Hallway Diaries

by Felicia Pride

  “She sure is affectionate,” Alyce said, amused by her father’s stiff and uncomfortable reaction to Juanita’s greeting. Giselle shrugged with an apologetic smile.

  “Yeah, she’s a hugger.”

  Alyce’s mother whisked Juanita off for a tour of the house in response to her comment that it was “berry, berry, beautiful.” “Well, thank you so much!” she’d responded, speaking very slowly and very loudly. “Let me show you the other floors.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The car ride to the beach was a repeat performance of her ride from the airport. Juanita was an explosion of questions, stories, and excitement. Alyce and Dahlia visibly enjoyed the spectacle and shot looks at Giselle as if to say, “Wow, you weren’t kidding!”

  “I no can’t wait to swim in dee ocean.” Juanita said, “My grandmoh-der say dee ocean wash away dee bad luck.”

  “In that case, Giselle,” Alyce said with an evil smile, “you’d better dive in that water as soon as we get there.”

  “Yeah,” Dahlia added. “Maybe then your bad luck will go away—far, far away.”

  Juanita laughed with the girls, oblivious to the fact that the bad luck they were referring to was her. Giselle laughed, too, but it was more of an uncomfortable chuckle. She was embarrassed by her cousin, but more than that, she was unexpectedly hurt by her friends’ comments. Giselle started to regret having said such horrible things about Juanita on the phone to her friends. The three friends always backed each other up when one of them didn’t like someone else.

  “My luck’s not so bad,” she said, shrugging.

  “She just doesn’t want to get in the water and mess up her precious hair,” Alyce said, flipping her own. She hated the fact that Giselle never went in the ocean with her and Dahlia.

  Well, I don’t have that silky wash-’n’-go hair like some people, Giselle snapped back in her mind. None of her friends knew how long it took or how much money it cost to keep her hair looking the way it did.

  “Der she is,” Juanita yelled, pointing to the ocean now in view. “It’s dee American bitch!”

  Alyce and Dahlia lost it. They grabbed their stomachs and laughed uncontrollably at Juanita’s mispronunciation.

  “Yup,” Dahlia said between fits of laughter. “That’s her, all right. There goes that American bitch.”

  “Wow,” Alyce chimed in. “That is one big bitch!”

  This time, Juanita understood that they were laughing at her. She looked at Giselle with big eyes and for a moment looked as if she were about to cry. To Giselle’s relief, Juanita laughed instead.

  “I say a bad word?” she asked, covering her mouth. “I no can say dis word dee good way.”

  She repeated the word slowly, but it still came out wrong.

  “Eee,” Giselle said, stretching the corners of her mouth. “Beeeeeach.”

  Once Alyce and Dahlia calmed down, they chimed in to help her say it the right way. Juanita tried over and over and then finally: “Beach.” The girls threw up their arms and cheered as the car came to a stop.

  The girls found a nice spot to settle in. Juanita reached into her bag and pulled out a huge towel with the Dominican flag on it and spread it out on the sand. She took off her capris and T-shirt to reveal a small canary-yellow bikini that did nothing to disguise her big hips and the little pouch of flesh on her belly. Giselle, on the other hand, kept on her tank top and threw a pair of boy shorts on to hide her extra weight.

  “What is dat?” Juanita asked watching her cousin open a pop-up tent.

  “Oh, this thing is the best,” Giselle said. “There’s plenty of room for you.”

  “No, dat’s okay,” she answered. “I love dee sun.” Juanita lay down on her towel and opened her arms, welcoming the hot rays on her body. Alyce and Dahlia were lying down too—greased up, plugged in to their iPods, and absorbing the sun.

  Ohmigod, Giselle thought, looking at Juanita glistening in her little bikini, she is going to get like three shades darker in this sun!

  “Here,” she said, sticking her arm out of her tent, holding the large tube of SPF50 sunscreen. “You should really put this on.”

  “Fifty!” Juanita gasped. “I won’t get a tan with dat.”

  “Don’t you think you’re tan enough?” Giselle mumbled under her breath.

