by Jenna Bush
In the afternoon, two women from one of the local churches came by to pray with the girls and give them a lesson in scripture. Ana listened politely, but she didn’t say much.
Dinner looked like leftovers from lunch. Afterward, the girls who had behaved well during the day had the privilege to watch thirty minutes of television in a communal room before they went back to the dorm to sleep.
Ana did not want to sit with the other girls. She returned to the room early and pulled out her box of possessions. She dug to the bottom and found her picture of Mamá, as well as more recent photos of Papá, Isabel, and Yolanda. She looked at them and thought to herself, I don’t belong here.
When she heard someone coming, she shoved the photos under her bed and pretended she was sleeping. She didn’t want to share them with anyone; she wanted to keep that part of herself private.
47
In the morning, Ana and Pilar paired off again, this time pulling weeds in the garden behind the children’s wing. Ana slipped on a pair of work gloves and began yanking weeds out of the dry soil. She dug down into the earth to pull the weeds by the roots, while Pilar snapped the stems at ground level.
“So, why are you in here?” Ana asked Pilar. Ana didn’t want to push for too much information, but she thought that the sooner she could learn about the various personalities she was living with, the easier it would be to survive.
“I got caught,” Pilar responded vaguely.
Ana waited for more.
“Working,” Pilar added. Then Ana understood. She knew that each of the girls at the center lived with her own secrets. Some were drug users; some had been kicked out of their homes by parents and guardians; some, like Pilar, believed their only way to survive was to sell sex on the streets. Others, like Ana, were sent to the center because they had nowhere else to go.
“You were forced to become a prostitute?” Ana asked incredulously.
“Amiga, don’t be stupid. I had to. Those men, those animals paid me and that was the only way I could eat.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Ana said. “It’s just, I mean, you’re so young.”
“I was twelve,” Pilar whispered. “My mom kicked me out of the house and I was taken in by someone who said he was going to help me. He was a liar.”
Pilar’s tone was flat and expressionless; she spoke as if her shame and heartache had hardened into a shell that deflected all emotion. “I needed the money.”
Ana tried not to be judgmental. She thought about telling Pilar that she, too, knew what it felt like to be held down by the grimy hand of an older man, but she wasn’t ready to tell her the truth. Ana knew that Pilar’s life held as much shame as her own, so she changed the subject.
Over time, Ana learned that other girls at the center had also worked the streets. At first Ana couldn’t believe that any girl would be forced into selling herself for five or ten dollars, but then she thought about her own secrets and how easy it was for her to box up these parts of her life, separating them so that she could deny that they were part of her at all.
48
Ana was afraid of telling any of the girls too much about herself. She rarely spoke to anyone except Pilar.
A month after she entered the reform center, a lady with a sweet face motioned to her after lunch and asked her to come with her to her office.
As they sat facing each other, Ana knew who this was. She was expecting her, just not this soon.
“I’m María, your psychologist,” the lady said.
Ana was angry. She knew that everyone in the center had to meet twice a week with a psychologist, but Ana hoped that this moment would never come. She didn’t want to tell this stranger about her life, what she held inside.
“Ana, I’m here to be your friend, to help you,” María said after a couple minutes of silence. “I know that you’ve experienced pain and sadness in your life. I want to help you learn to express—”
“How do you know what I’ve experienced? You know nothing about me,” Ana spat sharply.
“I want to get to know you. We can take our time,” María continued.
Ana ignored her and they sat in silence for the twenty minutes remaining in their session.
49
The guards and María knew Ana was HIV-positive, but she told no one else in the center because she thought they would beat or harass her if they knew.
Every morning after breakfast and every night after dinner, one of the guards or María escorted Ana to the administrative office and handed her the white pills. When people asked where she was going, Ana told them she was going to get dessert. She knew they didn’t believe her, but she didn’t care what they thought she was doing, as long as they didn’t know the truth.
Slowly, Ana began to trust María; she appreciated that María didn’t tell any of the other girls that Ana had HIV. She became accustomed to seeing María every Wednesday and Friday morning, and the tension in their relationship began to peel away. At first they talked about pleasant things: school, friends, and Isabel.
As the weeks passed, Ana told María all of her secrets: the abuse she suffered from her abuela, her aunt, and Ernesto. Her face burned with shame when she told her the details of the night that Ernesto pinned her down. María told her that she had nothing to be ashamed of; it was not her fault.
Ana felt herself changing with María’s help. She began to learn how to express her pain and how to forgive. She left the sessions feeling lighter, happier.
50
As Ana came out of her shell, she began to mix with the others and, like all the girls, looked forward to seeing the boys during meals. Ana thought about boys—a lot—but she didn’t worry about spreading HIV, because she did not have intimate contact with them. The only time the boys and girls were in the same room was during mealtime, when they were under the vigilant eyes of the guards. Without speaking, the girls made a game of walking back and forth from the food line while trying to get the attention of the boy they liked.
