a family of owls in my backyard.”
It would be rude if I didn’t at least ask her something about herself. She’ll just think I’m one of those narcissistic, egocentric, plástica Cubanita chicks who don’t give a royal rooster’s butt about anything but themselves.
I lift my dorky, navy blue school skirt and stretch down my tank top. “Where do you live?”
She sets Neruda down on my towel. “With my dad, in Gables by the Sea.” Gables by the Sea is one of the wealthiest places in Miami. “My uncle, who’s been here twenty-five years, got my father into becoming a realtor. They struck it rich during the real estate boom. I miss my family in Cuba. I lived in an apartment building with my grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins. There were nineteen of us. Now I have everything, but I don’t have them.”
“That’s sad.” She nods. I tell her I live in Little Havana. “But we’re moving soon to a ritzy neighborhood in Coconut Grove. My mom just got married. She wants to move up in the world.” I tell her this so she gets it that I can relate. “I’ll miss my old neighborhood, too.”
Suddenly, I miss Pedri, my home, my friends, and everyone who now sees me as a lying, untrustworthy jerk. My chest fills up with pain.
Tazer talks about her fun life at Coral Gables High, and having headed the LGBTQI Center there when she’s interrupted by a girl far away waving her hands and yelling, “Taze!”
“I’ll be right back. That’s my friend Zoe.” She takes off.
As I watch her dash away, I flash back to our principal, Mrs. Superior-Sicko, a cockroach of a woman, with bloodshot, steely eyes, paper-thin lips and tangled eyebrows. She stood with feet planted close together as she read the texts to my mom. I wanted to tear my cell out of her hands but she’d have destroyed me.
I can’t shake the memories of Fart Face walking her ogre self into the principal’s office, dragging me behind her.
She calls my mom at work and in Spanish, says, “Mrs. Amores, we have a problem with your daughter. She’s in the office. We need you here immediately.”
That call is my death. My legs feel like they’re made of clay. To any mother, reading vivid, detailed texts of her daughter being with another girl will horrify her. I’d rather fry in the chair than for this to happen.
My hands won’t stop trembling. I’ve got to pee. Sweat drips down my back from my neck as I wait for Mami to come through the door. No one is talking to me. But they’re talking about me with my cell in hand. They’re desperately trying to figure out Marlena’s name and number so they can call her parents.
“The callback number was turned off. This is preposterous. We can’t allow two bad apples to spoil our private school’s impeccable reputation. We won’t let such indecency here.”
In a quavering voice, I raise my hand. “May I please use the restroom?” I’ll make a mad dash out of this dreadful school and run for my life after I pee.
Mrs. Superior-Sicko grits her teeth. She scratches her bulbous nose. “The restroom? You should have thought about the consequences of these atrocious texts, young lady.” Her ears and neck flush a dark pink. A thick blue vein on her forehead pops out. Her eyes drill holes into mine. “Hold it until we resolve this matter.”
I try to sit but they won’t let me. My legs are weak.
Before you know it, my mom rushes through the door and they’re reading the texts to her.
. . . your breasts on my . . .
Mami’s face goes from rosy to deathly pale as she burns holes into my pupils with her stare. “Those texts are obscene. This is so embarrassing. How dare you have a relationship with a girl in this school behind my back?”
Mrs. Superior-Sicko glares at me. She points a fat finger toward the middle of my forehead. “If you’d like Shai to stay in our school, you must keep watch over her so she doesn’t meet up with that girl again. They must end this sexual relationship and filthy texting, today.”
“It’s not disgusting like you all think.”
Fart Face comes to me, shoving the cell in my face. “Shai, you know this school accepts homosexuality. We even have a Straight and Gay Alliance. This isn’t about sexual preferences. The same rules apply to straight kids. This issue has to do with having sex at your age. Reading, writing, sending or receiving these types of explicit texts during class is not allowed. Who’s the girl you’re having sex with? You’re both responsible for this unacceptable behavior.”
I want to blurt, “It’s your favorite niece, Alicita, the perfect genius you’re always yacking about.” But instead, I zip my lips tigh
tly.
My mom digs holes in my eyes. “I didn’t even know you liked girls.” She looks to Fart Face. “Shai wears dresses. She slow dances at parties with boys. As far as I knew, she loves the opposite sex. I’ve been fooled by my own daughter?” She turns to me. “We were so close.”
