The Dream Weaver

by Reina Luz Alegre

  Zoey heard footsteps. A splinter of hope cut through her misery. Maybe the lady who’d just walked in was a store employee, or even a mom with kids around Zoey’s age who wouldn’t mind reviewing a few basics woman-to-woman.

  “Um, excuse me,” Zoey called from inside her stall, pulling up her underwear and shorts. “I, uh, I just got my first period, and I don’t know what to do. Could you please help me?”

  Zoey unlocked the stall door. But the person staring curiously back at her in the mirror over the sinks was no friendly mom or cashier. She was a girl around Zoey’s age. And she was rocking the best cosmetics aisle nine had to offer. Sparkly blue nail polish. Matching sky blue eye shadow. False eyelashes or killer mascara. Purple highlights in her hair. Indigo fit-and-flare dress patterned in daisies. Zoey’s cheeks flushed in humiliation.

  “It’s okay. I know what to do,” Fashion Girl said confidently. “Do you need a tampon?”

  “No, uh,” Zoey mumbled, glancing down at the pad in her hand. “I have a pad. But um, there’s blood on my underwear and shorts. And I was just wondering if I should clean it off first. But then, like, if I do that, my clothes will be wet and gross.…” She trailed off as Fashion Girl looked Zoey carefully up and down. Zoey felt even more self-conscious in her old, faded outfit.

  “That shirt is pretty long,” Fashion Girl said finally, still staring at Zoey’s midsection. “It goes almost all the way down to your knees, so I don’t think you need to worry about anyone seeing the stains on your shorts.”

  Phew. Zoey felt better—until Fashion Girl pursed her lips, appraising Zoey again in a way that made her glance down to make sure a river of blood hadn’t just gushed down her leg.

  “Actually, can you turn around for a second? Just do a quick spin?”

  Zoey turned in a slow circle.

  “Okay good, the blood didn’t get on your shirt.” Fashion Girl grinned. “So, if I was you, I’d just wipe my shorts and underwear in the stall with a dry paper towel or some toilet paper, put on the pad, and then wait to throw everything in the washing machine at home.”

  Fashion Girl waved a hand under the automatic paper towel dispenser and held out a couple of sheets. Zoey felt like an idiot for not thinking of this obvious solution on her own, but she gratefully accepted the paper towels. Fashion Girl smiled again. The purple and blue rubber bands on her braces matched her outfit.

  “Do you know how to put that on?” she asked.

  Zoey looked down at the unwrapped pad in her hand.

  “I mean, like, I know the sticky side is the one that goes on the underwear. But does it matter which part goes in the front?”

  “I don’t think so. If you fold it in half, the pad is pretty symmetrical,” Fashion Girl said, sounding pensive.

  “When I took off the adhesive strip the wings got stuck to the bottom. Does that matter?” asked Zoey.

  “Nah,” Fashion Girl said. “Not unless you have such a heavy flow that you really need the wings to hold the pad exactly in place to prevent a leak. But I didn’t need the wings the first time I got mine.” She shrugged.

  “Okay,” said Zoey, feeling slightly better.

  “Go put it on and I’ll wait out here in case you have other questions.”

  Zoey went back in the stall and stuck the pad to her underwear. It wasn’t that complicated, really, she thought as she pulled up her pants. But then a new fear struck. Would everyone be able to see the outline of her pad through the denim of her shorts? Did she look like she was wearing a bulky diaper? You could always tell babies were wearing puffy diapers beneath their onesies. Zoey stepped out of the stall.

  “Better?” Fashion Girl asked. Zoey avoided eye contact in the mirror.

  “Sort of.…” Zoey hesitated, then figured if she’d asked this many awkward questions already, she may as well ask a few more. “Can you tell I’m wearing a pad? I feel like it’s showing through my clothes, and everyone will be able to tell I have my period.”

  “I know! I felt that way too when I first got my period,” Fashion Girl said sympathetically. “But no one can tell. Believe me. I used pads the first six months before switching to tampons, and no one could ever tell I was wearing one. But if you want, lift up your long shirt a little and spin around again, and I’ll tell you if I can see anything on your shorts.”

  Holding her breath, Zoey did as directed under Fashion Girl’s appraising stare.

