The Fall of Innocence

by Jenny Torres Sanchez

  Emilia gave him a funny look.

  “What?” Ian said. “It pays for school.”

  “Yeah, you should definitely consider it, man,” Anthony said. “It’s good money.”

  Jane nodded. “Would your parents get all pissed?”

  “Nah, I mean, my mom would probably get sad, but they wouldn’t get angry. Might even be proud,” Ian said.

  Emilia suddenly felt left behind in the conversation. Was Ian being serious?

  “That’s cool. I guess your parents let you live your own life,” Jane said. She turned to Emilia then, as if trying to include her. “Wouldn’t you love to see this guy in uniform?” She tossed a sly glance Ian’s way that made him laugh and look down at the table. “And knowing he’s serving his country. I mean, that’s honorable, you know? That’s sacrifice. And means a whole lot more than a fucking college degree in my book.”

  Jane looked over at Anthony and he pulled her into him again.

  When the food arrived, Emilia watched Jane eat. She wondered what made her so hungry.

  All the dancing? All the stripping? Was it tiresome?

  Why are you being so bitchy, Emilia? she asked herself.

  She tried to clear her mind of the sarcastic commentary running through her brain, but she couldn’t help it.

  Ketchup squirted and settled in the corner of Jane’s lips, and Emilia watched Jane’s tongue come and whisk it away. Emilia imagined Jane in that club—a dark, smoky place—onstage in those shiny shorts and probably some sort of bejeweled bra.

  Before it comes off?

  “So . . . sweet Emilia,” Jane said suddenly, interrupting Emilia’s thoughts. “Do you think you could, you know, do what I do?”

  Emilia choked on a fry and Jane burst out laughing.

  “Careful!” she told Emilia. “Put your arms up, like this, up in the air, just like that.”

  Emilia recovered and Ian stroked her back.

  “What?” Emilia croaked, suddenly certain Jane had been able to read her thoughts, had taken in the way Emilia observed her and knew what she’d been picturing in her head. Then a stranger thought—that Jane somehow knew Emilia had been thinking of this when she was getting ready—entered Emilia’s mind.

  “Could you do what I do?” Jane said matter-of-factly. “Strip? Dance? Whatever you want to call it. You must have already asked yourself the same question, right?” She turned to Ian and Anthony. “All girls do.”

  Emilia was speechless for a moment as she took in Jane’s words. All girls do. What did Jane know? It bothered her that Jane spoke with that kind of authority. And that she was right.

  Ian coughed and Anthony looked amused and said, “Aw, come on, Jane, give the girl a break!” He looked over at Emilia. “She’s a real ballbuster, this one. Don’t take it personally. It just means she likes you.” He laughed in a way meant to assure Emilia that Jane was harmless.

  “Oh, I know, I know. I’m just being a brat! And Anthony’s right,” Jane said, smiling. “You kind of remind me of me a few years ago.” Jane reached out and placed her hand softly on Emilia’s.

  Emilia could not imagine any reality where she and Jane might seem anything remotely alike.

  Jane looked back and forth between Ian and Emilia. “You know something else? You two are real cute. High school sweethearts. That’s really, really sweet.” She removed her hand from Emilia’s and took a sip of her drink.

  Ian and Anthony and Jane moved on to some other conversation, while Emilia sat there feeling stupid. She watched Jane tease and joke with Anthony and Ian and wondered, Does she have the world figured out somehow? Maybe doing what she does gives her some kind of insight into the way the world works, or the human existence? Does she sit on laps and listen to the whispered confessions of tortured individuals?

  The more Emilia sat there, listening to Jane, the more she was bothered by her. Who did Jane think she was? And why did she speak like she knew who Emilia was?

  Jane laughed loudly and Emilia stared at her.

  “No way could I do what you do,” Emilia said suddenly, the words surprising her and causing her heart to beat a little faster.

  “What?” Jane’s laughter trailed off.

  Emilia looked at Jane and shrugged. “You asked. I don’t think I could do what you do.”

