The Poet X

by Elizabeth Acevedo

  it was the body of Christ that got me out,

  but sometimes I miss my island. My family.

  My mother died and I didn’t get there in time to say good-bye.

  We all doubt ourselves and our path sometimes.”

  I want to say I’m sorry, to bring back the young Father Sean smile

  but instead I merely nod.

  Some things don’t need words.

  What Twin Knows

  “Twin, you know Father Sean’s mom died?”

  Twin looks up distracted from his phone,

  where his fingers have been rapidly texting.

  I try to read over his shoulder but he flips

  it screen-down on the desk.

  “Yeah, she died three summers ago.

  Why you bringing that up?”

  And I don’t know how I didn’t know.

  How I didn’t notice Father Sean gone,

  or notice the person who took over his sermons.

  Have I been checked out of church for that long?

  I don’t ask Twin any of these questions.

  He’s already back on his phone.

  “Who you been texting so much lately?”

  The question shoulders past my lips

  and I stop with one of my headphones

  halfway into my ear.

  Twin has never kept secrets from me.

  His thumbs go still on his phone.

  And he gives me a long, long look.

  “Xiomara, we don’t have to do this, right?

  Maybe with everyone else we need to explain.

  But we both know we’re messing around

  and that Mami and Papi will kill us if they find out.”

  And I want to nod my head, and shake it no at the same time.

  Our parents always say that as la niña de la casa

  expectations for me are different than for Twin.

  If he brought a girl home they would probably applaud him.

  I don’t know what they would do

  if the person he brought home was not a girl.

  Hanging Over My Head

  The next couple of days,

  I wait for Aman

  to bring up the Halloween party.

  But he holds my hand in bio,

  walks me to the train in the afternoons,

  kisses me good-bye before I exit to the platform,

  and doesn’t mention the party again.

  Maybe he doesn’t want me to go anymore?

  Friday, October 26

  Friday

  Is usually my favorite day of the week.

  But this morning I got a text from Aman

  that flavored my whole day sour:

  A: Got a doc appointment.

  Not coming to school.

  See ya at the party?

  And I know it’s going to be

  a long two days between

  now and when I’ll see him again.

  Unless I figure out a way . . .

  Black & Blue

  What kind of twin am I

  who didn’t even notice

  when my own brother

  comes home with a black eye?

  I mean I noticed, but not until

  I heard Mami yelling at him tonight

  while he was getting

  something from the fridge.

  “¿Y eso, muchacho? ¿Quién te pegó?

  ¿No me digas que fue Xiomara?”

  But I’m already halfway to the kitchen,

  then pulling his chin from her grip,

  inspecting his eye myself.

  I don’t say a word to him

  and Twin’s face flinches in my hand.

  “No es nada. It’s nothing.

  It was just a misunderstanding.”

  And although he’s answering her,

  his eyes are pleading with me.

  “Yeah, looks like some asshole

  misunderstood your face

  for a punching bag.”

  Mami looks back and forth between us,

  probably only catching

  every other word of the English,

  but even she knows when it’s a twin thing.

  Tight

  I’m so heated

  with Twin

  for not telling me

  someone at school

  was bothering him

  that I stop speaking.

  It’s a silent Friday.

  On Saturday

  I wake up

  with a different feeling

  tightening my belly.

  I want to go to the party.

  I want to see Aman.

  The boys in my life

  will drive me crazy

  one way or another.

  Saturday, October 27

  Excuses

  X: Hey, so, would you be really mad

  if I didn’t go with you and Twin to the movies—

  C: Is this about the boy?

  X: Kinda . . . I’m telling my mother I’m hanging out with you.

  I’ll be home at the same time as you both.

  C: Is he making you lie to your mother?

  X: He’s not making me do anything. Except meet him at a party.

  C: Be safe, Xio. . . . Your brother’s been acting strange lately.

  Are you sure he’s coming to the movies?

  X: Yeah . . . he has a lot going on. Don’t ask about his black eye.

  But he’ll be there.

  C: Black eye? Did you hit him, Xiomara?

  X: Why does everyone keep asking that? No!

  But I’m going to hit the dude who did.

  C: Don’t make it any worse.

  You know your brother hates confrontation.

  X: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks for not being mad at me.

  C: Just don’t get pregnant. I’m too young to be a godmother.

  Costume Ready

  I leave with Twin to “the movies”

  although we go in different directions

  once we get to the corner.

  He walks toward Caridad’s house,

  and I walk to the train station

  on my way up to the Heights.

