Chapter 3
Coralita Girl
It was Saturday. My papa was working on my treehouse, and Neli and I were on my mama’s bed while she did her makeup in front of the powder table. Neli suddenly jumped off the bed and started powdering herself with a powder brush.
“Neli, stop wasting my powder,” mama chided.
“Mami, I should learn how to use this stuff now. So I can be beautiful like you.”
“You’re too young.”
“But, Mami, I don’t want to look like the Chupacabras.” Neli looked at me with a twisted smile.
“No, you can’t use makeup. Go take a bath,” mama ordered.
“But—”
“I said take a bath.”
Neli twisted her face but went to the bathroom. I don’t know why she hates soap and water so much. Maybe she’s part cat. When we were younger, she would kick and scream when she got near the bathtub.
“Neli, you’d better scrub and shampoo,” mama called out.
Mama got up from her stool in front of the powder table and sat next to me. I knew we were going to have one of her serious talks. Her eyebrows were almost a straight line.
“Mija,” she started the sentence and I knew something was coming. “I need to talk to you about an event that is very important in a woman’s life.”
I breathed out, feeling so much better. She was just going to speak to me about the menstrual period.
“This may come as a shock to you,” she continued, “but a woman bleeds every month.”
“Okay,” I said, wondering when the boring conversation would be over. I wanted to discuss fun stuff like my birthday party.
“Don’t be scared,” she said. “It’s a natural thing. We have this body part called the uterus. Every month blood comes out of it. This is for when we responsibly have babies. The blood is for the babies. But you won’t be having a baby until you’re at least thirty, right, Miranda?”
“Right, Mama.”
“Do you have any questions, Miranda?” asked mama.
“No, it’s very clear.”
Actually, I had learned about this from my friends. It seemed important for my mama to tell me, so I let her do it. I didn’t mention that I already knew. I could tell, though, that this talk had made her nervous. I didn’t know why. It’s only blood. The way I see it, everyone has blood inside. If you’re a girl, some of it has to come out.
“When you get your cycle,” mama said, “cycle is another word for menstrual period. When you get it, you tell me before telling your friends.” Mama’s eyes grew shiny.
“I’ll tell you but don’t cry, okay?” I said.
“Okay, I won’t.”
Mama taught her children to tell the truth. She didn’t like to lie, but I thought she might’ve been fibbing now. Is it a lie when the person believes what she’s saying? Mama thought she wouldn’t cry, but I thought she would.
I didn’t know why mama cried so easily. She cried if she was sad. She cried if she was happy. Last year my papa got her a necklace with heart shaped diamonds all over for her birthday and she cried. Papa said that it was because mama had a soft heart. Neli asked if mama could exercise it and make it stronger, but Papa told her that the heart was meant to be soft like a warm summer day picnic at the river. A heart should not be hard like a rock bounced on cement.
Mama always said that papa was a poet. I thought she was right.
Neli bounced into the bedroom from the bathroom very proud. “I showered!” She sat next to mama. “See, smell me.”
Mama took a huge whiff of her. “You smell nice, my cuddles.”
I checked my watch and couldn’t believe it. Neli had taken twice the time in the shower she usually did! Instead of five minutes, she had showered in ten. That was a record for her.
“Are you proud of me, Mami?” she asked.
“I’m always proud of my kids.” Mama hugged her. Neli grinned widely.
Peeping at her teeth, Mama frowned. “Neli Lisa Rubio,” mama said sternly as she shook her head, “why didn’t you brush your teeth?”
“Feo threw a big one on my toothpaste. I grossed out.”
“I’ve told you to stop giving him beans. You should’ve used my toothpaste.”
“I don’t want to waste toothpaste.”
Mama eyed her sternly. “Go to the bathroom and brush your teeth right now.”
“No one appreciates how I try to help the family by saving!” Neli snapped furiously.
“Neli, we have more than enough money for shampoo, soap, and toothpaste,” mama declared. “You don’t need to save them.”
Neli’s large feet could be heard crashing with the floors as she stomped off. It was almost as if Godzilla was in the house.
