Sia Martinez and the Moonlit Beginning of Everything

by Raquel Vasquez Gilliland

  “Nah, I’m not that good of a friend.” She laughs. “Ms. Gerber gave it to me in art.”

  “Ah.” My favorite teacher. Even though she has the hots for Dad.

  “Guess you know they’re all on your side.” Rose gestures to the folder.

  “Yeah.” Goosebumps prick along my arms. This town is so tiny and close to the border, sometimes it feels like everyone thinks all the brown folks ought to be on the other side of a big, ludicrous wall. So I like being part of a secret revolution against Jeremy and Tim McGhee. It’s like being on the side of Wonder Woman versus Ares. Or maybe God and Lucifer.

  13

  OUR NEW SCIENCE TEACHER WANTS his first assignment submitted tonight, but he gives me until Saturday at noon, or so he writes in my notes. That’s how I spend a weekend morning writing about my favorite astrological body.

  * * *

  My mother used to take me into the desert to watch the moonrise. She told me the moon used to shine full all month long but that extra light made the plants on Earth grow too much. The whole world was covered in vines and trees and shrubs that started to strangle one another. So the moon decided to birth her own body every month.

  When she is new, she is so small, like a baby, we cannot see her. With the darkness of the moon’s birth, the world became balanced again.

  My mother said her mother told her this story, and her mother told her, and on and on back until the first woman, whom the moon told directly. (My mom’s mom also said the first people were kernels of corn, so I take it all with a grain of salt.) Either way, I grew up thinking the moon told stories.

  This is my favorite astrological body. The one I’d like to learn more about.

  * * *

  There were a lot of things I didn’t write. Like, after I found out my mom was dead, I went out and begged the moon to tell me otherwise, to tell me it could see her, still breathing, tracking her way through the Sonoran. And how sometimes I wonder if the moonlight that touches me when I light saint candles in the night is the same moonlight that also touches my mami’s bones. And if somehow, I’m connected to her through that light. Like I’m still touching a part of her.

  But Mr. Woods says one page is enough.

  14

  AT THE END OF THE assignment, Mr. Woods writes, What unusual question would you ask if you were getting to know someone better? (Points deducted for inappropriate content.)

  I type, Which plant are you a descendant of?

  15

  SATURDAY NIGHT AT ROSE’S, I’M surrounded by bottles of oils and creams, salivating from the smell of her mom’s cooking. “When is dinner going to be ready?” I ask.

  “Five minutes ago, it was in twenty minutes. You can do the math, my lady.” Rose grabs the extra-virgin cold-pressed olive oil. “Should I?”

  “Rose, no. Remember, you made me memorize it two weeks ago: olive oil makes your hair look like—”

  “Seaweed, I know, I know. But I saw this adorable vlogger who swears by it!”

  “Rose.”

  She sighs. “Fine. Coconut oil it is.” She mixes a few spoons into her concoction. “What shows did you bring?”

  “The library didn’t have anything new. So don’t get mad at me.”

  She rolls her eyes. “So our options are Battlestar and Buffy again?”

  “Well, I found this VHS of Pretty Woman in the linen closet. With Julia Roberts? Looks super old. Like, older-than-Buffy old.”

  She scrunches her nose. “Julie who? You know what, don’t answer that. Buffy, then. I need some Tara in my life right now.”

  “Mmm. Okay.”

  “Don’t forget to lock the door. If Dad—”

  “I know, I know.” Rose’s dad would probably die of a heart attack if he caught a glimpse of a vampire or bug monster or any non-Jesus creature on the show. I put the DVD in and search for a good Tara episode.

  Rose’s father thinks most things are the devil: pop and rock and country music, any movies rated above PG, boys, bright makeup, cleavage, long earrings. I’ll stop there because it’s quite a list. He’s okay with only a few things, really: me, homework, and, well, that’s about it. He likes my dad, I guess, but I think it’s because he feels sorry for him.