  A block away from Reuben’s house

  I sneak into a Starbucks bathroom

  and put on green eye shadow, fluff my curls.

  Tug on the hem of Twin’s Green Lantern tee

  (it fits tight around my boobs and shows some midriff.

  I’m glad Mami didn’t ask to see what I had on under my jacket.)

  and voilà—a half-assed superhero costume.

  Reuben’s House Party

  When I get to the address in Washington Heights

  I know I’m too early.

  There are only a handful of people there,

  who, like me, made bootleg attempts at a costume.

  I see a couple of people I know from school,

  but no one I would hang out with.

  This is a party crowd: the loudest, the boldest,

  the ones who smoke during the school day,

  and drink their parents’ mamajuana on the weekend.

  Someone hands me a cup of fruity drink

  but I put it down on the TV stand, lean against the wall.

  I don’t look at the clock blinking from the DVD player;

  I don’t look at my phone.

  I’ve got an alarm set so I know when to leave.

  For now I just listen to the noise, to the music,

  ignore the stares of a group of boys by the speakers.

  When someone brushes my hand I brace myself, tighten my jaw,

  but when I turn it’s Aman. Playing with my fingers, smiling.

  “I didn’t think you were going to make it.

  Do you want something to drink?”

  I shake my head no. And take in his outfit. He went all out.

  Face painted green, waves spinning, T-shirt stuffed with something,

  all his lean self trying to look like the Hulk.

  I can’t hold
my laughter and he only smiles wider.

  “We are meant to be,” he whispers.

  “We both chose green superheroes.”

  Someone lowers the lights.

  Aman tugs on my hand. “Dance with me?”

  One Dance

  When Aman asks, my heart starts thumping.

  Because this isn’t bachata or merengue or something

  with coordinated steps and distance.

  This song is the kind you get close for.

  I push off the wall and Aman shifts in front of me,

  his hands holding my hips.

  I close my eyes and wipe my sweaty palms

  on the back of his shirt; we’re pressed against each other,

  swaying, his mouth near my neck.

  The shoulder pads under his costume

  give me something to hold on to,

  and I’m glad we have at least the padding between us.

  Then his leg is between mine

  and we’re dancing exactly the way people do

  in music videos.

  Like if they weren’t wearing clothes

  they’d be . . . you know.

  I can feel all of him. Not as scrawny as I thought.

  When the song is over,

  another reggae one comes on and Aman

  rotates so now he’s behind me.

  His body grinds against mine,

  and it feels so good.

  I push away from him.

  “I need some air.”

  Stoop-Sitting . . . with Aman

  Outside of Reuben’s building,

  the Heights is on fire.

  People dressed in all kinds of costumes,

  laughing, and yelling, and singing,

  you would think it was morning and not 9:30 p.m.

  Aman holds my hand in his

  but every time I look at him

  I’m afraid my cheeks will burst

  bright red, so I don’t.

  And then he drops the bomb:

  “I don’t live too far from here.”

  And I don’t know if he means

  he wants me to go to his house,

  or if he’s just talking to talk.

  “Isn’t your father home?”

  I really hope his father’s home.

  Aman shakes his head.

  Tells me his father works tonight.

  I pull my hand from his.

  I can’t stop my fingers

  from trembling.

  I don’t have to fake when I tell him

  I don’t feel great.

  That I should get home

  and make tea or something.

  I get up to leave, but before I do,

  Aman tugs at my hand:

  “Read me a poem, X?

  I want to remember your voice

  when I think about tonight.”

  And then he’s grinning again

  and pulls me down beside him.

  Convos with Caridad

  X: I’m on my way home.

  C: Good, because Xavier and I been standing on the corner forever.

  X: Thanks again. I know you hate lying.

  C: Yeah. It better have been worth it.

  Was it worth it?

  X: It was . . . a lot. I have a lot of feelings. But it was fine.

  C: ???

  X: It just can’t last. Something is gonna go wrong.

  I’m not allowed to be happy while breaking all rules.

  C: Maybe you shouldn’t break them?

  X: Oh, Caridad. I can’t wait until you like someone. . . .

  I’ll make sure to send you all these wise-ass texts, too.

  C: Girl, bye. With your hotheaded self?

  You’ll never be wise as me ☺.

  Sunday, October 28

  Braiding

  I spent the entire Mass thinking about Aman.

  And I can tell Mami is going to lecture me

  for not paying any attention.

  But thank goodness, as we are leaving church,

  Caridad tugs on my hand.

  “Señora Batista, is it okay

  if Xiomara comes and braids my hair?”

  I can tell Mami wants to chew me out

  but she can never say no to Caridad.