  Jane smiled and nodded. “Right. Okay. That’s cool.”

  Jane turned a little, as if she was going to move on, but Emilia felt brave. “Why would you ask, anyway?” Was it to make her feel uncomfortable? So Jane could have some kind of upper hand?

  Jane stared at Emilia as if she was deciding something, then she just shrugged and said, “Just wondering, I guess. I know it’s what girls must ask themselves when they meet me. It’s what I thought when I met the girl you could call my mentor.”

  Emilia looked at Jane. She was smiling at her again and Emilia found it unsettling, but it also made her wonder if Jane was covering up something.

  Did something happen to you, too?

  The thought almost took Emilia’s breath away. It was there so suddenly, made total sense, that Emilia immediately wondered if she had gotten Jane all wrong. Maybe she wasn’t that bad. Maybe Emilia was being too judgmental. She knew she could be like that sometimes.

  She changed her tone. “So,” Emilia said, looking at Jane with curiosity. “What’s it like?” Ian and Anthony shifted in their seats, and Emilia suddenly wished it were just she and Jane in this diner.

  Jane leaned in to her. “Do you really want to know?” Her eyes were so blue, and seemed to hide something just beneath the surface. Or maybe, more likely, somewhere deep inside. “It feels sort of like nothing,” Jane said. “It doesn’t even feel like me on that stage.” Her face took on a strange look as she explained to Emilia. “Sometimes it feels like I’m . . . onstage, but also floating somewhere in the audience, looking at myself. And I can’t quite believe that it’s me up there, even as I look out into that dark room. At first, it was scary. Then it felt powerful. But now it feels like I’m not even there. Like I’m just wondering who that girl onstage is . . . the one who thought she could never do that, either.”

  Jane sat back, looking at Emilia for some sort of reaction.

  Emilia thought the blue in Jane’s eyes would crack like ice and she would see the truth seep up from where Jane carried it. But Emilia saw nothing, and a slight coldness ran through her body.

  Anthony nudged Jane and the spell was broken.

  “Jesus, enough of this, okay? I’m right here, you know. These girls, right?” he said to Ian. Ian shook his head and forced a laugh.

  “Oh, whatever, it’s no big deal,” Jane said. She leaned over and kissed Anthony on the cheek. “Don’t be jealous,” she said. He rolled his eyes and she smiled before looking over at Emilia. “And you, don’t look so scared, sweet Emilia!”

  It bothered Emilia that Jane thought she was scared; she tried to shake it off. She wasn’t scared. Of what? Jane? Jane was no one to be scared of.

  “I’m not scared,” Emilia said, just as Ian cleared his throat and said over her, “Let’s get out of here, already. Find something else to do.”

  But Emilia didn’t feel like doing anything else. She was sure Jane was harmless and probably just liked attention, and Emilia wanted to give her a chance. But there was something about her that bothered Emilia, and she couldn’t quite figure it out.

  Jane’s forwardness? The way she placed her hand on Emilia’s? Something.

  “We can go to a different movie. Something has to be playing,” Anthony said.

  Ian looked over at Emilia in a way that asked if she wanted to. Emilia shrugged. “Sure.”

  When they made it to the mostly empty theater, Jane and Anthony sat in the back row while Emilia and Ian chose seats in the middle. She was glad they wouldn’t have to pretend not to notice Jane and Anthony making out whil
e she and Ian shared popcorn and whispered about how bad the movie was.

  They laughed at the awful comedy, and Emilia stole looks at Ian, noticing the way the light of the screen flickered on his face and made it glow. He looked handsome and she cheered up, not that she was sad. But it made her feel better about the night. And she was glad she was there with Ian.

  * * *

  *

  When the credits rolled and they left, Emilia didn’t even mind that Jane hooked her arm through hers and led her to the car, saying, “Come on, sweet Emilia!” She even laughed as Jane made her skip along ahead of the guys, and sang some old TV show theme song.

  It felt good to Emilia. To just be a girl, laughing with another girl, as their boyfriends trailed behind them.

