by Aida Salazar
but Mima sees me yank out
my hand.
Mima barks,
Are you sneaking the tablet again, Celi?
Mija, I have to trust that you are going
to make good choices!
No I wasn’t—my lies choke my last word.
You know you’re limited
to using it only once a week.
AND not on a school night
especially when I’ve taken it from you!
Her temper rises to the stratosphere
when she feels disrespected.
Her alarm for broken rules
turns my warm pozole mama
into a witch as mean as mud.
Especially when I lie some more,
I’m just checking the weather!
She goes to get the tablet
from under my pillow
but I block her hand
and this makes her frown
in a growing anger.
She fishes furiously and
when she gets it she
scans it to see that
I’ve actually been texting Iván.
With a quick turn of her body
she ruins me again.
I’ll take this. Thank you.
There’s no telling when she’ll give it back.
At school, when I tell Magda that I got caught
she chuckles but taps my back,
It’s okay … we knew it was risky.
I quietly beam; I’ve accomplished my mission.
Mima’s been silent about the texts
and hasn’t told Papi either.
Did you tell Iván that we would
meet him afterward, to hang out?
Yup, he’ll be expecting to hang out with m—with us.
I turn away so Magda can’t see me
bite my lip in a serious uh-oh.
I did not mention Magda at all.
Papi often reminds me to think of others
especially with family, like Juju
but I have a hard time with that one
because I don’t want to share
everything with my brother
despite his heart condition
and the trouble I get into over that
somehow makes me wish I didn’t
have a little brother at all.
I never meant to not think of Magda.
Mima cried the news
in her older sister’s ear
when she started.
She was scared.
No one had prepared her.
Not her mother, not her sisters.
It came as a stain of blood
so dark she thought
she was sick.
Her sister led her to the bathroom
showed her how to apply a pad
on clean underwear
and said little else.
Mima was ashamed for bleeding
hid in her bed all night.
She tells me this story over and over
because she doesn’t want me
to know her shame
she doesn’t want me
to be surprised or have questions.
Though I do, I don’t ask her.
Into my locket they go
because my locket doesn’t lecture.
She tells me that
our indigenous ancestors
were in tune with natural cycles
held our bleeding to be powerful.
And that during our moon time
women gathered in special huts
to nurture, create, and be in
sacred space with their cycle.
It is my birthright, she insists
to honor my cycle in this same way
so that when my moon comes
I will be ready and proud
to share it with our community.
But I argue,
I am not purely Mexican
Papi’s dark skin and Caribbean sway
dance inside me too.
Even though much of our knowledge
was taken away from us
many cultures honored
women’s moons across the millennia, Celi.
Both of your lineages grant you that gift.
She points to the sky,
The moon belongs to all women, hija.
When it comes, I don’t
want a hut
or a ceremony.
I will hide it from Mima
for as long as I can.
I hope it never comes
because I don’t know
how to hide the moon.
I’ve been dancing bomba
since I was two
or so I’m told.
Our family went to see
master drummers and dancers
from the island visiting Oakland.
During the batey, the native Taíno word
for gathering in a circle
to openly jam,
I watched with Mima from the sidelines
while Papi was invited to drum.
Ms. Susana saw me holding the
bottom tips of my white ruffled dress
imitating the dancers who went
into the circle, one after the other,
to have a single dancing conversation
with the lead drummer.
Ms. Susana took me by the hand
and led me into the batey
for me to try.
I looked back at Mima, unsure,
but her big eyes urged me.
Once inside, I did not copy
what Ms. Susana asked me to
as she danced next to me.
I held the tips of my little dress
and pretended I was catching
butterflies in the air.
That is what the music told me to do
and the lead drummer responded to me
like a reflection in a mirror.
My tiny-footed sandals made
a slight shuffle on the ground
my brow crinkled
my arms and skirt spoke
my first piquetes ever.
It was only for a minute at most
but the entire batey
clapped with joy
as I thanked the lead
drummer with a nod
and left the circle
initiated
and in love.
It turns out that what
moves a wave is the
moon.