Mrs. Superior-Sicko gives me an ultimatum: “Tell us who the girl who wrote those texts is, or you’ll be expelled.” I’m still mute. She continues with hatred in her eyes. “Whoever she is, her behavior needs to be stopped. I won’t allow girls, boys, gays, straights, giraffes, whatever, to write or read graphic, explicit, sexual texts in class.”
The ticking sound of the grandfather clock blasts out like a bunch of loud shots, over and over again, driving me crazy.
“Who is the nasty girl?” My mom’s jaw tenses. “Go bring her to us right now.”
“She’s not nasty!” No one’s going to find out it was Marlena. I’ll let them keep believing she’s in this school. I don’t give a royal banana if they keep me prisoner here for years. I’ll never talk!
Mami utters, “I’m deeply sorry. I raised her to be polite. She’s never given me trouble. Shai’s been a great girl and, as you know, an A student. I don’t know what’s gotten into her and why she won’t cooperate.”
“I’m not shocked,” Fart Face affirms. “This type of sexual behavior shouldn’t be happening at such a young age, but unfortunately, it’s common.”
Mrs. Superior-Sicko’s jaw is tight as she digs holes into my pupils. “Well, Shai Amores, I see that you will not cooperate. You’re lucky today is the last day of school and you’ve graduated. But you’re not welcome back next year.” She blinks her crusty bug eyes. “Get your books and go home.”
Mami stays behind, talking with the Torturers. I don’t want to see her face when I get back. Maybe I can run into the street and get hit by a car. No. No. Pedri will suffer if I die.
First, I dash to the bathroom to pee. Then, I walk into the class. Some girls stare at me with question marks in their eyes. A few guys make fun of me. “Hey, Muff Diver!” They sing out, “Shai e-eats octa-pussy! Shai lo-oves octa-pussy!”
“Shut up, jerks!” Soli chews them out.
The room fills with the buzzing sound of gossip. I don’t understand. Some of these kids have been my friends all my life.
Soli hugs me and kisses my cheek. “Things’ll be okay. I’ll call you soon.” Lucky for Soli, everyone knows she’s boy crazy, otherwise they’d think she was the texter. I don’t want Soli to let go. I’d like her to slap me awake and tell me my mom hasn’t read those intimate texts and this isn’t real.
I kiss her cheek. “Later.” The lump in my throat from knowing what’s awaiting me is killing me.
I grab my book bag and see smiles on the faces of Margarita, Julian, Sasha and Hernando. “Hasta luego, Shai.”
“Bye,” I wave back then say goodbye to everyone else. Most of the class waves back but my friends look away.
“Liar!” CC yells after me.
I hear Soli shouting, “Leave her alone, asswipe!”
I close the door behind me, knowing what my life will be like from now on.
I’m snapped out of my memory when Tazer reaches me.
“I’m back. Zoe’s a friend from school. I always see her here. I let her know I’ll catch up with her next week.” She plops on her towel.
Gusts of wind have the coconut palms swaying. Sweet smells of fried plantains fill the beach. A vendor walks over to us selling pastelitos, platanitos maduros and sodas.
Tazer buys two pastelitos de guayaba and freezing cold Maltas. I thank her, and we sit in the shade of the tree sipping the soda that reminds me of Pedri. When he was a baby, I’d pour condensed milk in a glass bottle, add Malta, shake it, and feed it to him; it’s still his favorite. I sink my teeth into the pastry. “So what do you do for fun?”
“Surfing, skateboarding, chilling with friends at the car races, reading, writing plays, going to the theatre and clubbing every weekend with my fake ID.” She swallows, wipes pastelito flakes off her skinny chicken lips with her hand, and throws me a gleaming smile. “What about you?”
“I love collecting ancient music and watching foreign films, especially Cuban, French and Italian. I like Japanese animation, too. I’m hard-core into drawing, painting murals, riding bikes, swimming, reading and things of that nature. I’ve got a fantastic part-time job doing landscapes, on weekends. Marco, the boss, will soon be hiring me full time.”
My brain feels like it’s about to explode. The words I see flying around me have nothing to do with happiness. They must have been what Pandora saw when she opened the infamous box: Chaos. Cataclysm. Superficiality. Absurdity. Futility. Pointlessness. Sadness. Brutality.
I can’t stop visions of what’s just happened. I’m trying hard to listen but everything gets jumbled up and reverted back to when I was in my mother’s cacharro on our ride home.