  She didn’t even mind when they had to drive Jane forty minutes away to drop her off at home. They laughed in the car and talked about the movie, and the conversation in the diner felt like forever ago. Maybe it hadn’t even happened at all, or maybe it hadn’t happened the way Emilia thought it had.

  By the time they got to Jane’s neighborhood, where they had to stop at a gate while Jane showed the guard her driver’s license to be allowed in, Emilia felt bad that she’d even thought Jane was strange and too forward. Sometimes she saw things in people that weren’t there. Thanks to Ma, Emilia was always suspicious of others. She looked at Jane now and the way she was with Anthony, and she thought, She’s just different, that’s all. What’s wrong with that?

  “This place is beautiful,” she told Jane as they drove through the neighborhood of sprawling yards and brick-paved driveways, each one leading to a large house that looked like it belonged in the movies.

  “I guess it’s all right. Here, this one,” Jane said when they came up on one of the largest houses. Rows and rows of windows stared at them, reflecting the moonlight of a darkening sky.

  Ian came to a stop and Jane and Anthony got out. Emilia watched how they walked together, how Jane threw her arms around him and kissed him goodbye over and over again, even kicking her legs up behind her as she hung from his neck. Some part of Emilia wished she could be like that. Not care if everyone watched her kissing Ian. Kick her legs up, feeling free. Jane knew Ian and Emilia were watching, but she didn’t care. Emilia felt a pang of jealousy.

  She could never be like that.

  When Jane went inside her house, Anthony turned and ran back to the car. The cold brushed past Emilia’s neck and shoulders again.

  “Told you guys she was something!” he said as they pulled out of the driveway. Emilia stared at the house.

  “Yeah,” she said to him, “she’s definitely something.”

  Emilia Washed

  Emilia washed the few dinner dishes there were in the sink. She dried and put them away, too.

  When she opened one of the cabinets to stack the plates, she saw a new set of colorful striped salt and pepper shakers tucked away in the back. Her heart beat faster as she stared at the glossy ceramic and reached in for one. She held it up to Ma, who was putting some leftovers in the fridge.

  “Cute,” Emilia said, studying her mom.

  “Hmmm?” Ma looked over at her. “Oh, yeah, I got those at the consignment store, you know, down the block from the pharmacy?”

  Emilia nodded. “Festive.”

  “Really? I think they’re a little summery,” her mom said, shrugging. “More for a cookout or something. Not for winter or the holidays. Guess that’s why nobody wanted them.”

  Emilia put the shaker back, wondering when her mother started caring about seasonal kitchenware.

  For a cookout?

  They hadn’t had a cookout in years. Besides, these looked brand-new. She stacked the plates and closed the cabinet.

  “Well, I’m going to do some homework and go to bed.”

  “Okay, good night, sweetheart,” Ma said, barely looking up at Emilia.

  Emilia lingered for a moment, watching Ma go about her usual routine of checking the doors and locks before heading to her own room.

  Upstairs, Emilia stopped in the doorway of her brother’s room directly across from hers. Tomás was reading on his bed and barely glanced up as Emilia came in and threw herself near him, shoving his feet away.

  “So I hung out with a stripper earlier today,” she said to get his attention. Tomás looked up from his book and gave her an amused look.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Ian’s cousin’s girlfriend.”

  “Anthony? I thought he was off in the army.”

  “He is. He’s just visiting.”

  “Oh. So, well, this date with the stripper? Was it everything you dreamed it would be?” Tomás closed his book.

  Emilia laughed and shoved his feet again. “Shut up.”

  He chuckled and Emilia noticed his hair was already getting darker, having lost most of the golden brown the summer sun always turned it. Emilia looked up at the ceiling. “It was weird, I guess. She’s nice, but . . . I don’t know. Something about her bothered me.”

  She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at her brother. “It’s not like it’s a big deal, that she’s a stripper or whatever. I don’t care about that, but it was weird. She asked me if I thought I could do what she does.”

  Her brother raised an eyebrow and Emilia continued.