When the front door opened, mama and I rushed to the living room. My four year old niece, Coralita, was standing there with her mama Brenda and with her Little Mermaid backpack. She carried toys in it. Her mama left her here every Saturday because she worked.
After Brenda left, Coralita chirped, “Hello, everybody. I’m fine, how are you?” Her big brown eyes were twinkling, and her shiny black hair was in little ponytails all over her head. Her mama, Brenda, liked this hairstyle for her. I knew she was my niece but she was one of the cutest little girls I had ever seen.
“How’s my baby?” Mama hugged her while picking her up and kissing her.
“I’ll say it again, I’m fine, how are you?” Coralita started kicking her feet so mama would put her down. She was going through a stage where she didn’t want to be lifted. She said that only babies were picked up.
I kissed her forehead. “We’re fine, kiddo.”
“I brought my tea set,” she said, drumming her little fingers on her backpack. “Would you care to have some tea with me later?” She watched a lot of TV.
“We’d love to, Miss Coralita,” I told her.
“Okay,” she said happily. “Thank you for being my guests.”
She was so funny. When she was born I wasn’t sure if I’d like her. I hadn’t had too many babies around me. But she had given her little heart to me. I couldn’t do anything else but take what was offered to me with a gigantic candy smile.
When we had learned Brenda was pregnant, everyone was upset. My brother, Chico, had barely turned sixteen and was going to be a father. My parents made him get a part time job because they said he had become an adult. And an adult takes care of his family. Now he works full-time and also goes to college. He lives at home. My sister, Anai, doesn’t have a baby. She works part-time, goes to college, and lives in the dorms. She’s always having fun. Chico always looks tired.
Chico once told me that he loved his daughter with all his heart. He only wished that she had come later in his life.
“That way I could’ve had some fun like Anai instead of having all the responsibilities of an adult,” he had said.
He told me that responsibilities were things we have to do to make life easier for those around us and even for ourselves—like I felt a responsibility of making sure Neli was bathed or everyone around her would have a hurt nose. Chico had a responsibility to his daughter so she would grow up strong outside and inside too. He said we had responsibilities all our lives, but they became bigger as we got older.
“What’s she doing here?” Neli snapped as she stomped into the living room.
“You know that Coralita is here every Saturday, Neli,” mama stated.
“I brought tea,” Coralita mentioned. “You can be my guest too.”
“I don’t want to be your guest,” snarled Neli. “I hate tea.”
“Neli, portate bien!” Mama’s voice was hard. Neli’s face twisted. There was nothing she hated more than being told to behave.
“Yes, behave, Neli,” declared Coralita.
“Shut up, Chongo Face,” snickered Neli.
“Neli Lisa Rubio!” Mama was very upset now.
“She started it,” Neli blurted. “Besides, she really does have a lot of chongos.” Neli pointed at Coralita’s ponyt
ails.
“Neli—” started mama sternly but then the phone rang. She stepped over to the kitchen to answer it.
“I’m not a chongo face,” burst Coralita.
“Yes, you are,” snapped Neli.
“Stop it, Neli,” I demanded.
Coralita nodded. “Yes, stop being mean.”
“You’re a chongo face and a big head,” Neli retorted wickedly.
“I don’t have a big head,” blurted Coralita.
Neli nodded strongly. “Yes you do—a great big one.”
“Stop it!” I told her.
“Neli, why don’t you like me?” Coralita asked. “I like you.”
“I don’t like you because you’re a brat, and you’re always here. Why are you always here?”
“I like it here,” said Coralita. “And Brenda says I have to stay here on Saturdays so she can work.”
“Don’t call her Brenda,” ordered Neli. “She’s your mother, and you should call her mom.”
Mama stepped back into the living room and shook her head. She must’ve heard some of the fighting. She gave as her Saturday speech on how we were family and should get along. Coralita gazed at mama with wide open eyes. Neli looked bored. I listened.
I liked mama’s talks, especially those about how the love of your family is always with you. It got you through the bad times. I imagined it got my mama through the sadness of when Horacio Fileto had died. She said that when you have someone to love and have someone to love you back, you’re the luckiest person in the universe. And she loves us. I love my mama too.
I’m a very lucky person.
The Warriors Club Page 3