  Juanita pulled an SPF4 oil from her bag, smeared it on her skin, and lay back down on the red and blue towel.

  “You could get cancer if you don’t protect your skin. Don’t you know that?”

  Giselle preached about all the ills of the sun, from skin cancer to premature aging, but Juanita just shrugged with her eyes still closed. “Me gusta el sol,” she repeated, vowing her love for the sun, more for herself than Giselle.

  After an hour of baking, Alyce and Dahlia were peeling back the edge of their bikinis to check out their tan lines. Giselle was fast asleep in the shade. Juanita wanted to wake her up and see if she wanted to take a dip, but Dahlia and Alyce assured her that Giselle would absolutely not go in the water.

  “Why she no go?” Juanita asked.

  “She never goes in the water,” Dahlia said. “She doesn’t like to mess up her hair.”

  It seemed ridiculous to Juanita that something as silly as hair could prevent anyone from having fun.

  Juanita led the pack and ran into the wild and beautiful foaming ocean. It wasn’t as crystal clear as what she was used to in the Caribbean, but it was still wonderful.

  “Come on!” she yelled as Dahlia and Alyce dipped their feet in, trying to adjust to the cool water. Juanita wrestled herself out of the ocean and joined the girls.

  “No, no, no,” she said, pulling them back to the sand. “We run into dee water!”

  Dahlia and Alyce looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

  “Uhh, I think I’ll just go in slow like I always do.” Dahlia said.

  “No fun like dat!” Juanita protested. “We go ebbreebody…hold hand.”

  Alyce shrugged with a smile and grabbed Juanita’s hand, Dahlia grudgingly did the same.

  “Uno, dos, tres.” At the count of three Juanita and the girls bolted into the ocean, screaming and laughing, until they were neck deep.

  Juanita was like a fish, diving into the tall waves and jumping up with a spin like a synchronized swimmer.

  “Oh my God,” Dahlia said to Alyce as she shook her head. “She’s like a little kid.”

  “I know,” Alyce said with a laugh. She absolutely loved her.

  As the girls finally emerged from the water, Juanita spotted a group of boys sliding on the edge of the sea with waifboards.

  “Ah, I do dis in my home town,” she said. “My cousin have bring dee waifboard from America and he teach me.”

  Juanita decided to join them and take a few turns on the board.

  “I go,” she said to Alyce and Dahlia. “You come with me or no?”

  Dahlia had no desire. She was too exhausted and hungry. Alyce was tempted, but she really wanted to tan a little longer before the sun got too weak.

  “Where’s Juanita?” Giselle asked as her friends came back and collapsed on their blanket. Dahlia pointed to the indistinct bodies in the distance.

  “She’s picking up some American men,” she said with a chuckle.

  “What?”

  “Relax. She’s just waifboarding,” Alyce said. “Wow, that girl sure has a lot of energy.”

  Giselle could only imagine the fool Juanita had made of herself in front of Alyce and Dahlia while they were with her. She changed the subject quickly. “Do you guys want to eat?”

  “Yes,” they said in unison, and reached for the basket of ham and cheese sandwiches.

  Juanita came back a half an hour later, breathless and dripping with salt water. She’d had a great time with the nice American boys. They were impressed at how good she was with the waifboard, especially the tall boy with the pretty green eyes. He was impressed by a few things. He liked a girl who wasn’t afraid to goof around and be silly. She was very much
like him; he, too, was comfortable in his own skin, unconcerned by what others thought of him. He regretted leaving without getting her number. She, on the other hand, had already forgotten his name. There were too many guys to remember each one. But Alex Nixon from Georgia couldn’t get her name off his mind—Juanita Maria Delacruz Martinez.

  CHAPTER 11

  Juanita twirled in the mirror, then looked at Giselle. It was a bright purple satin dress with a plunging neckline and ruffles on the bottom. Juanita loved this dress. Her tía Arlene, a seamstress for a bridal shop in the Dominican Republic, had made it just for Juanita’s trip. “You’ll need something to wear if you go to a party in America,” tía Arlene had said. Tonight was the party at Giselle’s grandmother’s house and Juanita couldn’t wait to show it off.

