Teófila’s Guide to Saving the Sun

by Cynthia A. Rodriguez

  Without hesitation, she picks up the first card. “I don’t see you dying of a tragic accident, murder, or illness. You will die of old age and your body will simply expire.”

  These words don’t soothe me. I don’t breathe a sigh of relief.

  They stop my heart.

  They force me to open up and pay attention.

  “Do you want to know when you’ll die?”

  My answer is an immediate head shake.

  She moves on to the next card. “You do a lot for others in your life. Too much, sometimes. But I think it’s important that you take the time to love and appreciate yourself. Women are meant to be caretakers, but you can’t give from an empty glass.”

  At this point, she’s picking up card after card, not skipping a beat.

  “I know there’s this idea that readings require some ominous element to it. But I do see a darkness about you. You suffer from depression.”

  “Yes,” I answer with a nod.

  “Wasn’t a question,” she says, continuing to pick up cards, one at a time. “Believe me when I say that you belong here. And that every moment afterward should be a result of following your inner compass because you really do have the capacity for a beautiful and fulfilling path.”

  She pauses, stares at a card for a moment, frowns, and then speaks.

  “We have the power to harm ourselves in ways much deeper than anyone else can. Let old wounds heal.”

  When she stops speaking, I wonder if that’s it. But she picks up another card.

  The pile is getting thinner, but she’s found a rhythm and only one thought bounces around my head.

  What about Elijah?

  “You won’t regret keeping him in your life,” she answers, and I stop breathing. Just for a moment. Her eyes find the door before settling back on mine again. “But you’ll do a lot to keep him.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  What could that possibly mean?

  “Ehh…” she starts. “It could be anything. But I definitely see troubled times ahead in your relationship.”

  “And I should stick around?”

  “I didn’t say that,” she replies, her hands stilling. “I said you won’t regret keeping him in your life. But no one should ever have to suffer for love. That’s not something the cards show me, that’s what life’s taught me.”

  I think about the mean girls and not quite knowing where we stand all the time.

  “What if these are the troubled times?” I ask.

  She offers me a smile and continues picking up cards as if I hadn’t said a word.

  13

  WILL MY PARENTS KILL ME? PROBABLY

  “Y ou’re quiet,” Elijah says as he maneuvers through the city with ease. We’re stopped at a red light when he squeezes my fingers after declaring his observation.

  “Just thinking,” I whisper.

  “Did she scare you?”

  I shut my eyes for a moment because I don’t know how to answer him. “Yes and no,” I say, trying for a truth I don’t understand.

  “Was it a mistake, bringing you there?”

  “No.” That is something I know. Because even though it was the most intense thing I’d ever gone through, I left feeling more whole than I ever had in my whole life.

  And I need something to commemorate this moment.

  “I don’t want to go home yet,” I say. My phone’s been off and in his glove compartment all day. I’m not ready to see the voicemails and texts from my parents. Not ready to face their anger when I’m flying so high.

  “Okay. What do you want to do?”

  “Park the car. Let’s walk.”

  I know what I’m doing. And I have to stop and understand that life is going to be what it is, regardless of my interference.

  But if I can extend our beautiful moments so they overlap these supposed incoming troubled times, I’ll do just that.

  He parks on the near deserted street and unbuckles his seatbelt before turning to me. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m great,” I tell him as I get out of the car, avoiding his scrutinizing eyes.

  We walk and our bare arms touch as they swing in the natural way they do. Every small contact makes the corners of my lips lift.

  “Recognize where we are?” he asks, breaking our silence.

  I look around and notice the bar up ahead and across the street. People are forming outside but it’s only ten o’ clock and last time it took a little more time for it to get its busiest.

  “What do you like about that place?” I ask.

  “I think I like that in this one place, people look at me as more than some kid who’s probably going to end up a fuck up. They look like me, they talk like me, they have a life like mine.”

  “And what about me?”

  He smiles and places an arm over my shoulder. “You make me want to be as good as you think I am.”

  We walk past and I wonder if his friends inside miss him. But he doesn’t even look as we walk and when I stop to sit on the bus stop bench, he chuckles.

  “You can’t be tired yet.”

  “More like I’m trying to keep from going home,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “My parents are probably pissed. I’ve been gone all day!”

  “What kinda person do you think I am? I asked them if it’d be okay.”

