Never Look Back

by Lilliam Rivera

  “’Chacho. She got you good, didn’t she?” Jaysen says, shaking his head. “I don’t get it.”

  “You ever met somebody and started lining up conversations you want to have with them?” I say. “Like, you have an ongoing agenda of topics you want to share? There are hundreds of questions I want to ask Eury. I just want to get to know her.”

  Jaysen wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

  “I used to think I was the sidekick in this duo. Now I’m questioning my whole life.” Jaysen’s laugh echoes off the walls of the empty schoolyard.

  He’s right. I’m sounding desperate. Damn.

  Melaina strolls into the yard with las Malas, Clio and Thalia, each slurping on a coquito. Clio grew up in the Patterson Projects. She’s the youngest of five kids. Her mom works in the school cafeteria, which means Clio’s fridge is always filled with them tiny milk containers her mom heists from her job. Even though we’ve teased Clio about it, whenever she offers us chocolate milk, we drink it like it’s the elixir of the gods.

  The basement in Thalia’s house is where most of us hang during the winter months. Her family’s house parties are notorious. There’s a DJ, catered food, the works. It was at their party last year that Melaina and I hooked up. Thalia’s family insisted I sing. The few tragos I took from the Mamajuana bottle got me so lit I could barely see straight. My lips were loose. I sang one bachata after another. Thalia’s family couldn’t get enough of it. Couples were grinding in that basement like they were auditioning to appear on Sábado Gigante. But not Melaina. Her usual partners were there, the older boys with money. The ones who pick her up in their cars and take her to places I can never afford. Still, she watched only me. Drunk or not, I knew where the night was heading.

  “Hi,” Melaina says. She wears cutoff jeans with the pockets hanging out and a tight tank top. Her box braids are styled to the side. She has a dancer’s body—long neck with a curvy back.

  “What’s up?” I take the handball from Jaysen and lazily throw it against the wall.

  Jaysen rolls up to Clio. He’s been trying to chat up Clio for the longest. Them girls are not easy. They play and party hard. Jaysen should stick to handball because Clio, like Melaina, will destroy him. He tries to get her to give up some of her coquito. Clio refuses. They keep doing this. Even with the hate she emanates, Clio also shows a bit of love by pressing her shoulder against his. Jaysen will keep trying to win her over.

  “Win her over.” Guys always trying to win over a girl like she’s a prize. As if this life is a contest. Manipulate people’s feelings to get them to press up against you or to share sweet coquito. I’ve done it countless times. Where did I learn this? Not from Pops. He isn’t down with that kind of life. He taught me to respect and treat others as equal. And yet, here I am playing the game. Trying to manipulate Eury to see I’m a good guy; how different am I from the others?

  Eury is not a prize. She can do what she wants, like me.

  Melaina’s eyes are rimmed with black eyeliner. Her nails are outlined with sparkling gems. Those claws are known to draw blood. If Melaina scratches you, it’s practically a souvenir. Instead of a hickey, a scar to mark you.

  “Bring all your fly nenas to the club,” Jaysen says. “We got to support our boy Pheus.”

  He pats me on the back.

  “Maybe,” she says.

  Melaina will be there, and she’ll be the hottest girl in the club. No doubt.

  “It’s going down next Monday. Mark your calendars.”

  There’s much to do. Three songs to prepare. Of course, I’mma hit the crowd with a Romeo Santos to pay my respects to those before me. Then do a cover of a contemporary artist in Spanish. Should I sing a Prince song? I liked the way “Adore” came out. Would Eury be there? Would she like that? She might not even show up. I need to stop tripping.

  Melaina offers me some of her coquito. I take a bite. It’s sweet, with chunks of coconut—the perfect thirst quencher.

  “Where’s Penelope and the church girl?” Melaina says. “I mean her cousin.”

  Melaina is jealous. I’ve never seen her this way. It’s kind of funny. Does Melaina see the same thing I see in Eury? We are both witnesses to Eury’s pull. I want to see Eury again, and Melaina knows it.

  “She goes to church every day. Como una monja,” Thalia adds. “She’s going to heaven, unlike us.”

