When We Make It

  RAFAEL HERNÁNDEZ AIRPORT

  When the plane wheels hit the ground everybody claps

  like they do during worship & I guess it makes sense

  to praise the landing.

  Each passenger putting their faith in the pilot

  & the flight attendants.

  & for 3 hours and 45 minutes

  we are the closest to heaven we will ever be.

  Oh, how dope to be part of a glorious congregation in the sky!

  A rapture of Boricuas rising

  like we always knew we deserved to.

  Like Stars.

  Nah. Nah. Nah.

  Like Angels.

  Nah. Nah. Nah.

  Like chosen ones celebrating

  this going home.

  This second coming.

  A TALE OF TWO PUERTO RICANS

  Mami’s brother meets us at the airport.

  He is tall and looks just like Mami but with a goatee.

  I watch the other families greet each other

  with long hugs and sometimes tears.

  They talk Spanish fast, no silence to fill with wonder.

  Mami’s brother leans in to hug Mami.

  She extends her hand instead.

  I extend mine too so that she doesn’t feel alone

  in her decision.

  Mami’s brother grabs my hand

  and says I can call him Tío Richie.

  Tío Richie,

  I repeat like I want those words to mean something.

  Like I want to brag about him in New York.

  I have an uncle who lives in Puerto Rico!

  Maybe I’ll write about him in a school essay

  or somewhere permanent like that.

  I finally feel like I have some direct connection

  to this strange land. Like if Puerto Rico is his

  then maybe it could be mine too.

  & just when I start thinking

  that I finally belong somewhere,

  Tío Richie jokes that I grew up

  to be quite the gringa.

  Suddenly, I feel like I don’t belong anywhere.

  Or maybe I belong everywhere.

  PUERTO RICAN HISTORY

  In the car with Tío Richie I try to search for the history

  Señor Maví was talking about.

  I look for it as we drive past the trees,

  the beaches, and the colorful houses.

  Maybe our history is in how beautiful the land is.

  Maybe our history is in the language.

  Tío Richie plays salsa on the radio and taps his fingers

  on the steering wheel.

  His hands dance as if they were their own body.

  Mami is stoic. Stoic means without emotion. I think.

  I remember what Ms. Rivera said

  about music being inside of us.

  Maybe history is inside of Mami and I just can’t see it.

  Maybe it’s always been there.

  Dancing. Laughing.

  Waiting to be embraced

  like the people hugging each other

  at the airport.

  Puerto Rico doesn’t have the answers I am looking for.

  Just more questions.

  THE HOUSES IN PUERTO RICO

  are pink and blue and orange and green

  Is this legal? I ask Tío.

  In Brooklyn

  coloring any wall is grounds to get you arrested.

  In Aguadilla

  you get to live inside of your own mural.

  Suddenly graffiti makes sense to me

  as something that belongs to us.

  A rainbow that seeps out of us

  like some extension of our blood.

  WHAT HAPPENED TO MAMI

  We park on a hill. The yellow house

  at the top almost looks like a sunrise.

  When we go inside

  I find out Mami has a sister too.

  Maravilla runs and crashes into Mami.

  Mami wraps her hands around Maravilla

  as if she’s been saving them for her

  this whole time.

  I’ve never seen Mami cry out of happiness.

  Mami has a father too. He doesn’t greet her.

  He walks into his room

  and shuts the door.

  I notice that Maravilla talks the same way Danny does.

  She rocks back and forth with excitement.

  I think of Danny and his Cheez Doodle smile.

  Mami kisses Maravilla goodbye and quickly leaves the house.

  She tells Tío that she is ready to go see Bori Wela.

  She yells ¡Avanza! to us from outside.

  What’s up with Mami? I ask Tío.

  Tío says: You’re too young to understand.

  I respond

  Try me.

  HOW WE TALK

  TRY ME

  Try me means take a chance on me.

  Try me means I dare you.

  Try me means don’t sleep on me.

  Try me is a threat

  and a promise

  at the same damn time.

  VISITING BORI WELA IN THE HOSPITAL

  Only two of us are allowed in the room.

  Tío offers to go in with Mami but Mami grabs my hand

  and drags me

  inside instead.

  Bori Wela’s white hair blends in with her pillow.

  Her skin is yellow like our walls in Brooklyn.

  There are tubes in her nose.

  A machine next to her beeps

  sounds just like a beeper going off

  except the number on the screen is a heartbeat.

  Bori Wela looks like she is sleeping

  but the doctor suggests we say something anyway.

  Says she can hear us. Mami’s hand wraps around Bori Wela

  super careful not to disturb the IV.