  The dress wasn’t as bad as the flowery dress in Giselle’s dream, but in her eyes it was still pretty horrific. She hoped she’d have more luck convincing Juanita to change her outfit than she’d had with suggesting to change her hair. Giselle had offered to take Juanita with her to the hair salon that afternoon to dye and straighten her hair, but her cousin had declined the invitation. Juanita liked her tight curls bouncing and dancing around her face. They matched her personality.

  “Come on,” Giselle had said. “Your hair will look so much better with streaks.”

  “I no like dat color for me.”

  Juanita hated the idea of dyeing her hair a color that was so obviously not her own. It was like being a really bad liar.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to borrow a dress from me?” Giselle asked—one last attempt to save herself from embarrassment.

  “Jou no like?” Juanita asked.

  “It’s not something I would wear,” Giselle said.

  Juanita shrugged. “Dat’s okay. I don’t borrow it to jou. But me…I love berry much my dress.”

  Giselle pulled out a black dress from her closet. “What do you think of this?”

  Juanita liked the fabric, but it didn’t have as much personality as her dress. Besides, she was really excited to wear her own.

  “I like dee dress my tía make.”

  “But I’m wearing a black dress, too. We could look alike.”

  “I want to look like me,” Juanita shot back.

  Giselle put the black dress back in the closet with a grunt. She needed a new strategy.

  “Juanita,” she said, sitting her down on the bed. “Everyone is going to be wearing very expensive and fancy clothes. If you show up with this handmade dress, you’re going to look a little silly. I don’t want anyone to laugh at you or anything or make fun of you behind your back.”

  Juanita started to get frustrated with Giselle. She had been a nag from the start, and everything Juanita did, said, or wore seemed to be wrong.

  “My tía make my dress and my favorite color is violeta,” she said with a calm but sharp tone. “I no pay big money like jou, but my tía make my dress with berry big love. I like my hair, I like my clo-sing, I like Juanita. I no care if dee people laugh to me.”

  Giselle didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know whether to be mad, feel ashamed, or admire her cousin for standing up for who she was. She could never do that with her friends.

  “Yeah,” she said, nodding, “okay.”

  Giselle didn’t know why, but she wanted to cry. She got up, told Juanita she’d be back from the beauty salon in a few hours, and left the house, hiding the tears from her father.

  “How’s the water?” her stylist asked as she sprayed the nozzle on Giselle’s thick hair.

  “It’s good,” she answered quietly.

  Giselle closed her eyes as the woman massaged the shampoo into her hair and scalp. This was one of her favorite parts about getting her hair done. The only other person who had ever touched her hair and rubbed her scalp was her mother. That was one of the memories she clearly remembered and missed. Giselle’s stylist wrapped a thick towel around her head and led her to the chair to cut and dry.

  “Uh-oh. Your roots are beginning to show,” she said, looking at Giselle’s natural dark color growing at the scalp, chasing her fake blond streaks.

  “What?” Giselle asked. She couldn’t seem to stop daydreaming about her mother and her family in DR.

  “Your roots, darling,” she repeated. “They’re starting to come up. We should take care of that the next time you’re here.” Giselle nodded without a word.

  When her hair was damp, it curled naturally. The only time she ever really saw her curls was when they were wet, before the stylist made them straight. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her curls dry. The stylist snipped away, framing her face with layers, and for a moment before it was time to dry, Giselle had an urge to go curly. But the hair dryer went on too quickly and she lost her nerve. Not for Nana’s dinner party, she thought. Maybe another time…maybe.

  Brian rang the bell to Nana’s house as Giselle prepared herself for the worst. Here we go, she thought as the door opened.

  “Well, hello, come inside,” Nana said, gesturing with her flawlessly manicured hands.

  “Mother,” Brian said, tapping his cheek to hers. Katie and Giselle did the same.

  “This must be your cousin,” she said, looking at Juanita, then at Giselle.

  “Yes, this is Juanita. Juanita, this is my grandmother Betty.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, young lady,” she said, placing a kissless cheek on Juanita’s.

