Never Look Back

by Lilliam Rivera

  A vision of me as young as this girl comes to me. Like her, there was a time when I, too, was anointed.

  Raindrops lightly tap my forehead. I lift my face and close my eyes to let the water cool my hot skin. Although I try to enjoy this, I can’t stop thinking of him.

  “Don’t be sad.” Ato appears as soon as I think of Papi. It is as if he can sense when my mind fills with heartbreak again. Papi has been gone for close to three years, but I still think of him every day. Still wish for him to return.

  “Do you want to play?” Ato asks.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Here.” He hands me a bright red trompo. Ato wraps the long string around the top’s body before letting it spin on the ground. The trompo twirls so fast. It’s mesmerizing to watch.

  When Papi left us, Mami spent her days crying. I didn’t know what to do. There was barely food in the house, but at least I had Ato. He stayed by my side, making sure I found things to eat. We picked mangos and ate them, leaving the pits on the ground. The neighbors eventually forced Mami out of bed to find a job. While Mami works, I stay with our neighbor Blanca. But I don’t really need any looking after, not when I have Ato.

  “Come from out of the rain,” Blanca says.

  We are by el Río Cibuco. Blanca said it would do me good to be outside. She planned this excursion to the river but didn’t expect the change in weather. I ignore her request to take shelter. I’m too busy concentrating on the trompo spinning and on Ato.

  “Do you ever miss your home?” I ask. I’m worried Ato will stop visiting me, that I will step outside my house and he will no longer be there to greet me.

  Ato hums a song by Prince, the one we both love so much. “Diamonds and Pearls.”

  “I only think of us when we are together. I don’t think of the things I miss,” he says. “I can create new memories to remind me of home.”

  With a slight flourish of his hand, the trompo lifts up into the air. The toy turns and twists with the help of the wind and Ato’s motions.

  “It will be different when we are there together,” he says. “El Inframundo isn’t just for anyone. You have to be selected. Chosen. Do you know why I chose you?”

  “No, Ato,” I say. “Why?”

  Ato sings the words to “Diamonds and Pearls.” He sings of never running away, that love is meant for us. It’s nice to be loved, to be wanted. Ato chose me.

  “But what about Mami? I don’t want to leave her.”

  He pauses. “Don’t you think she might be able to take care of herself better? Then you wouldn’t have to go to the neighbor’s house.”

  I think of all those times I tried to get Mami’s attention and she would just stare at the bedroom ceiling, like I wasn’t even there. Even now there are times when I feel invisible around her. I learned how to conceal my tears so she wouldn’t notice. I don’t want to add to her grief.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “She would miss me.”

  “Like your Papi misses you?”

  Ato makes the top drop to the ground. I am once again filled with sadness.

  “Don’t worry, Eury. I won’t leave you,” Ato says. “I will never treat you like your father.”

  And I believe him.

  The little girl and boy run past me toward the ocean. Their tiny feet kick up sand.

  “Right, um, Eury? Florida is basically Puerto Rico now,” a boy with neon green hair says. “Everyone who left the island lives there.”

  “Dizque Puerto Rico isn’t Puerto Rico if everyone is abandoning it,” Jaysen says as if I’m to blame. “Am I right? How is the island supposed to get its act together when everyone is bailing?”

  “Leave it for the next guy to fix,” a girl says.

  They continue to talk about my home as if they can clearly see the solution. My family’s failure to stay on the island is written off as abandonment.

  The hurricanes will return later this summer. Fear will march alongside and blanket the island. Hurricanes have always been part of our fabric. My mother and I have each gone through so many. We always knew how to handle the situation. It wasn’t as if we weren’t prepared for Hurricane María. We were. That day was different. What began as a slow build—some rain, some tossed palm trees—transformed into an unnatural predator.

  They talk of my home as if they would have made better decisions if they’d been there. They have no idea what my family faced. What I faced.

  “You think you are safe here,” I say. “Florida isn’t a sanctuary. Neither is New York.”

  “I’m confused,” Melaina says, her body pressed firmly against Pheus like he’s a wall. “Why are you here, then?”