  We’re not allowed to do almost anything at Rose’s, but I try to get a couple meals a week there regardless. Her mom cooks food good enough to present to God in heaven. When Mrs. Damas calls that dinner is done, I run to the kitchen to fill my plate with red snapper and peppers, red beans, and rice alongside a pile of tostones. Mrs. Damas smiles. “What’s your mix today?” She gestures to our heads.

  “Oh, the usual,” I say. “Coconut oil and honey.”

  “I’m trying that new deep conditioner Gram sent,” Rose says, and Mrs. Damas’s smile drops. She’s not a big fan of her mother-in-law, apparently, and Rose tends to enjoy this. Mrs. Damas doesn’t respond, though. Instead, she says, “Sia, Rose tells me you’re helping with the First Communion prep this month.”

  Though it’s hard, I refrain from groaning. I’d almost forgotten that Rose had guilted me into teaching the class with her. It’s the last one before the First Communion mass, so it’s always packed with energetic children who need to be chased and caught every five minutes. Literally. I have timed it. I swear, those little jerks are organized or something. But I do owe Rose. She’s tutored me in trig all semester and I’m actually passing. “Yes,” I say as Rose grins at me from behind her mom. “Looking forward to it!”

  “We’re always blessed to have you, Sia.” Mrs. Damas touches the cross at her neck. It’s gold and beautiful. I used to have one just like it, in silver. Before Mom died.

  Mr. Damas clears his throat. “Grace.” It’s more of a command than a reminder.

  Rose and I bow our heads and close our eyes, listening to his monotone recital. “May everything in our lives bring us closer to Christ, who suffered relentlessly despite our unworthiness. Keep these two young women away from the prying eyes and hands of the Devil, my Father.” I raise an eyebrow at Rose, who bites her lips, trying not to laugh.

  “O God, we are not worthy of this life, or of this food, and we thank you. Thank you for giving us the gift of Jesus, who died on the cross so that we may have eternal life.”

  “Amen,” I say. Maybe a little too enthusiastically, because Mr. Damas raises an eyebrow. “Praise the Lord,” I add. This appeases him, I guess, ’cause then he begrudgingly allows us to eat dinner in Rose’s room like barbarians.

  16

  WHEN I GET IN MY car, my hair is shinier than a new Mercedes. Rose begged me to stay over again. I told her I have to finish all that homework, but she knew. Getting up Sunday morning at the Damases’ means I have to go to Mass. And I can’t. Not for two years now. I mean, I can barely handle chasing kids who are supposed to be rehearsing their First Communion.

  Before going home, I take a detour into the desert and park near the humanoid cacti. I reach into the back, grab La Guadalupe’s candle, light it in my lap. The flame flickers back and forth with my breath.

  When I was, like, eleven, my grandmother said there were countless worlds in addition to ours. The underworld, the ghost world, the world of beetles and bats and hummingbird moths. There’s a world for warlocks and brujas and one for coconut trees and even a world just for our dreams. That one, she said, was always changing.

  As soon as Abuela returned to the kitchen, I rolled my eyes at Mom.

  “Oh, please,” I said. “How can there be so many worlds if I can only see one?”

  “There are many ways to see,” Mom said. She then closed her eyes for a second, as though she were savoring the smell of bubbling fideo de pollo. As though she could see something impossible under her lids. When she looked at me again, she just said, “Come on.” She turned to the back door.

  “What? Why?”

  “I said come on, Artemisia.”

  I grumbled and stomped through the door behind her. The backyard of Abuela’s trailer looked like the whole wide desert. It sti
ll does, I guess.

  “Face me.”

  I turned, scoffing. Finally, I looked at her.

  Mom smiled. “You remember what I told you about the saguaros? That—”

  “They dance when no one’s looking? Yes. And I actually believed it, you know.” I glanced at the cacti, their arms and heads all traitorously stiff.

  “Stare at me.”

  I dragged my gaze to her once more. “Yes?”

  “Keep looking.”

  I looked and looked at Mami’s brown-gold eyes, until my own watered.

  “There,” she said. “You see that?”

  I didn’t want to admit it, but yes. I did see it. The cacti all around us. They shimmied.

  And then, so fast I almost missed it, one to my right side extended one green, prickly arm out to another. Like it was asking her to dance.