  “Didn’t see anything,” she said finally, with the same authority as a doctor delivering a favorable diagnosis.

  Zoey exhaled and stretched her shirt down as far as it would go.

  “Do you have any other questions?” Fashion Girl asked gently.

  “No, I’m good. Thank you though. For everything,” Zoey said, quickly washing her hands and drying them on the hem of her shirt.

  “Happy I could help,” Fashion Girl chirped, flashing Zoey one last grin before stepping past her into the empty stall. “Sorry, I really need to pee.”

  “Oh yeah. Sorry to make you hold it so long. Thanks again for explaining everything!” Zoey said. She wished again that Mami was still alive and had been the one to walk her through La Tia Rojita’s first visit.

  Faster than she’d ever hustled down a soccer field, Zoey sped out of the bathroom. She nearly knocked over José, who stood leaning against the wall, playing a game on his phone and whistling along to the game’s cheesy theme song. The opened box of pads sat at the top of the pile in the cart in front of him, pointedly waiting for them to pay.

  “Are you okay, Zo?” José asked. “You were in there for twenty minutes. I was starting to wonder if you needed me to go in there to help—”

  “I’m okay,” Zoey said quickly, brushing past him, heading toward the opposite side of the store. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and Fashion Girl as possible. She had been nice, but she probably secretly thought Zoey was a total freak.

  “Chocolate helps with cramps, right?” José asked.

  Zoey paused long enough to look over her shoulder. “I think so, but my cramps aren’t that bad.”

  “I have sympathy cramps. You’re going to have to share some candy with me.” José grinned, turning down the snack foods aisle.

  Zoey laughed, feeling a hundred times better than she had all day. She followed him and waited while he grabbed a humongous bag of miniature assorted chocolates that included Snickers, her favorite. The bag was so big it could have fed at least three hours worth of trick-or-treaters on Halloween.

  “All right,” José said, glancing inside the cart. “Pads? Check. Chocolate? Check. You’re all set, Zo. Now let’s go get a dry erase board to put on my door so people in my dorm can leave me notes,” José said, sounding excited.

  The pain in Zoey’s stomach returned. Only this time, she knew, it wasn’t a period cramp.

  2

  Did you buy the whole store?” Dad demanded back at Poppy’s house.

  He sounded mad as he untangled Zoey from the seven heavy bags she’d threaded her arms through. José’s shoulders tensed, and he glared at Dad as he put his own bags down on Poppy’s old brown couch.

  “The only things we bought that weren’t on my college list were chocolate and pads.” José crossed his arms over his chest.

  “But you already have elbow and knee pads for your skateboard. We don’t have money to throw away on extras. You’re going to have to return those.”

  José rolled his eyes. “We bought menstrual pads, Dad. Zo got her first period.”

  “José! You don’t have to go around telling everyone I got my first period!” Zoey protested.

  She glanced at Dad, who looked as uncomfortable as Zoey felt. “I thought you got your, you know, two years ago,” he said.

  “Um, no. I didn’t,” Zoey said quietly.

  “Oh, uh, okay.…” Dad trailed off like he was trying to think of what else to say.

  Silence swallowed Poppy’s living room. Zoey wished she could step backward and disappear into the portrait
of her six-year-old self, laughing down at them from its perch above Poppy’s television. That girl, missing two front teeth, didn’t need to deal with La Tia Rojita and all the awkward conversations she brought with her. Dad cleared his throat at last and raised his hands questioningly. “Congrats, I guess. On Auntie Red arriving for a visit. Wasn’t that what your mom always called her?”

  “Her?” José rolled his eyes. “Menstruation isn’t a person. It’s a biological process—”

  “Thanks, Dad!” Zoey quickly cut in, massaging her wrists where the plastic bag handles had dug in and left marks. She glanced wildly around the empty living room, desperate to find a change of subject. The last thing she wanted was to listen to her father and brother bicker about her period. Talk about awkward. Her eyes landed on a black-and-white photo of Poppy as a teenager, leaning against a humongous antique-looking car, from when he stilled lived in Cuba.

  “Is Poppy home?” she asked.