  Mami. Llegué. Tarde, pero llegué. Guao. Te pusiste vieja. Jaja.

  Te traje a Sarai. Sarai, dile algo a tu abuela.

  If we were in Brooklyn this would be the part

  where Mami hands me the phone.

  I feel terrible for all of the times I felt annoyed

  to speak in Spanish.

  One day, just like the phone,

  this machine will stop ringing.

  This is my last chance to fill the silence with wonder.

  I grab Bori Wela’s hand.

  I don’t know what else to say

  except the obvious.

  Hola Wela.

  Aquí estamos.

  Estamos aquí.

  We’re here.

  I can feel Bori Wela’s hand squeeze mine.

  I imagine this is how her hand held the phone

  whenever Mami called.

  IN CASE OF EMERGENCY

  LEARN PUERTO RICAN HISTORY

  Tío Richie asks Mami if he can take la Gringuita

  on a drive to San Juan.

  By la Gringuita he means me

  and laughs like he’s a comedian.

  I beg Mami to let me go.

  She asks Tío Richie if his wife is coming.

  Tío Richie says she’s already in the car.

  Mami reluctantly agrees. Reluctant is a new word.

  It means she almost says no.

  But she doesn’t say yes either.

  She just purses her lips

  and uses them to point

  to her purse. I run to the brown crocodile skin

  purse and hand it to Mami.

  She pulls out twenty dollars

  & tells me to use it en caso de emergencia.

 
Tío Richie, do you know Puerto Rican history?

  We’re heading there right now, he says.

  GETTING TO KNOW YOU

  GETTING TO KNOW ALL ABOUT YOU

  It’s a long-ass drive from Aguadilla to San Juan.

  I imagine this is what it feels like for Ms. Rivera

  and Papi to travel to Brooklyn from The Bronx.

  Tío Richie’s wife’s is nice enough.

  Her name is Consuelo

  but there is nothing comforting about her.

  She’s definitely the opposite of that

  on this car ride. Consuelo talks fast and often.

  She’s also way too affectionate for my taste.

  She’s riding shot gun and somehow her long-ass arms

  manage to reach over to the back seat.

  Touching my hair. Caressing my face. Tapping my knee.

  She thinks I am so beautiful.

  You look exactly like your mother when she was younger.

  ¡Igualita! ¿Verdad, Richie? An exact mirror!

  She wants to know all about my life in Bushwick.

  How’s school? Do I like boys yet?

  I got so big! She remembers

  when I was born & now look at me!

  Time flies! Man, how time flies.

  How’s the new apartment?

  She says she knows how rough it must have been

  to move around so much.

  I can’t answer one thing

  before she’s on to the next.

  I don’t even know this lady

  and she could write a biography on

  my life. She said Bori Wela would update her

  on how us & Mami were doing in New York.

  I may not know a lot about Puerto Rican history

  but I know Puerto Ricans love bochinche.

  Consuelo would make a good journalist,

  or a terrible one.

  Déjala hablar, Tío Richie scolds his wife.

  He’s sure I have questions before we head back.

  Why did Mami leave Puerto Rico?

  Suddenly nobody is talking fast.

  Suddenly no one is talking at all.

  TÍO RICHIE WANTS TO TALK PUERTO RICAN HISTORY

  I can tell he’s tryna avoid my question about Mami

  But I’ma let him rock.

  Let’s seeeee. He stretches the “e” out real professor-like.

  Where do I start?

  He says he can start as far back as when the Spanish

  displaced the original Native people out their home Borikén.

  Displaced? Is this what happens in Brooklyn

  when the cool white teacher’s husband

  buys up our buildings?

  I think to myself.

  Or when Spain started transporting enslaved Africans

  to the island & killing off the Natives.

  Or when the rebellion against Spain

  called el Grito De Lares occurred.

  Or when slavery was finally abolished.

  Or when the United States invaded Puerto Rico

  Or when Puerto Ricans became U.S. citizens.

  But not really, ’cause we can’t vote for president, he laughs.

  Or the Ponce Massacre

  when police opened fire on peaceful protestors.

  Damn, that sounds like Bushwick

  after the Puerto Rican Day Parade!

  I make this connection

  out loud.

  Tío Richie pauses, confused.

  I take this opportunity to breathe. Deep.

  Damn, Tío, you’re like a whole-ass historian.

  I think of Señor Maví & decide to test his knowledge.

  Is it true that the flag was illegal to own?

  Tío Richie laughs, then says:

  Why do you think we wave it so hard?

