For some reason, my older brother Pete, now Pastor Pete, went through a phase when he was about five years old, of being obsessed with killing animals. He would drown cats, grab them by the tail and toss them into a tree. He was probably just experimenting and understanding the meaning of life and death but it completely freaked my mother out, understandably. You’d hear her yell at the top of her lungs:
“Who killed another cat?” (At this point, it was “another” cat—that’s how bad it was.) She would call Pete and Gus and ask them: “Who did it? Díganme . . . quién?”
And Pete and Gus would just stand there and act oblivious.
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” they’d whine.
“I know you know,” she’d say, now fuming. “Which one of you was it?”
There would be a long pause, and then suddenly they’d both answer at the same time: “I did it! I did it!”
And Mom would never know, until years later, of course.
That’s how it always went because growing up a Rivera, if there is one thing you know it’s that you never, ever rat one another out. No matter what your brother does, no matter how bad it is, you never say a word. In fact, if one of your brothers is about to get caught, you throw yourself under the bus and take the blame. Pete and Gus must have been the first ones to start this unspoken rule that trickled down to the rest of us. Gus did it for Pete, Juan did it for Lupe, Chay, and me, I did it for Juan, and Chay, I’m sure, did it for all us. Because Chay and I were the girls of the house, we never got in so much trouble as the rest and in fact my brothers were under strict orders from my father never to touch us.
“No one can touch Janney, or Rosie,” he would always say to them. “You can’t hit them. No one can touch them.”
• • •
Since as early as I can remember, Daddy filled me with positive affirmations. “You are strong. You are so smart,” he always said to me. My father gave amazing encouragement to Chay and my brothers too. He wanted us to believe in ourselves, telling us that any dream could come true if we worked hard, were honorable, did things the right way, and didn’t step on anyone to get to the top.
“Rosie, what do you want to be when you grow up?” he would ask me.
“Daddy, I want to be an astronaut!” I would exclaim.
“Well, Hija, then you can be the best astronaut in the world,” he’d answer. I always believed him. I was surrounded by so much love and encouragement that I never once doubted that I could accomplish big and important things in the world. In my mind, all I had to do was work hard and all my dreams would come true.
My father never stopped asking me the same question over the years and every time I had a different answer. Later I would answer the same question with: “I want to be the first Mexican-American woman on the U.S. Supreme Court,” or “I want to be a teacher.”
And he replied, “Okay, but make sure you are the best teacher you can possibly be.”
One day when I was about four years old, Mom was making a big breakfast for the family and I ran into the kitchen (as I did many mornings) and asked, “Daddy, Daddy! Can I sit on your lap while you eat?”
Dad never said no to me and that day was no exception. However, as soon as my mother put the big plate of scrambled eggs and tortillas in front of him, I suddenly felt a tickle in my nose and sneezed all over them.
There was a moment of silence before Mom rushed over and said to my father, “Don’t worry, I’ll cook you a new breakfast.”
“No, you don’t have to,” he responded. “She’s my daughter.”
I felt so bad for having sneezed on his eggs but hearing him say that made me feel so special. With those simple words, he was telling me how much he loved me. He didn’t have to say it—after all, I knew very well how much he loved me—but the fact that he did made me feel incredible. The next morning, when I got up, he was seated at the breakfast table and yet again I ran over to him with my arms outstretched, asking, “Papi, can I sit with you?”
Mom protested: “Don’t let her, she might sneeze on your food again!”
But Dad didn’t care. He picked me up and put me on his lap just like the previous morning. And sure enough, I sneezed!
Years later we found out that I was allergic to his cologne. Yet never once did my father withhold his love from me. Not even if it meant eating gross eggs!
• • •
Dad always said that Chay was his queen and I was his princess, and that was the way he treated us. There was nothing wrong with her being queen and me being a princess, it was just the way it was and I loved that we were the only two girls and that I was—and will always be—Chay’s only sister.
Chay would say to me: “Sister, it’s great that there is no other girl in our family because she would be the ugly one, she would be left out.” And we’d laugh our heads off.
For as long as I can remember, my sister was my hero. Lupe and Juan were closer to me in age so they were my playmates, my everyday buddies, but my sister was the focus of my adoration. I followed her wherever she went, and even though she moved out of the house when I was about three years old, to me it never felt as though she didn’t live with us because she was always over at our place. She always made time for me and when I was with her, I felt so special.
At the Gale house we shared a room, where Chay’s Menudo posters were plastered all over the walls. She was in love with the Menudo boys and since I wanted to do everything she did, I thought I liked them too. So I’d jump on her bed to try to kiss them. One of those times, I jumped so high trying to reach the poster that I fell and hit my head hard.
When she saw the blood, my mother freaked out but my sister stayed super calm. She lovingly picked me up and never scolded me. Even though it was such a silly thing to do, jumping up and down to kiss a poster, she never once told me I was stupid or an idiot or anything. When she was upset with me, she would start her sentence with “Sister, I don’t appreciate . . .” and then I knew I was in trouble. But she never made me feel bad about myself and that made me only love her more.
