But is it possible perhaps that I can attract something else, someone else?
At the park, Pheus took my hand and ran, no questions asked. When Ato returns—because he will return—will Pheus stick by me? I can’t do this alone. I have to open myself up. I’m not sure if I can, but when I’m with Pheus, everything seems possible.
“I have to head back.” He points to the grocery bag.
We are both silly, standing and staring at each other as we try to say goodbye. The butterflies inside are bumping against each other, reminding me Pheus is real and what I’m feeling doesn’t stem from darkness but from light. His beauty is a beauty I want. His voice I will seek.
I eventually close the door as Pheus climbs the steps back to his apartment.
“Oh my god, look at you!” Penelope says. “You have the goofiest grin.”
“I don’t,” I say. I try my best to act normal, but I can’t.
“What did he say that has you smiling like you just won the lottery?” she asks.
“Nothing. We just listened to music,” I say, unable to hide what is obvious.
“Hmm, I love Pheus as a brother and because of that I trust he will come correct, but he’s a guy, so I don’t know. I will say I’ve never seen him this way before,” she says. “And I’m happy to see you happy. It’s been a long minute.”
Penelope tosses herself in her bed. I join her.
“It’s nice,” I say.
“What is?” she asks.
“To meet someone new and slowly discover what they’re like,” I say. “This unraveling is full of surprises.”
“I know what you mean. It’s fun! If he does anything to hurt you, I’m ready to kick his ass, tho,” she says. “Deadass.”
We lie down on the bed, relishing in this joy.
“Cousin. Can I ask you something?” Penelope pauses and I’m aware of what will come next. The inevitable question is on the tip of her tongue. “What really went down in the park? With you and Pheus. He won’t tell me.”
Penelope is family. She’s the closest person I have in my life besides my mother. I owe her an explanation, don’t I? How do I do this? Penelope wouldn’t shun me if I told her the truth. If I open up just a little bit, maybe this feeling of dread will dissipate. Pheus is a sign. He appeared in my life at the precise moment I needed an anchor. I don’t have to tell Penelope everything. Just a tiny bit.
“At the park, I thought I saw something. Someone.”
“Someone you know?”
“Yes. Um. Sort of,” I say. Even now as I say these words I can hear how ridiculous I must sound. “I thought I saw him.”
I sit up from the bed. She does the same. Penelope’s walls are covered with pictures of her, and I stare at the images, trying to draw courage from her wide grin, her fearless stare at the photographer. There is nothing but love from my cousin. Never once has she made me feel less than. Even the day at the beach with her friends, she allowed me room to be alone. She is the sister I’ve always wanted. Perhaps I can share this with her. I take a deep breath.
“The person I saw. I mean. How do I explain …? He’s a spirit.”
I wait for her to laugh or to tell a joke. She does neither. Instead, she pulls me in for a hug. She holds me so tight.
“Eury, what can I do?” Penelope says. “How can I help?”
“I don’t know.”
“We need to tell someone,” Penelope says. “There are people who can help with this. I don’t know anything about spirits. For real.”
“No!”
No one must know. Penelope wants to help, but notifying others will cause Mom more worry. I’ll never forget how upset she was when the doctors told her I needed to see a therapist. When they mentioned introducing medication, Mom got up and stormed out. She wouldn’t hear of it.
After the incident in Tampa, I was sent to speak to a psychiatrist at the school’s insistence. He had a normal enough office. I sat in a comfortable chair, and he faced me behind a long wooden desk. There were multiple diplomas conveying his importance. The doctor said he visited Puerto Rico a few years ago. He called the island stunning. “Good fishing,” he said. The doctor asked me to explain what happened, and I did as best I could. I didn’t name Ato, but I mentioned how a spirit visited me. The psychologist’s expression remained the same. No reaction. He quickly wrote up a prescription and handed the paper to me. It felt so clinical, as if I went through a drive-through pharmacy. The doctor barely listened and instead dished out a quick-fix solution.