  At her house, Caridad sits between my legs,

  and I run the comb through her long thick hair.

  I learned to braid when Mami

  didn’t have time to do mine anymore.

  “Two long braids? I can make you look

  like Cardi B for Halloween.”

  I love the reality TV star, but she’s everything Caridad isn’t.

  Caridad gives me a smirk and nods her head.

  “Sure. I’ll put on old episodes of Love & Hip Hop

  so you can feel inspired.”

  Even after I’m done braiding, we sit and watch two more episodes.

  Maybe, the only thing that has to make sense

  about being somebody’s friend

  is that you help them be their best self

  on any given day. That you give them a home

  when they don’t want to be in their own.

  At least I have a feeling if I asked, that’s exactly

  what Caridad would say.

  Tomorrow is going to be a long-ass day.

  But here and now, it’s okay.

  Monday, October 29

  Fights

  On Monday afternoon,

  I lean against the gate of Twin’s genius school.

  When Aman asked why I was taking a train downtown

  I kissed it off, but I’m sure he’ll bring it up later.

  So much happened this weekend,

  but still I prepared myself for what I knew

  I would have to do this afternoon.

  Twin gets out an hour later than I do,

  and as the kids start filing out after the bell

  I spot Twin shuffling my way, but he’s not alone.

  He’s with a tall, red-haired boy,

  with fingers the color of milk

  that brush lint off my brother’s sweater softly

  the way Aman sometimes squeezes my hand.

  Xavier.

  Twin’s name never leaves my lips

  but somehow he hears me think it.

  His head pops in my direction

  like a bobble-head doll.

  He stumbles back from the white boy so fast

  he almost trips on his shoes.

  I look between them, confirming what I’ve always known.

  Twin rushes my way and speaks into my ear.

  “Xiomara, what are you doing here?”

  And I don’t need to tell him

  I came to knock my knuckles into someone’s face.

  To redeem his black eye.

  To let them know Twin isn’t alone.

  “You shouldn’t have come to my school.

  I don’t need you to fight for me anymore.”

  There is a balloon where my heart used to be

  and it whooshes air out at the prick of his words.

  I look at the boy who gazes at Twin

  with love all over his face.

  “Leave it alone, Xiomara,”

  I think Twin says. But it sounds more like:

  “Leave me alone.”

  Scrapping

  I’m not stupid, you know.

  I know I’m not gonna be thirty

  fighting grown-ass men.

  I know I’m not always going to be

  bigger and meaner than the boys

  in my grade. I know one day,

  they’ll be stronger and hit back harder.

  I know I won’t always intimidate girls

  with my height, with my hard hands.

  I know I won’t be able to defend Twin

  forever. But I thought when it happened

  it would be because he would fight for himself,

  not just find someone else to protect him.

  What We Don’t Say
>
  On the train ride home

  Twin steps into his feelings

  like they’re a gated-off room

  I don’t have visitation rights to.

  He spends the entire time

  playing chess on his phone.

  “Twin. I know you’ve probably felt this way

  your whole entire life but

  if Mami and Papi find out about White Boy

  they will legit kill you.”

  His fingers move a rook across the screen,

  attacking some imaginary opponent.

  “Cody. Not White Boy.

  And I know what Mami and Papi will say.

  What you’re going to say, too.”

  But I don’t even know what I’m going to say.

  I only know I’ve always wanted to keep him safe,

  but this makes him a target

  and I can’t defend against the arrows I know are coming.

  Gay

  I’ve always known.

  Without knowing.

  That Twin was.

  We never said.

  I think he was scared.

  I think I was, too.

  He’s Mami’s miracle.

  He would become her sin.

  I guess I hoped.

  If I didn’t ever really know.

  It would be like he wasn’t.

  But maybe my silence.

  Just made him feel more alone.

  Maybe my silence.

  Condones the ugly things people think.

  All that I know.

  Is that I don’t know

  how to move forward

  from this.

  Feeling Off When Twin Is Mad

  A part of myself rebels against the discord.

  It might sound dumb, and not all twins are like us,

  but when he’s angry it throws me off.

  I can’t think of anything but him being upset

  and I’m afraid anything I say will make him angrier.

  I don’t even know what I did wrong.

  I’ve been fighting dudes for Twin my whole life.

  Why did he think I wouldn’t show up at his school?

  Not even Aman’s emoji smiley faces

  and links to Ja Rule’s old romantic rap videos

  are enough to make me feel better.

  Rough Draft of Assignment 3—Describe someone you consider misunderstood by society.