  It’s an innocent enough question even if Melaina’s intentions are to malign. She sees me as a threat. Melaina and her layers of insecurity.

  “Category four. Category five. What does it even mean? We thought the hurricane would pass us by as so many did before. A bit of damage. Nothing we couldn’t overcome.” I don’t look at them. I tell this story to the ocean. “The full impact of the storm hit us at 10 a.m. All I can remember is the noise. The rain and the wind sounded like the roar of waves crashing on the roof of our house. Things smashed against our walls. We thought for certain a car would be lifted up and land in our living room.

  “Mami and I hid in the bathroom and prayed. Have you ever prayed against nature, against wind and rain? The roof of our house was pulled away as if it were made of feathers. In the blink of an eye, a wall disappeared. We huddled in the bathtub for hours until our neighbors found us.”

  No one says a word.

  “Why am I here? I’m here because I am unmoored. I keep floating from one city to the next, hoping to find a sense of refuge—a lie I tell myself. My home no longer exists, and safety is a myth.”

  I stop talking. If I continue to speak on the hurricane, will my sentences conjure up Ato? Am I inviting him to find me here with these people?

  “You don’t have to explain yourself,” Penelope says. She places herself smack-dab in the middle of the group so attention steers away from me. “My cousin Eury can live wherever she wants. And if you don’t like it, come catch these hands.”

  Her friends laugh at her. The uneasiness shifts in the group. They move on to focus on something else.

  Aaron turns the volume up on the radio to a reggaeton tune full of heat and lust. Melaina joins Penelope in the middle of the group. They both dance together. Their movements are innocent at first, then Melaina leads, grinding her hips into Penelope. Seductive moves meant to ensnare.

  Penelope eventually sits down beside me, winded.

  “I need to take a walk,” I say.

  She nods.

  “Water break! Who wants more water?” Penelope announces. No one pays attention. Their eyes are glued to Melaina’s curves, except for Pheus. He follows my moves.

  “Do you want to leave? I can call us an Uber,” Penelope asks. “This isn’t your scene. I don’t want you to feel as if you have to stay.”

  Penelope wants me to fit neatly within her circle. I wish I could. I want to shake this uneasiness. Even in my colorful shorts, I still bring gloom.

  “Guess they were expecting a golden island girl and not this pesada from the mountains,” I say.

  “Ay, Eury!” She hugs me.

  “Yo, wait up.” Pheus and Aaron catch up to us. Aaron pairs up with Penelope. She giggles and teases. I walk ahead. I don’t want to continue being the downer of the party. Pheus walks behind me. I can tell by his posture that he wants to talk. His hands gesture to the bottles of water as he digs deep to find a cold one for me.

  “I got you.” Pheus pulls out his wallet and hands the man at the kiosk money.

  “Thank you.”

  “Sorry to hear about Puerto Rico,” Pheus says. “I remember watching the videos and photos. It seemed unreal. I hope you can find peace in the Bronx with us.”

  When he talks, there is a rhythm to his sentences like lyrics with a hint of a promise behind them. Pheus is n
ot beautiful like Ato. He has brown eyes and bushy eyebrows. His hair is in a tight fade. When Pheus smiles his dimples pop, giving him a boyish quality. A sweetness.

  “What are you guys doing tomorrow?” he asks.

  “No plans that I know of,” I say.

  “Well, if you’re up to it, I can take you around the city a bit. We can see other parts.”

  I stop walking. Melaina still dances. Her booty shaking. Everyone cheers her on. Yet, the one person who should be her devoted admirer asks me out.

  “How would Melaina feel about you playing tourist with me?”

  Pheus takes a large sip from his bottle of water. Uses the coldness to cool down the base of his neck.

  “Can’t speak for her,” he says. “The thing is, Melaina and I are only friends.”

  I chuckle at this. “I don’t make out with my friends.”

  “True. True,” he says. “I’m deadass serious, tho. We are not together.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  I am not a fool. Pheus is playing a weird game I want no part of. Melaina is with him even if he wants to deny it. He’s heartless to think otherwise. If he so casually treats Melaina like that, how would he treat me?