The fumes are making me nauseous. My mom puts her foot to the pedal, grips the wheel, and prays, “Ay Jesucristo, give me strength.” She makes a promesa: “If you save my child from the filth of this modern life, I’ll never cut my hair for as long as I live.”
Old-fashioned Cuban mothers always make weird promises like that. I mean, why would Jesus give three and a half coconuts if my mother let her hair grow down to her heels?
I try to reason with her: “Let me explain.”
She yanks my hair. “Explain? You’re a disgrace to our family name. If your father were alive, he’d die. Tell me who that degenerada girl writing you those X-rated texts is!”
The buildings thin out around us as we speed through the school district. My mom makes a left turn. She leaves behind squat structures and drives into a well-manicured neighborhood filled with three-story mansions. The villas lose their usual grasp on me and give way to a dark blur where nothing makes sense. I’ve lost Mami’s trust. My life is changing as quickly as the landscapes flashing by.
I stare out the window, still mute. I can’t tell on Marlena. That will start World War III.
The rest of the ride is silent. We get home and walk into my mom’s dark, hairspray-smelling room. She pulls up the shades and the light blinds me. I cover my eyes with my forearm.
“So that’s what you’ve been doing every day after school before I get home from work, eh?” Mami shakes her head in disgust. “Dios mío.” Tears stream down her face. “I’ve never been so humiliated and embarrassed in all my life. I heard details about you being with another girl. Can you understand how disturbed and devastated I feel?”
“I’m so sorry. They shouldn’t have read them to you or in front of the class. That’s not right.” Reading those texts should be against the law. Who does that? They wanted to purposely ruin my life. I can’t do the same and destroy Marlena’s life. I won’t.
My mom loved Marlena from the first day they met. She sensed Marlena was “decent.” When Marlena told my mother she’d like to elope with her boyfriend because her parents wouldn’t allow her to be with him, my mom reassured her, “Be patient and stay being the good girl you are. Eventually, I’m sure your parents will open their hearts to him.” Mami had no idea Marlena was talking about me. I don’t feel too good about having fooled her, but what else could I do?
I stand by the bed and look down at my two-tone shoes. No way will I fight back. She’ll slap the brain juice right out of my head.
She picks up her loose hair, twists it into a bun at the back of her head, and sticks bobby pins deep into it. “I was going to surprise you with a used, sturdy car today for having made such good grades this year. I wanted to drive you to the dealership after school and let you pick it. I’ll be putting the loan money right back into the bank if you don’t tell me who the girl is. Which of your school friends is it—Soli, Olivia, Aracelys or CC?”
Damn. I really need a car.
I keep quiet. Marlena goes to La Caridad del Cobre High. What a lucky break that my mother and Torturous Teachers still believe it’s someon
e from my school. Mami might never figure out who the “Evil Culprit” is.
There’s a huge silence. Abruptly, we hear Pedri’s school bus leaving him in front of the house. My mother walks into the living room. Pedri opens the door and runs to her for a hug. “Go to your room and stay until I’m done with your sister.”
He obeys.
She barges in. “So you’re still not talking, eh? That despicable girl gets to finish high school in your school, and you get thrown out?”
Her heels clickety-clack something loud in my ears as she paces the room, back and forth, back and forth. My head feels like it’s about to combust and crack open.
“Until you tell me who you’ve been having sex with in my house, you won’t be allowed to leave here, bring friends over, talk on your cell, text or tweet anyone or use your iPad or laptop.” Her voice rises in a frightening tone. “I just got married with Jaime. Tomorrow we begin our honeymoon, the first vacation I’ve had in six years, and you do this to me now? He better never find out. I’ve just started my life again after your father died. Don’t you dare ruin my chances of a happy life with him.”
She snatches my cell from my book bag and tries to find out the number of the girl who sent the texts. Marlena’s digits and info is set on private. She erases all my e-mails and storms off to the kitchen with phone in hand.
Pedri runs to me. “What happened, Shyly? Why is Mami so mad?”
I sit him on my lap and hold him tightly against me. I need to feel his love around me. “Little Punk, they threw me out of school.” I hug him closer, tighter, as I gulp hard and try not to cry.
He examines my eyes while holding onto the back of my neck with both hands. “Were you bad?”
I kiss the tip of his tiny marble nose, press my forehead against his, and look into his green bubble-gum colored eyes. “Nope. They threw me out because I won’t snitch on a friend. Don’t worry about it, okay?” I brush his golden curls away from his forehead with my fingers and squeeze my cheek to his. He’s all mushy and marshmallowy.
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