Ana amused herself by writing notes to her boyfriend José. She had spoken to him briefly a couple of times when the guards weren’t watching. She didn’t want to be caught and lose television time or, worse, be locked in the punishment cell. But passing notes to José kept Ana from feeling bored and suffocated. Besides, José was tall and handsome.
Ana dropped a note on his table as she passed on the way to the cafeteria line. She felt a surge of excitement when he looked up at her and smiled.
51
In March, when the academic year started, Ana was overjoyed to learn that she would be able to return to school. She would transfer to a school closer to the center for eighth grade. The school days were divided into morning and afternoon shifts because of overcrowding; Ana would attend the afternoon session, so a bus would arrive at the center at noon every day to pick her up.
Ana wished she could return to school with Yolanda and Señor García, but she had no choice except to start over at a new school. She missed them. She had gotten many letters from Yolanda and her mom at the beginning, but not so many anymore. She was irritated that the strict rules of the center prevented non–family members from visiting. Señor García had also sent her several letters and care packages. In one letter he told Ana that she was smart and capable, that he had confidence in her abilities and intelligence. Ana wanted to work hard and earn a scholarship to the university. This would please Señor García, and she desperately wanted to make someone proud.
52
At the center, nothing changed but the seasons. The daily routine created a rhythm that helped pass the time, as the weeks turned into months. Isabel visited once or twice, but it was difficult for her to find the seventy-five cents needed for bus fare and to figure out the transfers and bus schedules necessary to travel from one side of the city to the other. Ana felt abandoned and alone.
On most days, Ana put on a tough exterior and thought of herself as independent. As her quinceañera, her “sweet fifteenth” birthday, approached,
she longed to celebrate with her family. In Latin American cultures, a quinceañera marks a milestone: It is the day a girl is recognized by society as a woman. Ana considered her quinceañera one of the most important days in her life, a day that was supposed to be filled with tradition and family.
Several times a year, the women from the church arranged parties for the girls celebrating their quinceañeras. There was so little to look forward to in the center that Ana placed special meaning on this day; she counted down the days by marking Xs on the calendar she kept next to her bed.
On the morning of her birthday, when the five o’clock buzzer sounded, Ana jumped to her feet, eager for the day to begin. Instead of working outside, Ana showered and dressed in her street clothes; two of the women from church came and drove her to a beauty salon. Ana had never been to a real salon before; she admired the colorful bottles of shampoo and marveled at the hair combs, clips, and ribbons on display. On this day, all of the colors she saw seemed more vibrant, from the lime and jade green palm trees to the bright red and blue swing sets she passed in the park.
Ana stared at her reflection in the mirror. She blew a kiss to herself playfully. Then she stepped closer and examined her face. She stared intently into her dark brown eyes and lost herself for a moment. She saw beyond what the rest of the world saw; for just a second, she felt she saw herself as she really was—alone, and vulnerable—and this frightened her. She looked away, blinked her eyes, and then blew another kiss.
One of the attendants washed and conditioned her lush black hair. Then a stylist blow-dried her curls into smooth waves.
When Ana’s hair was finished, a beautician plucked her thick eyebrows into gentle arches. She smoothed on a thin layer of foundation, applied coral shadow to her eyelids and a soft, shell color on her cheeks. She brushed on a thin coat of mascara and finished by painting her lips pink, the color of a sunset.
When Ana looked in the mirror, she saw a beautiful girl. For the first time since she had been at the center, Ana felt attractive and alive.
When Ana returned to the facility in the early afternoon, María stopped her and said, “Qué linda, how beautiful you look.” She took Ana into the administration building and went to a closet in the back room. She came out holding a magnificent white dress adorned with melon-colored flowers and tiny pearls. Passing the dress to Ana, she said, “I think you would look lovely in this.”
Ana slipped into the gown, and María placed a pearl tiara gently into her hair. She felt just as she had when she celebrated her first communion two years before. But in that moment, Ana was homesick. More than anything else, she wished that Isabel—and maybe even her abuela—could celebrate this day with her.
53
Everyone was in the cafeteria for the party when Ana entered the room. The room had been transformed. The walls, a seafoam blue, reminded her of the color of the Caribbean Ocean. Coral balloons hung above the stage at the front of the room, and white spirals of crepe paper floated like jellyfish from the ceiling. Rows of chairs faced the stage, where the ceremony would be held.
Ana walked down the aisle escorted by one of the boys. Some of her friends walked behind her as her court. She glanced over at José and found him staring at her, mesmerized.
Ana stood on the stage as a priest said a special Mass dedicated to her transition from childhood to womanhood. He explained that she wore a tiara because she was a princess in the eyes of God.