How can I truly convey what I’ve seen to a therapist, to a white man or woman, to nonbelievers?
“Penelope, promise me you won’t tell anyone,” I say. “I’ll figure this out.”
“That’s why you wanted to go to church …” She purses her lips. “Listen, there may be other people who know about spirits. They can give you the right candle to use and what prayers to recite. I don’t know. Eury, we’re just kids. I don’t know how to deal with things that go beyond makeup and stupid boys.”
I grab her hand.
“Please, don’t tell anyone. I need time to think.”
She gets up. Penelope doesn’t know what to do with herself. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have said a thing. She searches for the bag of plantain chips and eats.
When we were little, Penelope believed me when I told her about Ato. She didn’t question me back then. To her, Ato existed if I said so.
To offset this uneasiness, I stare at a framed picture on the wall of us in El Yunque, Puerto Rico’s rainforest located in the Luquillo Mountains. We were both fourteen. If you look closely, you can tell I’d been crying.
I keep staring at the clock, wishing for time to move faster. Penelope is meant to be here, but Titi is running late. It’s Penelope’s birthday today, and we’ve been celebrating all week. We went to the beach yesterday and to Plaza Las Américas for shopping the day before. Today we’ll be driving to my favorite place in the whole world. Today we go to El Yunque.
“Eury, por favor. Pack your bathing suit and a change of clothes.”
Although Mami sometimes doesn’t get along with Titi, this week they have. I hear them gossiping about people I don’t know, friends from their childhood. It’s nice seeing Mami enjoy herself and not worry about things.
“Make sure you close the window,” Mami says. “It looks like it’s going to rain.”
Before I get to the window, I text Penelope and ask what’s taking her so long. She responds with a picture of herself sporting the new lipstick she bought at the Plaza. You can’t rush me, she texts. I’m a woman now.
Just hurry up, I respond.
When I turn the latch on the window, I notice Ato sulking outside. Unlike my mother, Ato hasn’t been happy with the family visitors. He says I’ve been ignoring him. Truth be told, I don’t have it in me to be with Ato like before. Penelope says I need to go out more. Go to dances. Eat pizza with friends. And I try. But every time I do, Ato gets mad.
I finish packing my bag and wait outside for Penelope to arrive.
“You’re leaving me again,” Ato says.
I don’t dwell on the tone he uses with me, although it is grating. I’m tired of being accused of being a bad friend.
“We’ll be back later,” I say and check my phone.
“You’re not even going to invite me.”
“It’s Penelope’s birthday,” I say with a bit of my own attitude. “It’s not about us.”
Ato sits by me. “It’s always about us.”
Qué pesado. There’s never any room for anyone else. I can understand Ato’s jealousy with my school friends, but Penelope is family. It’s always the same arguments. While I feel I’m changing, Ato just wants everything to remain exactly the same as when we were five years old.
“You can’t go.” He’s being ridiculous.
A car pulls up the driveway. I scream to Mami to let her know they’ve arrived. “Ato, try to understand,” I say and run to Titi’s rental car. I leave him
and his brooding self. I won’t let Ato ruin today. I watch him from the rearview mirror as we depart.
In the back seat, Penelope tells me all there is to know about eyeshadow. When Mami isn’t looking, she dabs a bit of shimmer on my cheeks and eyes.
“Get that Rican glow!” she says.
We reach Río Grande in no time. When we start the drive up the winding Luquillo Mountain road, I stretch my hand out the car window to try to touch the leaves. “Doesn’t el Cuco live here?” Penelope asks. I laugh at her. “No, but Toño Bicicleta does with el chupacabra.” Penelope tells me to be quiet, but she looks around the dense foliage with a tiny bit of apprehension.
We don’t come to El Yunque as often as I want to. The first time I visited it was for a school field trip when I was eight, and I fell in love with it. There is something magical about the rainforest. It’s so quiet and peaceful here, even with the tourists. You feel as if you’ve entered another world. While Titi and Penelope pose for pictures, I walk ahead toward the falls. It’s amazing how in only a few steps, the foliage can immerse a person. Soon my family’s voices drown and I hear only the fantastical sounds of the rainforest. I spot the bromelias and yellow heliconias. Their colors stand out against the lush greenness. The flowers are gorgeous, but I’m searching for my favorite birds, the llorosas.