  Juanita had already learned to hold back on her hugs. She had encountered enough stiff bodies and surprised looks to understand that not everyone said hello as they did in her country. But she honestly thought a grandmother’s greeting would be more affectionate than Nana’s display.

  “Jour grandmoh-der hug jou sometime?” she whispered to Giselle as they walked inside.

  Giselle was still getting over the surprise that Juanita didn’t try to tackle Nana. That would have been a shock to her grandmother’s system. She had wanted to tell Juanita in the car not to hug her grandmother but figured she had already pushed her recommendations to the limit.

  “Not really,” Giselle answered. “Sometimes she gives a little half a hug.” She wanted to demonstrate but Nana was right behind them.

  Aunt Linda got up from the couch, where everyone was chatting and nibbling on hors d’oeuvres.

  “Hi, guys,” she said excitedly. Aunt Linda gave each of them a hug, including Juanita before she had even been introduced. “Juanita, it is so nice to meet you finally. I saw pictures of you when you were born and now I just can’t believe it’s been fifteen years!”

  “Jou see baby picture of me?” Juanita asked, a bit shocked.

  “Yes, of course! Your auntie was so proud when you were born. She came back from the Dominican Republic with all kinds of pictures of you.”

  Giselle smiled. Knowing that Aunt Linda had seen pictures of Juanita as a baby made it feel as if she was introducing an old family friend.

  Aunt Susan and the rest of the family gathered around Brian, Katie, Giselle, and Juanita.

  “Oh, honey, look at this hair!” Aunt Susan said after she was introduced to Juanita. “If only my hair could do tricks like that!”

  Aunt Linda scrunched Juanita’s curls with her hands and made an Ohmigod face.

  “Isn’t that adorable? It’s very Shirley Temple chic!” She looked at her niece, with her straight hair. “Oh, Gigi, you should do this. I haven’t seen curls on you since you were this big!” she said, placing her hand above her hip.

  “You really think I’d look okay?” Giselle asked her aunts.

  “Absolutely,” they said at the same time, then laughed that the same word had come out of their mouths.

  Juanita loved Giselle’s aunts. She felt a little better knowing Giselle did have family who loved her besides her father and a nanny who wasn’t even her own blood. It was just a shame that they lived so far away from her.

  Nana came over and stood between Giselle and Juanita.

  “Walita, are yo
u enjoying your stay in the United States? I understand this is your first visit to this great country of ours,” she said.

  “Mom, her name is Juanita,” Aunt Susan said.

  “Oh,” she said with a breathy laugh. “I apologize. These ethnic names are so hard for me to get straight.”

  Juanita answered Nana’s question with the little she’d seen of America so far. She raved over the big houses and compared them with the ones in San Pedro. But, she pointed out, the houses were much more colorful in DR—beautiful colors of pink, lime, lavender, and lemon yellow—and wouldn’t it be nice for Americans to do the same? She told them about the big cars and the enormous SUVs on the street and compared them with the scooters and motorcycles in her hometown. She described families of three and even four riding on one scooter. Juanita told them about the beach—she concentrated really hard on pronouncing it the right way—and compared it with the beaches she rode to on her scooter at least three times a week in DR. She described how funny it was that something like two beaches in different countries could be exactly the same but so different, too.

  Nana shook her head with a smile. “You are certainly animated when you speak,” she said, commenting on Juanita’s wild hand gestures during her response.

  “Exactly,” Aunt Linda said. “Now, tell me…who does that remind you of?”

  “Are you kidding?” Aunt Susan said with a laugh. “It’s almost scary how much she reminds me of Jackie. I feel like I’m in a time warp.”

  Giselle felt her stomach drop. She thought of all the terrible things she had thought and said about her cousin. Little had she known Juanita was just like her mother. Of course she was, Giselle reasoned; her mother had come from a little town just like Juanita and had spoken very little English. She’d grown up with the same family as Juanita, and their superstitions and zeal for religion had probably been passed on to her as well. How would Giselle have treated her own mother if she had met her today for the first time? she wondered. Would she have treated this woman who was so tender and loving with harsh judgment and hateful thoughts just because she didn’t fit in? The very thought made her sick to her stomach.