  When we return, there is a conguero playing. His face is rapturous as he stares at Melaina. His hard hands bang on the skin of the drum. Melaina controls his movements with a shake of her hip.

  “Why don’t you sing my song?” Melaina yells to Pheus. “What’s the point of bringing your guitar if you are not going to use it?”

  The others join in and beg Pheus to perform the song “Melina” by Joan Soriano. Although I don’t add my voice, I do want to hear him sing again.

  “I perform when I want to perform,” he says. “Do you see any chains up in here?”

  He raises his wrists.

  “You’re trifling,” Melaina says. “Can’t you see we’re waiting?”

  Pheus refuses to budge. Melaina shoots me an icy glare as if I am controlling his actions.

  “I’m going to find another who actually has talent.”

  Melaina gathers her two friends and walks away in search of better company.

  Penelope nudges me.

  “That’s never happened before,” she says. “What did Pheus say to you earlier?”

  “Nothing,” I say.

  When Melaina is far enough away, Pheus dusts his guitar case and opens it. He strums the guitar with familiar notes. This time, he doesn’t sing the words to “Adore.” Instead Pheus only plays the chords.

  The melody drifts around me. What if I allow myself a little bit of this warmth? Is this even possible for a person like me? I lie back down on the blanket. If I strip the noise around me and concentrate only on Pheus, I am transported to another place where no one can hurt me.

  I quietly hum the lyrics.

  CHAPTER 5

  Pheus

  Another rush of cop cars careens across the Bronx streets. Now that the fancy new police precinct is up and running nearby, it feels as if the po-po has nothing better to do but round up the innocent all day. Unspoken curfews are implemented every time we simply want to hang. New transplants can feel safe here with us tucked away from sight. Pops mentioned how this happened back in the day when “El Demonio” Giuliani was mayor and wanted to present a clean New York. He says things are once again becoming interesting.

  It’s two o’clock in the morning. I haven’t been able to sleep much for the past couple of days. Eury got me up at night translating Prince songs like I’m on a deadline. What is wrong with me? I bodied the song “Adore.” I knew I would. And yet, she’s not paying me no mind. Not really.

  The ride in Aaron’s car when we left Orchard was good. I felt we were vibing. She was a little more talkative. Jaysen decided to stay behind, and there was way more room in the back seat.

  “You should start with this,” she said, directing me to Prince’s first album, For You. She laughed when I tried to copy Prince’s trademark yell. Then she shook me with this question:

  “What does music mean to you?”

  I had no idea Eury was going to administer a pop quiz. I thought I was being all charming until I stumbled.

  “Singing is fun. I like it,” I said. “It’s a hobby, you know what I’m saying?”

  She frowned, actually frowned.

  “What’s the point of singing if you’re not using your voice to move mountains?”

  Whoa. How am I supposed to reply to that? She wasn’t trying to son me. She genuinely asked the question, and I had no valid answer that didn’t ring false. Am I being a hypocrite because music isn’t the be-all and end-all for me? My voice doesn’t have the power to do much but get a girl like Eury to pay attention to me. If I didn’t have that, would she have looked my way? Maybe. Maybe not.

  Melaina, on the other hand, sent me long rambling texts full of curses. How I disrespected her. How I should be doing the right thing and apologizing. How she might forgive me. The next day she was back to sending me sweet messages, explaining she only wants me to succeed. She’s looking out for me. I was clear from the very beginning, when we first hooked up, that I wasn’t looking for anything serious. We are both too young for any of that. She’s always been cool with keeping our thing casual. Melaina insisted on meeting at Orchard. She promised to make it up to me.

  Penelope and Eury have been no-shows at the beach since Sunday. Four long days. I figured I would try to sing a bachata version of “Purple Rain.” No doubt it was going to suck, but I was willing to give it a try. Maybe Eury would have found it funny. I don’t know. When Jaysen reached out to Penelope to ask why she wasn’t there, she responded with a “mind your business.” Penelope is always with the mouth. With Penelope not around, it also meant no Aaron and no ride.