  I stopped breathing for a few seconds, jerking my eyes right on their plant-bodies. But they were as still as the dry air.

  “They—did you—Mom, did you see—”

  “Muy bien,” she said, grinning. “Come inside, m’ija. Tengo hambre.”

  She had to take my hand and pull me in, where we sat under braids of garlic and ate sopa con Abuela. Otherwise I think I would’ve stayed out there for hours, staring, waiting for those saguaros to spin and turn and dip like they were in love.

  17

  I GASP AS A RED truck—the red truck—pulls in close.

  The sunset reaches across the sky. It’s light enough that I can see the driver’s face. He looks young. I pinch the flame, place La Guadalupe in my cup holder, and open the door. I walk quickly; the dry wind rattles against me as I approach his window. He jumps a bit as I rap it with my hand.

  “Uh, hi?” he says as he rolls it down. He looks older than me, but not by much.

  “What are you doing out here?” I ask. “Who are you?”

  He furrows his brow. “Is there some law I’m breaking—”

  Truthfully, we’re both breaking the law, considering you can’t drive off road here. “What is it, exactly, that you’re doing?”

  He picks up a notebook and waves it about. “I’m writing.”

  I stare at him. He’s wearing a taupe linen button-down and jeans. I wonder if he’s from Bloomington, the closest town to ours. “Why here?”

  “Why not? It’s fucking gorgeous.” He gestures to the sky.

  “This is my spot.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t see a ‘No Trespassing’ sign.” He tries to hide a smirk.

  I fold my arms. “This,” I sputter, pointing to the space between the two green humanoids. “This is the beginning of the world. And you’re just mucking it all up with your weird, rusty truck.”

  “Your Jeep’s got rust, too,” he retorts, but he’s smiling. I try to memorize the specifications of his features in case I run into him again. Dark hair. Hazel eyes.

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes and huff back to my car.

  “Who are you, anyway? What are you doing out here?”

  I don’t answer. He yells again as I slam the door shut and drive away. I think it’s something like, “What do you mean, this is the beginning of the world?”

  18

  I SHOULDN’T HAVE YELLED AT some boy like that. Especially some white boy. The last thing I need is for the sheriff to find out about my spot and come here and arrest me or something. I’m sure he’d love that.

  My grandmother found that spot, after she moved here, to the States. She had to up and leave everything, with nothing to her name but a few pesos and a baby. I can’t even imagine that. White people pretend they can imagine it, but you really can’t, not unless you’ve been there.

  Abuela said she was just taking a walk, my mom tied to her back, napping. It was early in the morning, the only time she felt any peace. And just as the sun broke over the mountains, just as the sky shimmered from blue to pink to bright, she saw them, the man and the woman cacti, their arms stretching toward each other. Like she’d caught best friends, or lovers, finding one another again, after a long, long separation. In that watercolor morning light, she said she felt like she was witnessing the beginning of the world all over again. She knew this space was sacred.

  And when Abuela found out Mom was lost and dead, she came out here and said that she felt the indigo of the night sky, the line of hiplike mountains, even the cacti themselves, she felt each one tell her Mami was still out there. And she reached into her old Buick and grabbed a candle, I don’t remember which, but I want to say La Guadalupe. Abuela always loved her best, and she said most mothers of the faith did, because who else knew best about the heartache of motherhood? Jesus? And she would laugh and laugh about that.

  So Abuela lit the Guadalupe candle and prayed that Mami, wherever she was, would sense it. That the flicker of light, soft as a lantern, would string itself to Mami’s heart and pull her home.

  That’s why I have to protect that spot. From strangers. From rusty muck trucks.

  I just hope I don’t come to regret it.

  19

  BY TUESDAY MORNING, I’M ACHING to get back to school. Being alone like this has got me thinking too hard and too long about my mom.

  I leap out the door when I see Rose’s text. “See ya, Dad,” I yell. He’s in the middle of a gulp of coffee and waves.