Madga and I find out about that
while sifting through library books
and putting together our wave display board
on my living room floor.
I could have told you that!
fact-crazed Juju interrupts,
The gravitational pull of the moon’s orbit
moves all bodies of water on our planet.
Magda throws a piece of crumpled paper at him.
Okay, Señor Cerebro, she teases.
He flinches but then
storms off yelling,
Fine! I’m just saying!
This is exciting, Magda!
Our project is going to be the best
now that we’ve got Luna involved.
It’ll be better than Aurora’s boring
presentation on black holes.
Yup! Maybe we can make a papier-mâché moon
put it on a stand somehow.
Maybe build a lever that’ll
make the kiddy pool move?
While Magda conjures details
my locket spins.
Am I made of water waves
that twirl
and
crash
and
foam?
Is it Luna that
pulls me
to
keep secrets
to
heart Iván
to
scowl at Aurora
to
groove with Magda
<
br /> to
dance?
The kids swarm like wasps
around each of their projects.
Magda and I know that ours
is going to rock!
Maybe come in first place?
Her clever lever idea works
like a mechanical charm
and my papier-mâché moon
glows with iridescent paint
the prettiest Luna you ever saw.
Our fact board was checked and approved
by Teresa and Señor Cerebro himself.
Curious to see our friends’ work
Magda and I take a walk and visit
- a tightrope project about balance
- the five-pound vat of homemade slime
- Juju’s paper airplane launchers that had
all the elementary kids going wild
but still, we think we’re golden
and then
we get to Aurora’s.
Wow! says Magda with an extra long o
when she sees the biggest display
in the multipurpose room.
A dome covered with black curtains
welcomes you with a red sign that reads:
“Black Hole Ahead—Enter at Your Own Risk.”
Magda rushes to get in line to enter
and drags me with her.
I only wait in line because
I want to see firsthand
Aurora’s flaming fail.
Inside, a gazillion neon drawn-on stars
and glowing ping-pong balls float above us.
Everything is lit by black light
as if we are in space.
At the far end of the dome
a luminescent ring outlines
a big dark cave.
From a speaker, a dull white noise
beeps with random spaceship sounds.
Then Aurora’s screechy voice comes on:
A black hole is formed with the death
of a massive star. The collapse creates
a point in space so dense
it begins to suck things into it
by gravity.
If something falls into one
it cannot get out.
Even light can’t escape
its gigantic pull!
And BOOM!
A switch is turned on
that sounds like a vacuum.
We watch
as
ping-pong ball
after
ping-pong ball
gets
sucked into
the great
black hole.
It’s brilliant and
I. Can’t. Stand it.
I push my way through a crowd of kids.
Magda swings the curtains open
behind me shaking her head
and smiling brightly
’cause we just got
burned
by Aurora.
At the end of the science fair
Aurora semiskips over to us
petting her
first-place ribbon
in her hand
like a rat.
From her smirk fall
her condolences.
Sorry that your wimpy moon waves
didn’t move the judges.
And too bad that Iván wasn’t here
to see my winning display.
Congrats! Magda taps Aurora on the shoulder.
Your black hole project was hecka amazing.
At the same time
she holds me by the arm.
She knows
I want to charge.
I bite my nails to stop me from speaking.
I grin growl behind my fingers
and wish that Aurora
would
fall
into
a black hole
to
never
escape.
For the next week
Magda and I up our
game for the performance
like two athletes training for a win.
Iván’s coming to see us!
We beg Ms. Susana to let us be
lead dancer and drummer for a seis corrido.
It’s the fastest bomba rhythm
and the one that lets me
dance without a skirt
move my shoulders and hips the most
unlike the other rhythms that rely on
skirt technique and shoulders mostly.
In a seis corrido
Magda’s echo is precise
she doesn’t delay
to beat the drum at every
shake and strut of my hips
or in the up-and-down bounce
of my shoulders
making our communication
shine above the other drummers,
stick players, maraca players, and singers
in what Papi calls
beautiful Afro-Puerto Rican syncopation.
Iván’s not going to know what hit him.
La Peña is packed!