  “No, he went to work at the bowling alley,” Dad said, also sounding relieved to be moving on.

  He turned back to José, and Zoey noticed how Dad stood up straighter to emphasize the inch and a half he had over him. Oh no. Dad always did that whenever he was about to lay into José.

  “José, I want a straight answer. Where did you get the money to buy all this stuff? I hope you didn’t hit up your grandfather for cash.”

  José’s nostrils flared and his mouth twitched, just as Zoey knew they would. She’d seen Poppy slip her brother a few twenties over breakfast earlier that morning while Dad went to the supermarket. But José hadn’t asked for the money. Poppy had just given it to him.

  “José used the money he saved up working after school,” Zoey interjected before José could answer. She made eye contact with her brother, and silently begged him to keep his mouth shut.

  “Oh,” Dad said, relaxing slightly as his eyes roved over the bags once more. “This is a lot though. How’d you afford everything?”

  “There were, like, tons of sales. All the school stuff was fifty percent off.” Zoey beamed like they’d just won first place in a contest for Best Bargain Shoppers in the Universe. José said nothing and even managed not to roll his eyes again.

  “Okay, well, that’s great then,” Dad said, exhaling and running his fingers through his dark, curly hair. He glanced at the front door, then leaned in to whisper as if he was afraid Poppy might be able to hear him all the way from his bowling alley eight blocks away on the boardwalk.

  “Look guys, don’t repeat this, but your grandfather’s got some money problems, and we don’t want to impose more than we already are by staying here. Do you understand?”

  “Yup.” José grabbed a couple of bags and huffed up the stairs to his room.

  Dad gawked after him. “What’s his problem?”

  Zoey shrugged at Dad. “I have cramps. I need to find my pads,” she said, hoping more talk about her period would finally make Dad end this conversation.

  It worked.

  “Ah, feel better, kiddo. I’ve got a couple of business meetings this afternoon. You’ll be okay without me, right?” Dad asked, already beginning to walk away.

  “Yeah, I’ll be okay,” she said, unearthing her pads and a handful of mini chocolate bars. “Just going to run upstairs to change and then head out to keep Poppy company at the bowling alley.”

  Dad nodded before disappearing into the nook beside the stairs that Poppy used as a makeshift home office.

  Still feeling stressed from her ordeal at the store and all the tension in their small house, Zoey eagerly retreated to the privacy of Mami’s old room. She rummaged through the shirts and shorts she’d unpacked into her mother’s childhood dresser. How Zoey wished her grandparents had kept Mami’s old clothes for her! Leggings and leg warmers in every color of the rainbow. Cropped jackets. Oversized, off-the-shoulder metallic tops. Parachute pants. Black, lacy, fingerless gloves. Poufy miniskirts. Earrings that could double as bangle bracelets. The old Polaroids still taped to the dresser’s mirror attested that seventh-grade Jasmeen had, indeed, been fabulous.

  Finally selecting her comfiest soccer jersey and drawstring shorts, Zoey put them on and flopped back onto the bed, letting out a sigh of relief. Dealing with Dad and José reminded Zoey more and more of living with a bad cough. The negative energy between them was like a persistent tickle at the back of her throat that could develop into a full-on attack at any time. Zoey had learned to stave off big fights between her father and brother the same way someone might eat honey or avoid talking too much to hold a cough at bay. Sweetly distract José with a tough question. Ask Dad about how work was going. Be as quiet and independent as possible, so as not to bother either of them. But it was an imperfect science and Zoey often found it exhausting to live as if she were walking on eggshells around both of them. Sometimes she just longed for peace and harmony at home that didn’t require her to strategically manage her family’s moods.

  She scrolled through her phone for a while, looking up suggested remedies for cramps. She decided she would try warm compresses later. But for now, Advil sounded like a good idea. José kept the medicine in his room. When she came to the door, he stopped reading the book he’d taken up and got it for her. Afterward, she went back and took her time hand-washing the bloodstains out of her clothes in the guest bathroom. The curtain bar suspended atop the bathtub looked like it’d been stuck to the white-tiled walls with chewing gum, but it held when she hung her clothes on it to dry. Satisfied, Zoey headed out of the house.