  Melaina and I ended up sharing a cab together yesterday. She was extra nice. She even wore the tight red dress I like. Everyone on the block wants to be with her, but she doesn’t hook up with just anyone. When she picked me, things turned. People started to pay attention to my music. They asked me to play at their quinceañeras, weddings. I got paid. Who doesn’t want extra money? The money I spent on myself and Melaina. Restaurants. Her nails. Even this red dress she picked out at one of the Third Avenue shops.

  This time, though, when Melaina and I kissed on our cab ride home, it fell flat. I kept thinking of Eury. I kept wondering what she was doing, how she spent her day. Melaina noticed how distracted I was. She got PO’d. Told me off. I hit Melaina with the “let’s be friends.” As soon as I said the words, she started to laugh that deep, sexy laugh of hers. This is a game, I guess, for her.

  I sit by the open window in the kitchen, my guitar in my hand. Would this song reach Eury’s dreams?

  Pops’s chancletas hit the wooden floor. I hope I’m not keeping him up.

  “Sorry, Pops,” I say.

  He grabs the kettle and fills it with water.

  “The sirens woke me up.”

  Pops has been working at his friend’s delivery service, taking furniture around town. They go all over the city, across to Jersey, even Staten Island. He’s not supposed to be doing manual labor, not technically. I guess getting paid under the table is hard to give up. Add tips and he’s making a bit of bank, enough to pay off whatever Mom wants him to pay off.

  “What are you doing up?” He rubs his eyes, opens the cabinet, and places one of the mugs in front of me. Pops is a tea connoisseur. There is a tea for every mood, every dilemma. With our insomnia, he prepares a bit of chamomile.

  “Hey, Pops, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course, son. I may not be fully awake, but I’ll still try to answer.” I wait for the yawn to pass.

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  “Hmm. I think I need something stronger than chamomile,” he jokes.

  Pops takes his time. It’s one thing I love about him. I can ask him anything, no matter what. We’ve always had that type of relationship
. He doesn’t hold back either. When I was young, I remember this kid Oscar in my fifth grade class told me I was pretending to be Black. I came home upset, and when I got on the phone for our daily call, my father broke it down for me. That weekend, Pops took me to the Schomburg Center. He explained what it meant to be Afro-Latino.

  Pops pours the piping hot water into his mug and mine.

  “There’s attraction, a type of chemistry between two people whether it is love, lust, or a sibling connection,” he says. “A person comes into your life for a reason. You are meant to learn or you are meant to teach. Or both. There are no coincidences.”

  “It’s weird. This girl Eury I met,” I say, feeling slightly foolish for admitting this, even to him. “I don’t know her, but I want to.”

  “And? This is a bad thing?”

  “No, not necessarily. It’s just. I don’t know.”

  He laughs. “It looks like cupido got you right here.” He taps my heart. “Love isn’t about possession. It’s a divine meeting. Respect that and don’t force your way. You understand me? Eury is a person, and she’s not on your timetable or cupido’s.”

  I understand what Pops is saying. So what if I’m battling weird feelings for Eury? That’s on me. I need to respect her. I’ll stop trying to woo her with these chords and just get to know her.

  “Go listen to el Maestro de Bachata, José Manuel Calderón, and stop trying so hard,” Pops says. “Tomorrow is another day.”

  I hit my sofa bed. Pops stays at the kitchen table scribbling on a notebook. He’s doing his calculations. How to pay certain bills. The kitchen table is usually littered with pieces of paper filled with numbers. I fall asleep to the sound of his pen gliding across the page.

  “I’m not going,” I say. Jaysen is pissed. He showed up early to my house when I texted him a no to going to the beach. I guess he thinks he can change my mind in person. It’s not happening.

  “Why you acting like you doing me a favor?” he says. “I mean, you are, because seriously them girls only look at me sideways unless I bring ‘el Nuevo Nene.’ For real though, you got to practice so when my boy calls us to Dīs-traction, we ready.”