“There you are,” I whisper. I don’t want to startle the brown speckled bird up on the branch. In my bedroom I have pictures of the birds on my wall. They say the llorosas sound like people crying. Maybe it’s because of this I feel so connected to them—because they are as sad as I am.
“No estés tan triste, pajarito,” I say quietly. The llorosa stares down at me.
“I told you not to go.”
I turn around to see Ato before me. Why is he following me? I clench my jaw and feel my whole body tense up. El Yunque is my place. Him being here is a violation, as if I can never have any fun without him.
Ato looks up at the llorosa. I break into a cold sweat.
“Don’t, Ato,” I say. “Leave the bird alone.”
“You’ve made me do this,” Ato says before his eyes go dark, and I stop breathing. The llorosa cries out, sounding humanlike in its shriek, then drops to the ground.
“No! Why, Ato, why?”
Penelope soon finds me. I can’t stop crying. And Ato? Ato just stands there. No one can see him. Not Penelope. Not Mami. Not Titi. I can’t tell them what happened. All I can do is fall to the ground beside the motionless llorosa and weep.
“Ay, pobrecita,” Penelope says. “Pobre llorosa.”
There is an invisible line drawn that places believers on one side and nonbelievers on the other. I wish Penelope could see there is more to this world than the obvious. Now that I’ve uttered Ato’s name publicly, I must find a way for Penelope to understand the gravity of my situation and how important it is that no one else find out.
This fight is my own, and the adults in my life will never fully grasp the destruction Ato can unleash. Penelope has to trust me.
“Okay. We will figure something out,” Penelope says. “We always do. Right?”
Her optimism isn’t quite there but it’s more than enough. I can hold on for a little bit longer.
A knock on her bedroom door startles us.
“Eury, your Mom is trying to call you,” Titi Sylvia says. “Come and talk to her on my phone.”
“Please,” I whisper to Penelope before leaving.
“Are you eating?” Mom doesn’t say hello, she just goes straight into questions when I get on the phone. “I want to make sure you are eating.”
“I am,” I say. “How’s work?”
When we moved to Tampa, Mami had a hard time finding a job. While she applied to countless office positions, she worked taking care of a newborn for this Cuban couple. The hours were long and it didn’t give her much time for anything. I spent those early weeks in Tampa alone in the house. Mami didn’t have time to figure out why I was so quiet. Why I preferred the indoors or why my whole body shook whenever it rained. Instead, she told me to rest. To take naps. To pray.
“Eury, are you trying?” she asks.
The question is so loaded. Are you trying to fit in? Are you trying not to be so awkward, to not make others feel uncomfortable?
“Yes, Mami. I’m having a good time,” I say. “I’m resting when I get too excited.”
“Ay, qué bueno,” she says and I can hear it in her voice, the sense of relief that perhaps she was right, that the Bronx might do me some good.
“I can’t stay long on the phone. You know how this woman is,” she says. When I had my episode in Tampa, the lawyer Mami now works for got so annoyed. She didn’t like how Mami had to miss work to take me to appointments. The lawyer kept wondering why Mami couldn’t ask family to take care of me. “The church is so nice. I think you are going to like it there.”
“Yes, Mami. We went to the beach and the park. Penelope’s friends are nice. I’m trying.”
“¿Y los nervios? Anything?”
“No, ningún ataque de nervios,” I say. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Don’t worry.”
“I’m so glad. Okay, call me. I love you.”
This is what she wants, for me to feel good. For once, I can offer her a bit of relief. It’s possible for me to get out from under this veil of darkness.
“Bendición, Mami. I love you too.”
I hang up. The load is becoming lighter to carry. I can feel it. Telling Penelope was scary to do, but with her, I can manage this, and maybe I will find the courage to let Pheus in as well. It’s a step, a small one.