One day, she took me with her to Long Beach City College, where she was studying, and she explained what she did there. I must have been about six years old at the time and I thought, Chay is the most amazing human being ever. I wanted to be just like her, and right then and there I decided that no matter what, one day I was going to go to college.
I was Chay’s baby. In fact Juan and I were her babies. Even though she had been praying for a baby sister, she fell in love with Juan the moment he came home from the hospital. And then when I came along, I became her muñeca de carne, her real-life doll.
When my sister would tell the story of my birth, she’d jokingly say that the day I came into the world, I changed everything. According to her, I ruined her twelfth birthday party. It was the biggest disappointment she ever had to confront, and she never forgot the terrible mark it left on her existence. Her birthday was on July second, and she was about to cut into her birthday cake when suddenly my mother’s water broke, throwing everyone into a panic. My mother was rushed to the hospital, while all of my sister’s guests packed up and left as quickly as possible. Several hours later I was born and Chay never recovered from such a scarring event. For years and years, my sister gave me the hardest time about this incident. Whenever she needed me to do something for her or when she just wanted to get her way, she’d say, “Sister, you owe me. Remember you ruined my twelfth birthday party? You owe me big time!”
And inevitably, I would cave in and do whatever it was she wanted me to do. It was her strongest bargaining chip, the one guarantee she could get her way.
Well, imagine my surprise when, years later, I found out through her book Unbreakable that the so-called birthday party, which I had spent years imagining to be this extravagant affair second only to Prince Charles and Diana’s wedding, was just my sister and two girls! All this t
ime I thought I had really ruined her birthday when it actually wasn’t that big of a deal. I never had a chance to call her on it, but man, did she milk it. We will have an eternity to take it up with Jesus in Heaven.
Now if she genuinely did think I had ruined her birthday party, she sure got back at me four years later when her daughter Chiquis was born. Chay had just moved out of the house to be with her new husband, Trino, and Chiquis was her first baby. Although Chiquis was born on June twenty-sixth, the first time Chay brought her over to introduce her to the family was a week after the birth—also the day of my fourth birthday party. Chiquis was the most beautiful baby girl with big green eyes, and of course, Chay had to bring her to my party to steal the show. I was so annoyed! If you look at the pictures from that day, you can see that I’m not looking at the camera or at the cake. I’m just staring directly at Chiquis, fuming with jealousy.
But then Chay said what she never stopped saying to me until her untimely death: “I love you, Sister. Don’t worry. You’ll always be my baby.”
And she kept her promise because I always was.
three
love game
As I grew older, Mom finally came to her senses and understood that no matter how hard I tried to make the best of it, I simply hated going to the swap meet. And because I was the youngest and I was able to get away with pretty much anything, she found ways for me to stay behind. Sometimes she’d ship Juan and me off to the recording studio with Dad. Tucked under the console, Juanelo and I would spend hours playing with cars, Barbies, or anything we had at our disposal. We’d listen to my father’s artists do take after take of the same song and from time to time my father would interrupt the recording to feed us a very balanced meal of Gatorade, string cheese, and corn nuts. We loved it! Sometimes he’d feed us that for three days straight but it never got old. Still today, any time I eat corn nuts, I remember those long days hidden under the console with my brother and I’m filled with a sense of nostalgia. Back then, I didn’t have a care in the world and everything about my life was perfect.
Other times, when my father was also busy at the swap meet, my mother would send me to my sister Chay’s house. At the time, Chay was married to Trino, and Chiquis was about four years old. They were living in a mobile home in Carson, which to me was the best place on earth. I loved going there because not only did it mean I could spend the weekend playing with Chiquis; I would also get to spend time with my big sister. Their home was bright and quiet and even though it wasn’t the most comfortable in the world, it sure beat hanging out at the swap meet.
Chay and Trino had gotten married in 1984 when she got pregnant with Chiquis. Their parents pressured them to get married and much to my brother’s despair—he was heartbroken when Chay moved out and I was too young to really understand what was going on—Chay felt she had to leave our home and move in with the father of her child.
Chay met Trino when she was in eighth grade. She met him through a couple of her friends who took her to a chicken fast food restaurant where he worked and gave them a free meal. Soon enough Trino noticed my sister, my sister noticed Trino, and they fell madly in love. Who could blame them? Chay was, well, AWESOME and Trino was this charismatic and impossibly cool rocker dude; everyone in the neighborhood loved him and he seemed to have friends in all places. I distinctly remember seeing him at church on Sundays and noticing how loving and kind he was to everyone. He never raised his voice and later on when they had kids, he was always so gentle and patient with them. Chay’s kids once told me that one night when they were driving back home after some event, they crossed the Long Beach bridge and seeing the big enormous moon over the water, one of the little ones said, “Look, Daddy, look how beautiful the moon looks!”
To which Trino responded, “You bet! And I’m gonna take you to the moon tonight.” It was such a sweet thing to say and it really showed how much he cared about the children. He always made them feel safe and cared for. Even I dreamed of going to the moon from that bridge.