  Creedence is blazing as I open the passenger door. “Looking good,” Rose says, winking. I smile. I’d decided to wear my biggest bell bottoms, a gem I found on one of our trips to Phoenix’s many vintage stores.

  She’s wearing a yellow sundress and denim jacket covered in red and blue flower patches. “You’re looking pretty hot, yourself.” I buckle up. “You’re not all dressed up for the new guy, are you?”

  “Sia.” She gives me a sideways glance as she pulls out. “Everyone’s dressed up for the new guy. Even a couple of the fellas.”

  I laugh. “Well, if he’s as hot as you say he is…”

  “Even better. Smokin’. A total babe.” I raise an eyebrow and she looks right at it. “You’ll see.”

  Rose and I met at St. Julian’s Catholic Church when we were babies, back when my dad still had that religious streak in his bones. We became best friends in the sixth grade and have spent just about every weekend together since. Even though we have our own cars, we always ride everywhere together. There’s no one else who will blare—and belt out—Stevie Nicks with me. No one.

  In school, Rose grabs me as I near my old science class. “Wrong way, ma’am.”

  “Shit,” I say. “Where’s the new room again?”

  “Over here.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jeremy at his locker, gawking at me and Rose. “Martinez,” he yells.

  “Don’t look,” Rose mutters, but I can’t help it.

  “Glad to be reunited with your girlfriend?” He gives a hearty laugh and flashes us an obscene gesture with his hand and mouth.

  “Run along, McGhee,” Rose calls. “Keep your wet dreams to yourself.”

  Jeremy’s mouth drops open. Frankly, mine does too. Rose rarely talks shit to Jeremy and his goons, but damned if she doesn’t drag him when she does. She rushes me into the classroom.

  “I can’t believe you just said that!” I gasp between giggles.

  “Let’s just hope it doesn’t get to my mom.” Rose smiles. “I don’t need her to schedule another confession with Father John.” She grabs my shoulder. “Oh! Sia! He’s already here.”

  “What, the new guy?”

  I turn as she whispers, “No, don’t look!”

  Too late. As soon as I see his face, I roll my eyes and sigh. “No freaking way.”

  “What? What is it?”

  Before I can respond, Mr. Woods speaks. “Okay, let’s begin, shall we?” He clasps his hands together and waits for everyone to settle down. He glances at me. “Miss Martinez, I assume?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Then we’re all here. Welcome back to earth and space science. Miss Listas,” he says to a girl named Cam
ille. “Pass these out, if you wouldn’t mind.” As she does so, Rose pushes her notebook close to me. I see she’s written, Why are you freaked out about the new guy?

  He’s been loitering at my spot in the desert with his ugly red truck. I yelled at him a few days ago about it.

  Are you serious?! she writes quickly, but Mr. Woods is talking again.

  “I’ve divided you all into groups of two or three based on your responses to the essay prompt on the astrological body you’d like to learn more about. Please gather near your group as I list them off. First, Chana, Kendra, and Kinlee, who all picked various constellations. Next, MaKayla and Bryn for black holes. Lyra, Joshua, and Gustavo, if you’ll gather over there…” He continues on. Rose, sadly, was matched with Samara Kingsley for nebulas. With a sudden dread, I realize I’m the only one left. Well, me and—

  “And finally, for the moon, or moons, as one of you wrote, we have Artemisia and Noah. You may gather… ah, the back over there looks empty-ish.”

  Every single girl in the class flings arrows at me with her eyes. Well, all except for Rose, who silently cheers while mouthing, You lucky duck!

  “If you’ll notice, the packet in front of you contains a series of unusual questions. I want you all to get to know one another better, and truthfully, I’d like to get to know you, as well. So, your first assignment is to fill out this questionnaire for another person on your team, due next class. You may begin now.”

  I make my way to the back, where Noah leans against a desk chair, reading through the questions. He lowers the page as I walk up. “Ah. If it isn’t the girl who introduced me to the beginning of the universe.”

  “The world,” I respond, not even blinking as I sit down.

  “Come again?”

  “The beginning of the world. The universe came from someplace else.”

  He grins. His cheer annoys me for some reason. “Where’s that?”