I stand by Penelope’s room. Titi Sylvia is still in there talking to her. I hear my name.
“She had another episode,” Penelope says.
“Ay, Dios mío,” Titi Sylvia responds.
“Ma, she said she saw a spirit.”
“Danaís told me she was seeing things in Tampa. That she saw a spirit during class and had a meltdown. That poor girl,” Titi says. “I wanted Danaís to send her here so she can get professional help, but my sister is so stuck in her ways. Now this. Enough is enough.”
I tiptoe quietly to the bathroom and close the door. I feel like throwing up. Penelope told her mother, even though I begged her not to. I thought my cousin would understand how hard this is for me and respect my wishes. Even allowing her a glimpse of what I’m dealing with wasn’t easy. I put myself out there. I should have known better. This life was meant to be dealt with alone. Penelope betrayed me. I’m completely on my own.
My face glistens from the heat. The bags under my eyes keep getting worse. There is something to this life I’m not getting. How do I continue to love my cousin when she broke my trust?
I’ll go back to pretending everything is fine. Mami has been through enough, and it’s all my fault. From now on, no one will see what is happening to me. I will show no fear. No anxiety. I’ll be an actress. This is what I will do.
Penelope and Titi mean well. I know they love me, but their love is not enough. There was a time when I thought Ato loved me too. He was there when Papi left. Then one day Ato’s love had a price attached to it.
No. I can’t trust anyone.
I splash cold water on my face. When I hear Titi Sylvia in the kitchen, I leave the bathroom.
“How’s your mom?” Penelope asks.
“She’s fine,” I say and turn to study the Weather Channel. Penelope doesn’t notice the change. No one will.
CHAPTER 9
Pheus
Jaysen smacks the handball against the graffitied wall. It’s 9 p.m. and there’s no letup to the scorching heat. I sit against the fence wondering what Eury is doing. Again.
“Yo, she said she didn’t like bachata,” Jaysen says, hitting the ball. “Maybe she thinks you suck.”
“It’s not about bachata. I don’t care if she doesn’t like my music.” I run up on the ball before Jaysen gets to it. I can feel the sting on the palm of my hand. “I kind of like that she’s not a fan. Ma
kes our conversations way more interesting.”
The moment Eury and I shared in the stairwell may have been brief, but it still lingers in my thoughts. When did I become so wrapped up over a girl I just met? I smack the ball again.
“Can we change the subject?” Jaysen says. “For real, tho, you’re a broken record. Eury this. Eury that. Bro, concentrate. We have serious business to tend to.”
Jaysen wants to talk about my music and playing at the new club. Dīs-traction is by far the dumbest name for a nightclub. But his connection came through and they want to try me out.
“You need a full-on band,” he says. “It’s the only way we can do this. Make you look legit.”
I’ve fooled around with other musicians during unexpected jam sessions at the beach. Strangers show up. Old-school players join in. There have even been times when a white boy thinks he can wiggle in with his congas and take over. When that happens, we shut it down real quick.
“Who are we going to get to play?” I ask.
Jaysen rattles off names of decent musicians who won’t flake or ask for money.
“If we do this, we got to do it right,” I say. Concentrating on the club date is an easy distraction from my Eury woes. “How much time are they giving us?”
“Three freaking songs. You better pull them out. They better be crisp so the owner will want to hire you for the summer,” he says, grabbing the ball for a sec. “Our whole crew will be there. It will be all ages. My connect says they want to experiment to see if they can capture the youths.”
“Capture the youths” like we are some sort of exotic animal. Music is a business. The owner wants the club filled with kids willing to spend money on overpriced drinks. Picture that, here in the Bronx, where money is always tight for most people. This isn’t Fordham Road, by the university, where you got the college students rolling in the green. Then again, if you take a good look around the block, more and more hipsters are filing in.
“Think Penelope will go?”
Even I know I sound like a baboso. Pining for Eury like a weirdo.
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