Growing up, I loved Trino. Even though I always went over to be with my sister and my niece, Trino was always super kind to me, just as caring as he was with his own daughter Chiquis. He was like another big brother to me and I never once doubted that he was a great guy. Chay loved Trino and because I saw the world through my big sister’s eyes, I couldn’t help but love him too. My sister trusted him, so I trusted him too. Plus, he was impossibly cool and he said he loved my sister—what else could anyone ask for?
But as much as they loved each other, things between them were far from perfect. To say that Chay and Trino had a rocky relationship is putting it mildly. Even though for most of her life Chay was the woman we all remember today, this tough, fearless, powerful, strong woman who never let anything or anyone beat her down, back in those days, she could be quite submissive. I think she felt afraid and vulnerable—she wanted to make her marriage work—and I’ll never forget the many times I heard Chay ask Trino not to leave her after one of their heated arguments.
In the summer of 1989—I was eight, and Chiquis was four—I spent a weekend at my sister’s mobile home in Carson. Chay was pregnant with her second baby, Jacqie, and Chiquis and I were playing in her room without a worry in the world. Life couldn’t get any better: I was hanging out with my sister and my niece, I didn’t have to be at school and most important, I wasn’t at the swap meet. It was a beautiful, sunny day and Chay was in the kitchen cooking my favorite food, of course, spaghetti and meatballs. Chay would make these ridiculously huge meatballs and I loved them. Anytime I was over at her place, I’d ask her to make them for me.
But at some point when I walked into the kitchen, I noticed that there were no meatballs in what she was preparing. The meatballs being the best part, I said, “Hey, Sister, the spaghetti doesn’t have any meatballs!”
“Oh! That’s right,” she said. “I wasn’t going to make them this time.”
“Oh, okay, Sister, no problem,” I answered. I was disappointed, but within a couple of minutes I went back to playing with Chiquis.
Trino and Chay just started to live on their own without help from family, so they had very little money and their home had practically no furniture. In Chiquis’s room, they had a dark blue rug and a worn-out green-and-blue San Marcos blanket—every Mexican family has one—spread down on the floor for her to play on. Warm rays of sunshine streamed through the open windows and the room felt bright and airy. It was one of those beautiful, picture-perfect days when the colors are so bright, you feel as if you’re in a movie. Chiquis and I were sitting on the blanket playing with Barbie dolls; our game was so beautiful and innocent, two little girls dreaming up a fantasy world of queens and princesses and balls. Suddenly we heard Chay and Trino start fighting. Trino and Chay were always fighting, so we were unfazed by the screaming and just continued on with our game. But a few minutes later we were surprised to hear a door slam. Startled, Chiquis and I ran into the living room to see who had left. We found Trino standing alone in the kitchen.
“Where’s my sister?” I asked him.
“She went to get you some meatballs,” he answered. “She’ll be back in a bit, don’t worry.”
“Oh, okay,” I said and returned to my game with Chiquis. It was strange for my sister to leave without saying good-bye but I figured it must have meant that she was in a hurry or something. I was just happy she was going to make the meatballs after all.
Chiquis and I went back to playing with the Barbies. A few minutes later, Trino popped into the bedroom.
“Chiquis, go play outside,” he said sternly.
“Why?” asked Chiquis. “I don’t want to!”
“I’m telling you, go play in the living room! Go watch TV or something!” he said, this time in a harsher tone.
It was so rare for him to yell at Chiquis that she immediately understood there would be no more negotiating. She immediately left and Trino closed the door behind her
. Although it did seem strange to me that he would yell at Chiquis, I didn’t necessarily think anything was wrong.
“Do you wanna play a game, Rosie?” he asked.
“Sure!” I answered. “What kind of game?”
“It’s the love game,” he answered.
“Cool!” I said. I didn’t understand why Chiquis couldn’t play with us but decided just to go with it.
Trino asked me to put my Barbies aside, close my eyes, and lie down. I froze as he pulled down my shorts, leaving me in my underwear and the short blue top I was wearing that day. He covered me with the San Marcos blanket and then slowly began to kiss my neck. I could feel his warm breath on my skin and the wetness of his kisses felt strange. Still, I didn’t understand what was going on but I trusted him and wasn’t really afraid since I was doing as told. Trino had said it was a game and as long as we were playing, I knew I would be all right.
But Trino continued to kiss and touch me. He slid his large hand between my thighs and slowly made his way up into my underwear. Confusion took over and I felt uncomfortable. Although something definitely felt wrong, I didn’t exactly understand what I was feeling. Trino’s fingers felt coarse against my skin as he gradually touched me in places I had never been touched.
Suddenly the door flung open. It was Chiquis. I’ll never forget the look on her face when she saw us.
“Oh, are you going to do to her what you do to Mommy?” she asked.
“Get out!” Trino immediately yelled back at her and Chiquis scurried away.
That’s when I freaked out. That’s when I knew something was definitely wrong. What kind of game was it that Chiquis couldn’t play? And why in the world would he play it with me if he played it with my sister? Would Chay be upset that I was playing it too?
My Broken Pieces : Mending the Wounds from Sexual Abuse Through Faith, Family and Love (9781101990087) Page 3