  “I think it’s her go-to line when she meets people. Like, ‘Hey, nice to meet you. Think you could be a stripper, too?’”

  “Yeah, that is kind of weird. But she’s probably just insecure.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. But like the whole night, I kept picturing her stripping. Is that weird?”

  Tomás shrugged. “Not really. I mean, you can’t help it once you know stuff about people. And the harder you try to fight an idea or thought, the more it keeps running through your mind.”

  Emilia looked at her brother again. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. When did you get so smart?”

  He laughed. “I’m not smart.” But he was. Like their father. For a moment Emilia blurred her eyesight and she could see a younger version of their father in front of her. She thought of telling Tomás this, but decided to keep it to herself.

  “I guess this would be a bad time to tell you,” he said, “with you thinking I’m so smart and insightful, that Ian’s mother bought hemorrhoid ointment today.”

  “Oh god, gross!” Emilia yelled.

  “Extra strength,” Tomás said.

  “Ewww, extra strength?” They laughed so hard, Emilia could hardly speak.

  Tomás nodded. “Yep. And she kept talking to me, like I wouldn’t notice if she just talked enough. Oh, I noticed, lady! And I took extra long to check out her items.”

  Emilia couldn’t stop laughing. “Good! Good for her!” She thought of Ian’s mom in her discomfort and felt only a little guilty because she disliked Emilia. “Oh man, what else?” Emilia asked finally, after wiping a few tears away.

  Tomás always gave her a rundown of all the private things people in their town bought at the pharmacy. Condoms, tampons, hemorrhoid ointment, pregnancy tests. Emilia liked knowing these things about people. It seemed so many people knew about her—why shouldn’t she know about others? About their private matters.

  Tomás shook his head. “That’s it, that’s all I got.”

  Emilia lay back and stared at the ceiling again, smiling as her laughter faded away. She took a deep breath and then asked Tomás about what she’d been wondering since she got home.

  “Hey, does Ma seem okay to you?”

  “Sure, why?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought she seemed tired today.”

  “She’s always tired,” Tomás said. “Wakes up early to get into the city, then books all those appointments, then the commute home.”

  “I know, I know.” Emilia thought of how her mom had to drive from Uniondale to the Hempste
ad train station to get into the city each morning. Tomás was probably right. Besides, she didn’t want Tomás to worry. Emilia knew he worried just as much as Ma did in his own quiet way. She could see it in his face sometimes, how he worried about her and the house and the bills. It was why he quietly went out and got a job as soon as he could, picked up every extra shift, and started paying some of the household bills without even telling Ma. It’s why he hadn’t started his classes at the community college, even now, a year after he’d graduated from high school, though he always talked about it.

  She looked at her brother, someone who seemed simultaneously wise beyond his years and also the purest person she knew. She didn’t want to add to the stress he already carried by worrying him about Ma, too. So she just said, “All right, see you in the morning.” Then she rolled off his bed and headed to her room.

  * * *

  *

  Later that night, the salt and pepper shakers flashed in Emilia’s mind as she tried to fall asleep. The colorful stripes reminded her exactly of a pair of galoshes she got when she was younger.

  It was after the attack, when she’d recovered physically but still wasn’t talking. And one morning, instead of Ma getting frustrated as she tried to guide Emilia through yet another homeschool lesson, Ma stared at her from across the table and said, Let’s go somewhere. Wherever you want. Maybe we just need to get the hell out of the house.

  Emilia didn’t want to go anywhere. And she didn’t want to do the stupid lesson, either. She did, and didn’t, want to crawl into the bed she’d been in for what seemed like forever, that smelled like her own sweat, and watch cartoons she didn’t even care about anymore. But Ma got up, and Emilia followed right behind her like she’d become accustomed to doing.

  Do you want to get sandwiches? Have a picnic in the park? Ma asked.

  Emilia quickly shook her head and Ma understood. No park. No playground. No place like it. So they ended up at Kmart, where they went up and down aisles, Ma picking out notebooks, stickers, markers, anything, and holding them up for Emilia, who just wasn’t interested.