  “I don’t believe in heaven. We got only this,” I say. “This moment right here. This earth. Dassit.”

  “Then that makes you an anarchist,” Jaysen says.

  “No, stupid, that makes him an atheist,” Melaina says. “I don’t see how you can be an atheist. Who made this world? Who made you?”

  She pokes me with the tip of her nail. I’ve had this conversation before with Pops. He’s given me countless books to try to change my mind. Books on Buddhism, reincarnation. Pops even hits me with Caribbean folklore. The Bible is filled with great stories too. Is any of it based on truth? I’m coming from a place where if I don’t see it, I don’t trust it. The person writing the narrative is the person in power.

  “I like to keep my feet on the ground, know what I mean?” I say.

  “I bet you church girl wouldn’t be happy to hear that.”

  “Stop calling her church girl. Her name is Eury,” I say with anger.

  Melaina is quick to respond. “I can call her whatever the fuck I want,” she says. “Are you her man or something? Stop protecting a girl who doesn’t give two shits about you.”

  She’s wrong. Eury isn’t coldhearted. I can see past the sadness. I could see a tiny bit of happiness yesterday when we tried to say goodbye, goofily staring at each other.

  Melaina wants to argue about this. I don’t need to defend Eury. She doesn’t need me to.

  “I’m out,” I say. “Later.”

  Melaina drops her attitude. She’s disappointed I don’t want to engage in a war of words with her.

  Melaina lives with her mom. Her father bounced early on. She’s never met him. Her mother is a manager of a department store up on Third Avenue, and Melaina is a replica of her.

  One night we were chilling in Thalia’s basement. We had the corner of the sofa to ourselves. It was late, and the lights were dim, and I guess in the dark, Melaina felt courageous. She went on to tell me how much she wished her father were around.

  “She hates me.” Melaina said her mother blamed her for being single. In the darkness of the basement, her eyes glistened as if she were on the verge of tears. The hard exterior isn’t always on. I just wish Melaina would let the softer side of her show more often.

  “Yo! What about the gig? We haven’t finished talking!” Jaysen yells.

  “Text me, bro,” I say.

  I love my friends. I love my boys. I even have cariño for Melaina. But if the circle we’ve created is not allowed to expand to include a new person, what’s the point?

  The apartment is empty. Pops had a late drive to Boston. He said he would spend the night to avoid any accidents. I guess the extra hours of work paid off enough for Moms to stop calling him about money.

  Pops’s pride and joy is his wall of towering bookshelves. He once said you can tell a man’s worth by the number of books he owns. I guess this means Pops is overflowing with riches because ever since I can remember I was never without a book within reach.

  My friends got me thinking about spirituality since last night’s interaction. Church girl. So what if Eury found the answer in religion? It must be nice to trust in something greater. Moms taught me if you work harder than the person next to you, you might make it. “Your skin color means you can’t fail, means you are not allowed to make a mistake.”

  I pull out Pops’s copy of the Bible. The only story I’ve always liked is the book of Revelation. The Bible transforms into comic book epic-ness with the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Genesis is a good one too. How these people were living the high life and all of a sudden, God rained down on them. The most intense p
art was when Lot’s wife looked back after God told her not to and she turned into salt. The Bible bugs out. Like, you better listen to God. If homeboy says don’t look back, don’t look back.

  Hi. It’s Eury.

  I do a double take. Eury is on my phone right now, sending me a text as if the power of reading the Bible summoned her.

  What’s up? I type and wait eagerly for her to respond. You want to hang out tomorrow? Maybe grab a slice or something.

  There is the longest pause. It might only be a few minutes, but I’m staring at the phone thinking it’s broken.

  I hope you don’t mind I got your number from Penelope, she says. I have a favor to ask. Will you walk me to church?

  Tomorrow is Sunday. Of course she would be going to church.

  You don’t have to stay for mass, she says.

  I’m going to do it, but her request also got me wondering. Why isn’t she asking Penelope to go with her? Are they on the outs?

  Sure. What time?

  9 a.m.