  * * *

  Sunshine warmed Zoey’s face as she walked the few blocks from Poppy’s house to the boardwalk. The pressure in both her belly and her shoulders eased, and she began to feel a little proud. As scary as it had seemed, she’d survived getting her first period. She was officially a woman, like Mami and the girls at school. It made her feel closer to Mami even, knowing that they had shared the same experience. But Zoey’s thoughts quickly returned to the men in her family. She’d been able to keep Dad and José from arguing back at the house, but how much longer before they went at it again? She understood why José often got upset with Dad. Sometimes she wished they could pick one place and stay there, too. But Dad also did the best he could, especially without Mami there anymore to help. He needed his kids to support his dreams so that, in turn, he’d feel well enough to take care of them. Why doesn’t José get it? she wondered glumly.

  She cheered up as she neared Poppy’s bowling alley. The ocean stretched beautifully beside her, blue and sparkly, dotted with swimmers and boogie boards. Finally, the big red sign that said GONZO’S BOWLING ALLEY on one corner AND FUN on the other loomed ahead, a comfortingly familiar sight. Her family had spent two weeks with Poppy every summer before Mami’s heart attack, and she loved visiting Gonzo’s. She’d noticed the place seemed a bit smaller and less overwhelming when they’d come back last year for Abuela’s funeral. But that had been a quick trip, and Zoey herself had grown since then. She was tall enough to reach the A on “alley” now. Trying to grab it had always been a game with José, one Zoey always lost. She grinned and gave the A a pat. It came loose in her hand, nearly smacking Zoey in the head. Uh oh. She stood there for a moment, debating what to do. She knew she should tell Poppy, but what if she got in trouble? In a split-second decision, Zoey left the A swinging upside down, hoping no one had seen. Maybe she could sneak back with one of the hammers from Poppy’s basement later and try to fix it.

  Inside, Poppy stood behind the shoe rental counter, frowning at his ancient laptop. When he spotted Zoey, he closed the computer and grinned.

  “Hey, Poppy, cómo, um, how you doing?” Zoey said, struggling to remember the Spanish words her mom had used when Zoey was a little girl to ask Poppy how business was going.

  Poppy shook his head, and pointed the blue pen he always kept in his pocket at Zoey.

  “Did you forget all your Spanish, mija?” he asked, his voice playfully accusing.

  “No,” Zoey said, not wanting to disappo
int.

  Poppy raised his eyebrows and said a bunch of stuff in Spanish that Zoey didn’t understand.

  “I change my answer to sí,” Zoey said, her lips curving up sheepishly, and Poppy laughed.

  “It’s okay, I teach you again this summer, eh?”

  “Sí,” Zoey agreed.

  “Tell me that’s not the only word you remember.” Poppy groaned.

  “I’m sure more will come back to me soon. So how’s business going?” Zoey asked. School had just ended, and she wasn’t in the mood to be quizzed on her Spanish skills.

  “Okay. A little slow today, mija,” Poppy said, waving a hand at the window. “Such a pretty day. No one wants to be inside bowling or playing games. Everybody is at the beach swimming. We do better when it rains.”

  Zoey glanced around. One skinny guy in a rock band tee rolled a spare. Beside him, a girl with massive French-manicured nails held up a tie-dyed ball and made duck lips at her phone, snapping a selfie. A couple of lanes away, an elderly couple in matching orthopedic sneakers took careful turns and bickered over where to go next for lunch. The rest of the arcade was empty, save for a thirty-something woman chasing her rowdy toddler around the broken air hockey table. Yellow caution tape cordoned off most of the game machines, even Skee-Ball, Zoey’s favorite.

  “Alex, don’t you want to play a game?” the lady asked the little boy, finally catching his hand.

  “Noooooo! They no work! I want Mommy’s phone! PLAY GAME ON MOMMY’S PHONE!” he demanded, trying to rip open his mother’s purse.

  The mom sighed. She swooped the toddler into her arms, where he began to scream variations of “Want to play game on Mommy’s phone!”

  So cute, but so loud, Zoey thought to herself.

  “I’m sorry. My son is only three. We’re, ah, going through a little tantrum phase, and I think he needs a nap,” the mom apologized to no one in particular, rushing out the door.