After the ceremony, Ana waltzed with her escort to traditional music blasting from a boom box onstage. The day ended with Ana’s friends surrounding her and singing “Feliz cumpleaños” before she sliced her pink birthday cake.
54
The week after Ana’s quinceañera, José left the center. One day he was sitting at dinner, trading flirtatious grins with Ana from a table across the room; the next day he was gone, without a warning or a good-bye.
“Where is José?” Ana asked one of the other boys when she got up to scrape her plate over the garbage can.
“He’s gone,” came the reply. “I guess he went home.”
That was it.
During the year she spent at the center, Ana had seen many people come and go. Some of the wild, tough girls who couldn’t stand the strict guidelines ran away; some were transferred to other facilities; some were lucky enough to have families who eventually brought them home.
Ana wasn’t really upset that José had left. She had enjoyed his sugary words, words like candy—“Mi amor, you are the most beautiful girl in the room, like a dark angel”—but she never really knew him.
With José gone, what Ana missed most was the distraction he had offered.
55
A few weeks later, a group from the church came to teach a volleyball clinic to the teens in the yard of the center. Ana liked the competitiveness of volleyball; she welcomed the change of pace—and the chance to mix with the boys.
Ana practiced her serve for a few minutes, then went through the first series of drills on setting the ball. The entire time, her attention was divided between the game and the boys.
“Hey, Ricardo, nice shot,” she said, smiling.
“You, too,” he said.
Ana attracted attention from those around her by focusing on one person at a time. She didn’t look away when someone saw her gazing; she wasn’t afraid to let someone know she was looking.
Ana was also friendly with those who had a harder time fitting in. She often brought others into the games or sometimes left the match to go talk to someone.
Ana spotted a new boy sitting alone under a tree. His skin was tanned, and the soccer jersey he wore underscored his slight, hunched frame.
When Ana tired of volleyball, she walked over and sat down next to him.
“Hey, you’re new,” Ana said.
“Sí,” the boy said, smiling but not looking at Ana.
“I’m Ana.”
“I’m Berto,” he said, glancing up at her. His eyes were chocolate brown, much like her own.
Ana immediately liked Berto. She felt more comfortable with his gentle quietness than the bravado of other boys, who strutted and showed off for her. Maybe he could be a real friend.
“So, what brings you here?” Ana asked, trying to make Berto feel at ease.
He shrugged.
Berto’s shyness emboldened Ana.
“I’m here because no one wants me,” she said dramatically, somewhat surprised by her own honesty.
“Then I guess we have something in common,” Berto replied quietly.
The two remained under the tree, looking out at the volleyball game rather than at each other, speaking easily about the past. Ana also felt comfortable when the conversation stopped; they both knew how to enjoy a moment of peaceful silence. Ana learned that they were both orphans, unwanted by other family members.
“How did your parents die?” Ana asked.
“They were sick,” Berto said.
“Mine, too.”
56
Ana felt closer to Berto than anyone she knew except for Isabel, whom she had not seen in months. Although she hadn’t told Berto her secrets, she somehow felt that he would understand if she ever did.
Ana passed him notes at dinner. At first she wrote about mundane things like the food in the cafeteria and the names she used to describe the guards, but over time they started asking each other more serious questions.
Once, Berto wrote, “Where do you go after dinner each night?”
Ana, not sure if she was being reckless or courageous, replied, “This is a secret. I am infected with HIV. In the evenings, I go and take my medicine.” Before she could change her mind, Ana slipped the note to Berto and kept walking out of the cafeteria and back to her bed in the girls’ dorm.
Ana worried that her friendship with Berto would be over or, worse, that he would tell the others. She had to wait until the following day at breakfast to find out what he would do.
57
Ana’s heart pounded as she entered
the cafeteria for breakfast. She glanced over the room, trying not to be obvious, but hoping to spot Berto and get a smile or some sign of acknowledgment that would show her if he accepted her for who she was.
She saw only the back of his head.
Ana went through the cafeteria line and then had to walk across the room to the girls’ tables. She held her head high and walked quickly past his table. At the last second, she glanced in his direction and saw him looking at her, smiling. This time he held her gaze, his eyes promising that he would not betray her.
It was Berto’s turn to slip a note to Ana.
She went back to the dorm alone and pulled out the slip of paper that Berto had folded in half, and in half again.
He had written, “I have it, too.”
58
Ana felt all of the tension she had carried for the previous twenty-four hours drain away. She had been accepted; she was happy that she could accept him in return. Ana felt a bond with Berto that she had never felt with another boy, a bond built on trust and friendship.
Lying in bed, Ana wondered whether everything was happening to her for a reason. Maybe she had been in this place just so that this moment would occur; maybe God sent her Berto, a real friend, as a sign that she had been alone long enough.
59
Two days later, Berto was gone.
Like José, he was present in the morning at breakfast, and he had disappeared by lunch.