  Ouch. Early mass. Summertime is not meant for early mornings. And me, I’m bound to be late. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get to her on time.

  No problem, Eury, I say. I’ll meet you downstairs at 8:15 a.m. Is that cool?

  Thank you.

  There’s another long-ass pause. Communicating via texts makes everything cold. I can’t see her reaction or gauge if there is more to this ask.

  I’ll see you tomorrow then, she texts.

  I set my phone’s alarm, which I’m scared I’m going to ignore. I set a small radio alarm as backup. Too bad Pops is not here because if he were, he would wake my ass. I don’t want to mess up. Eury wants me to go to church with her tomorrow. I want to do right. Can’t have my notorious lateness ruin this.

  I hit the sofa bed early. But I can’t really sleep.

  CHAPTER 10

  Eury

  Pheus is nowhere to be found.

  I wait at the street corner, far away from the apartment building and Titi Sylvia’s prying eyes. When I told her I didn’t want to go to the beach with Penelope and instead wanted to attend mass, she insisted on joining. It took everything to convince her I could go by myself. Titi Sylvia has been watching me like a hawk. I feel like a fish in a bowl being stared at by humans as they tap on the glass to get my attention.

  A cat slinks out from behind two garbage cans and meows. I already checked the weather on multiple channels. Summer sprinkles is what the forecast predicted. I can’t wait for him any longer. Texting Pheus was an impulsive act. I felt so alone after Penelope’s betrayal, and when she wasn’t looking, I found his number. I regret it now. He’s not coming, and I feel stupid for even thinking he would.

  Penelope sensed something was amiss between us. I didn’t confront her. There’s no point in doing so. She did what she did, and I’m sure I’ll suffer the ramifications from her actions soon enough. Secret conversations in regards to how best to take care of Eury and her bungled-up mind are surely being hatched. For now, I need to protect myself. This means attending church and hoping the prayers will help me in some way.

  Pheus is not showing up. I need to go.

  The walk to the church isn’t far. This is the first time I do it on my own. As always, I scan the buildings and the sidewalks for any signs of Ato. I examine the gray sky for clouds. I’m so nervous and angry for falling into this trap, for allowing myself to trust Pheus and Penelope, even for a second.

  There is a sudden rush of footsteps behind me. My heart thumps.

  “Eury! Wait up!”

  Pheus is out of breath.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  I keep walking. The mass will begin in fifteen minutes. Where I sit is important. I need to be by the exits. I want to also be by a window so I can check any change in the weather.

  “I don’t have time to waste,” I say.

  Pheus picks up the pace to join mine. We walk in silence.

  When we enter the church, I’m amazed at how packed the place is. It’s unlike the other days when there are usually just abuelas clanking their rosary beads in prayer.

  “You don’t have to stay,” I say. I managed to walk most of this on my own. Maybe I can handle the rest without him.

  “I promised I would take you here and I can walk you back,” Pheus says. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Let’s sit here then.” I pick a pew close to the side entrance of the church. There is a window left slightly ajar. The opening is more than enough for me to see through. When I feel secure in my surroundings, I finally pay attention to Pheus. He smacks his hands together as if he’s about to clap. He’s nervous. My coldness over his lateness weighs on him.

  “Hey, Eury. I’m really sorry I got to you late,” he says. “It won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of—”

  “Do you ever go to church?” I ask, not wanting to dwell on his misgivings.

  He shakes his head. “Naw. This is new.”

  “You don’t mind coming, then?”

  “I heard they serve bread and wine, right?” he says. “Can’t be that bad of a place.”

  When Pheus jokes, his eyebrows go up. I can imagine him as a little boy. How mischievous he must have been. He was probably a handful. A little boy craving attention, ready to perform in front of an audience. Pheus is usually so self-assured, but he doesn’t have his guitar now to give him confidence.

  “I find the smell of incense calming,” I say. “The scent feels so rooted in history. I’m transported to another time and place. I’m not even sure exactly where.”

  Ritual is what I love most about attending mass. Sit up. Kneel. Call and response. It wasn’t long ago when attending mass was new to me too. Mami found a church close to the house we rent in Tampa. She said attending would help quell my intense thoughts.