Backstage, my head is wrapped tight in a headscarf and bun
a big turquoise flower pinned to the left side of my headwrap
to match my turquoise flowered ankle-length skirt
that makes me feel like the ocean.
I put a dash of lip gloss on my lips
so they shimmer beneath the lights.
Magda wears her deep blue guayabera,
white jeans, sneakers, and a hat
she borrowed from her dad.
She tugs the Kangol down low
an anchor on the short crop of her hair.
We stand side by side in the big mirror
Are you ready? she asks my reflection.
I move to high-five her reflection
then stop and turn to high-five the real her.
We both giggle as we clasp hands
snap our fingers and flutter them away like birds.
I look for Iván in the audience
before the MC announces the show.
I don’t see his bright eyes and bushy eyebrows
anywhere.
Still, Magda and I lock in
when our seis corrido is called.
We enter the world of drums,
song, and movement we all create
and we’re on point
just like we rehearsed.
I am no longer Celi who bites
her nails, has secrets to spare,
and got blown away by Aurora.
I am Celi waxing
circling
shaking my body
making rhythms of my own
a release of my heart
my joy.
Papi would say the ancestors are with me.
I don’t doubt him because I feel their pride
as I glide and turn and burn on the stage.
The audience of our parents and friends
roars in hoots and hollers when we are done!
We can’t see them, the bright stage lights blind us
but I know that Magda, like me
wishes that Iván is in the audience too
there to witness the best we’ve ever done.
When the houselights come up
we see Iván standing there with two other boys
who look a klutzy twelve like him.
He brought a crew!
He sees me and signals to the café.
I shoot him a thumbs-up and move
to collect my things.
We make our way over to the restaurant
to find that he and his friends
are sitting around a couch and coffee table
their skateboards propped against the wall.
All of our parents are milling about ordering wine, talking
and I ask Mima for an agua fresca—guayaba, my favorite—
and Magda asks her dad, Luis, for the same, her favorite too.
We come to sit near the
boys and I swallow hard
and suddenly I want to bite off a hangnail on my thumb.
But I don’t, instead I introduce Magda to Iván
which stirs him to introduce his friends to us.
This is Pedro and Leandro.
Iván looks a little nervous.
His eyes shift from mine to Magda’s.
What kind of dude name is Magda? he blurts.
It’s short for Magdalena I defend.
Magda holds my shoulder so she can speak.
Everyone’s always called me Magda
and the dude clothes is just who I am.
So you’re a girl? You look straight-up like a boy!
Iván covers his laugh with his fist
and turns to his friends
who are chuckling with disbelief.
Like I said, I dress like who I am.
Iván snorts and continues to snicker.
Oh snap, I thought only men could drum in bomba!
Well at least that’s what Aurora told me.
That you’re just faking it.
Magda takes a deep breath
the hurt only showing itself in
her trembling lower lip.
FYI, women drum all the time in bomba.
Besides, what does it matter, Iván? I get loud at him.
Can we sit or what?
I don’t know, we don’t usually hang with freakazoids.
I don’t care how much you like my skateboarding.
The dizzying feeling for him
that was swooshing inside moments before
sizzles in anger now, and for Aurora too.
Now I know she shared our secrets.
I shove him hard on his chest,
tug my friend by the hand and say,
C’mon Magda, who needs these jerks.
Magda and I find shelter backstage
now clear of all performers
both of our hearts
cracked and beginning to ooze.
I feel I need to make excuses.
Blame Aurora, the twerp.
He’s never acted that way before.
So cruel. So rude.
I thought he knew I was hanging out too?
I confess, I didn’t think to mention her.
Magda frowns into a sadness
I had never seen before
and comes with tears
that fall
on her cheeks
like slow
drops
of rain.
I’m sorry, Magda, for not thinking of you.
I’m so sorry, Magda, for what he said.
He’s not the boy we thought he was.
At home, Mima gives back the tablet
as reward for the performance.
Also gives me honey manzanilla tea.
She can see I am quiet
but doesn’t ask why.
I don’t want to touch the tablet
because I’d have to see his last text
before I knew the kind of fool
he really is or that I am.