  I want to laugh too

  but I am so angry & so afraid.

  Angry I didn’t know.

  Angry there weren’t books in the library about this.

  Afraid I’ll forget all of this history.

  Afraid I’ll remember.

  DIASPORICAN BLUES

  I didn’t know any of this.

  Tío tells me not to feel bad

  that he didn’t know either

  till he went to college.

  But I don’t feel bad.

  I am angry & I put the blame on Mami.

  I tell Tío Richie

  that I am so mad at Mami

  for not telling me

  how many Puerto Ricans fought

  and are still fighting

  for their independence

  so that I could be the proud-ass Boricua

  waving a flag

  on 116th Street every year.

  Tío Richie says

  People who leave the island are part of the diáspora.

  Diasporican, if you will.

  Then Consuelo lives up to her name

  & says the first comforting thing

  I’ve heard all day. She says that

  leaving the island is a hard decision.

  and that ever since Mami

  moved to New York

  she’s spent her life

  just trying to survive the day.

  & if you think about it, really think about it,

  staying alive, well, that too is Puerto Rican history.

  WHAT HAPPENED TO MAMI

  Mami’s father had lost his job

  en la finca due to some new

  government project that was

  supposed to make life in Puerto Rico

  easier for everyone but instead

  left Mami’s father trying to figure out

  how they were going to survive.

  Mami couldn’t be bothered

  with her father’s problems

  ’cause she met Papi

  and fell in love.

  But Mami’s father didn’t approve

  and would call Mami the same names

  Mami calls Estrella when she’s

  angry. Puta. Sucia. Callejera.

  Soon Mami was forbidden

  from seeing Papi but she would

  sneak away during school hours

  to play hooky and see him anyway.

  When Mami’s father found out

  he locked her in a room.

  Damnnnn. Like Rapunzel?

  Tío Richie says: Who?

  I say never mind

  & invite him to go on.

  Tío Richie says he didn’t see Mami for weeks.

  Bori Wela fought & fought with Mami’s father

  until he agreed to let her out.

  The next time Tío Richie saw Mami

  she asked him to help her run away.

  Away from her father.

  Away from Puerto Rico.

  But Tío Richie felt that all Mami had to do

  was follow the rules like he did.

  Tío Richie says he’s not a man of regrets.

  But he regrets doing nothing.

  Doing nothing is sometimes

  the worst thing you can do.

  MAMI & PAPI’S LIFE AS A SALSA SONG

  PERIÓDICO DE AYER

  So Papi told Mami he couldn’t be sure but he had heard

  there were better opportunities in New York

  for Puerto Ricans. They could be together &

  live better than they did in Puerto Rico.

  It was a win-win! He knew a guy who knew a guy

  who knew a guy that could get him a job.

  A good job. & just like that they bounced.

  Since Mami couldn’t write well


  she’d clip photos of her new neighborhood

  out of newspapers and mail them to Bori Wela.

  It’s as if Mami was the journalist of her own life

  & her life in Puerto Rico was old news.

  MY LIFE AS A SALSA SONG

  TODO TIENE SU FINAL

  Bori Wela passed away

  as we boarded the plane

  back to Brooklyn.

  Mami declined Tío Richie’s offer

  to extend the plane tickets so that

  we could stay for the funeral.

  Life goes on

  Mami said

  wiping away tears.

  How life went on

  with Mami & Papi

  after they left

  Puerto Rico.

  How life is going on

  with Estrella & Jesus back in Brooklyn.

  How life will go on

  for Lala & Ms. Rivera.

  I wonder how life went on

  with Piano Man and his wife.

  Mami, I plead. Let’s stay.

  Wela would have wanted that.

  Staying won’t bring her back.

  You can’t change what happened in the past

  Mami says.

  Maybe to herself. Maybe to me.

  Todo tiene su final.

  Nada dura para siempre.

  BOCHINCHE

  Back in Brooklyn

  Estrella is pregnant.

  No one knows what to do.

  Papi came down all the way from The Bronx,

  on a weekday

  to greet us with the news!

  He’s storming through Brooklyn

  looking for Jesus.

  Mami is blaming Papi

  for letting Estrella run wild.

  Estrella is hype for the chance

  at being a better mom than Mami.

  IMAGINATION GONE WILD

  Estrella is back living with us.

  At least until the baby is born.

  After that she has plans.

  Jesus & her are leaving Bushwick.

  She says Jesus has been working hard

  to get everything the baby needs &

  they found a cheaper apartment in The Bronx.

  Estrella says the baby will have Jordans & a fancy crib