  “If attending mass and praying to a guy on a cross helps people, I don’t see it being a problem,” he says. “What upsets me is when people believe god or praying will pull you out of poverty or what have you. Nothing can help but this right here.”

  He shows me his hands. Pheus thinks praying is a sign of weakness. Titi Sylvia would probably agree with him.

  “There’s power in words,” I say. “I want to believe I’m beloved, that my prayers are being heard.”

  “Sure, I guess,” he says.

  He has doubts, but I don’t have a choice. My religious pleas are my only hope for any type of protection from Ato. I need to believe.

  I help Mami with the shopping bags. In the corner of my eye, I see Ato lurking in our backyard. I ignore him.

  “Eury, do we still have the candles from last time?” Mami asks. I search underneath the kitchen sink, where we store things, and find the candles nestled inside a pot we no longer use. I take them out and find lighters and boxes of matches. I place a candle and matches in each room.

  Hurricane Irma is due to hit Puerto Rico tomorrow morning. It’s already starting to rain. I switch the television on so we can listen to the news. We’ve been out all morning making sure we have enough food and water. If there is a blackout, we have our candles. We’ve been through this before.

  “I’m going to put the chairs away,” I say. Mami continues to get things ready inside.

  Before I leave, I take a deep breath. After the incident in El Yunque, Ato went away for a few months, and that was fine with me. I didn’t want anything to do with him. When Ato returned, he apologized, but things were unsolvable by then. Although I still care for him, I keep my distance. I try to safeguard myself from his rage.

  I stack the plastic chairs one on top of the other. Ato just stands there, watching.

  “I got you something,” he finally says.

  “You don’t have to give me a gift,” I say. “It’s not my birthday.” I grab the chairs and store them in the garage. I go back to do the same for the side tables when I see the gift placed in the center of one of them. It’s a jewelry box with an illustration of Prince on top. With a quick flick of his wrist, t
he lid opens and a familiar tune plays.

  “Remember how we used to listen to this song? I know it’s one of your favorites,” Ato says. The jewelry box plays an eerie instrumental version of Prince’s “Adore.” I find the music disturbing. He’s tainted my song by trapping it in a tacky box. I close the lid and try to mask my discomfort.

  “I better go inside,” I say. Ato reaches his hand to me, but I don’t take it.

  “We’re going to be together soon,” he says.

  He makes these declarations every once in a while. I don’t ask him what he means by them anymore. I fake a smile and walk back inside the house. I store the jewelry box deep in one of my drawers, out of sight. I don’t know how to handle Ato anymore. I grow more and more fearful of him.

  At night, I lie in bed and try to sleep. Every time I interact with Ato, I notice the patterns to his anger and his obsession with me. This can’t go on. I close my eyes and press my hands together. I’ve never been one for church or prayers, but I have to do something.

  Tonight I will ask for the courage to break free from Ato.

  The next morning, when Hurricane Irma lands on the island, Ato is nowhere to be found, and I think, Maybe my words finally worked.

  Father Vincent approaches each pew, greeting families with a hearty handshake. There have been times when I linger long after the mass has concluded. Father Vincent allows me those solitary moments so I can meditate and try to quiet the hectic pace of my mind.

  “Ah yes, el Nuevo Nene de la Bachata,” exclaims the priest. Pheus acts modest. “How’s your father doing?”

  “He’s good,” Pheus says.

  “This is perfect timing. Perfect. We need new singers for the choir. It’s mostly young kids. You don’t mind picking up the guitar, do you?”

  “Actually, I don’t know any of these songs,” Pheus says, nervously laughing.

  “It’s easy chords. The song is right here.” Father Vincent opens the songbook and points to what they’ll be singing.

  The priest has placed his hand on Pheus’s shoulders, leading him to the front of the church. Pheus mouths help but Father Vincent will not let him go. I laugh. It’s one thing to be dragged to church at such an early hour, but now he must perform. Someone hands Pheus a guitar. He tunes it while also trying to memorize the first song.