  “You didn’t,” I say, my eyes wide and my mouth even wider. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because I wanted you to feel as fearless as I know you can be.”

  My mouth is still open when he speaks again.

  “I propose an amendment to the list. I know we finished, but I have one more thing I’d like to add.”

  “What…” I follow his eyes and the neon sign has me shutting my mouth and pressing my hands to my cheeks. “I can’t.”

  “Why not? It’s not so bad.”

  He lifts his shirt and I want to throw up.

  “How can you do all these things even though you just turned seventeen?” I ask, disappointed by the feeling that I don’t know everything there is to know about him.

  “Everyone knows my dad. And he owns the spot we went to.”

  But I don’t know him.

  I’ve never met the man; I’m only privy to what Elijah tells me about the person who comes with promises and leaves without fulfilling them.

  “The bar we walked past?”

  He nods, letting his shirt down. He eyes me, like he doesn’t know quite what to think about my lack of reaction.

  Well, I’m not sure quite what to make of all this.

  “Does it hurt?”

  He grabs my free hand and pulls me in for a hug. Because, although I’m wondering just how much I know about him, he knows this means I’ll do it.

  “It’s more annoying than anything.”

  “Will my parents kill me?”

  “Probably,” he answers, shrugging.

  It’s the last few hours of my birthday.

  The last few hours of fearlessness.

  “Let’s do this.”

  IT’S quiet when I get home. I wonder what the day was like without me, if my parents had even missed me while I was gone.

  Or if they’d forgotten my birthday altogether.

  I walk toward the kitchen to get a bottle of water and stop short.

  With matching smiles on their faces, my mom and dad sit at the kitchen table, a cake with lit candles casting a glow on their faces.

  “You guys,” I whisper.

  “Happy birthday, baby,” my mom says, her eyes full of tears, threatening to fall.

  Moments like these remind me that they only have me. And that they poured all their kindness and patience and hard work into me.

  All their hopes and ambitions.

  And while they sing happy birthday to me, I smile at my beautiful life.

  14

  LITTLE MISS COCKBLOCK QUEEN

  C hafing is hell.

  Malls are awful but having my th
ick thighs rub together is even worse.

  “Meet me back here in an hour, mija,” my mom says as I start to walk away.

  I nod, my eyes looking toward my destination—a new clothing store they put where Radio Shack used to be. I can see people inside, but the busy crowd doesn’t deter me from my mission.

  I have to add some color to my wardrobe.

  I take my cell phone from my pocket and text Miley.

  Me: Almost here?

  The mall’s air conditioning is a reprieve from the sun beating down on me outside. The sun is a nice idea, in theory. And I like the way the earth smells after the grass has been cut. And the way it looks outside, all bright and alive.

  But I’m more comfortable in an area I can sit and read a book in without sweat collecting beneath my flesh.

  Immediately, I hear the chatter as I walk into the store. It’s almost hard to hear the music playing on the speakers in the ceiling. But the bass thrums through, even if I can’t place the lyrics.

  I see my old nemesis Vivian lurking nearby, her eyes on the jeans folded a few feet away. I haven’t seen her since she moved to the next town our freshman year.

  I head toward racks of tops. Floral, striped, polka dotted. They all stare back at me, waiting for me to pick something, anything.

  “T?”

  My eyes tear away from the options in front of me and slowly climb up, from low-rise denim shorts, a flat stomach, boobs that I’m sure are more padded than a room in a psych ward, to a face that seems bored by my presence.

  Her name is Amber, and she used to smile at me when she saw me.

  That is, until this very moment.

  “Hey,” I offer, not sure what’s going on here.

  Only my friends call me T, I want to tell Amber. But I let her assess me, her eyes doing the same upward crawl mine had. Unimpressed, she places her hand on the rack in front of me.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks me.

  Looking for a talking mongoose.

  “Uh…shopping?”

  She lets out a little giggle, but it dies way too soon for it to have been sincere.

  “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  I scratch at my forearm, waiting. Because there’s only one thing other girls ever want to talk to me about.

  “Were you with Elijah this weekend?” she asks.

  Bingo.

  It’s almost disappointing, how unsurprising people are.

  “Why are you asking?” My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I pull it out. A message from Miley.

  Miley: Almost there!

  I roll my eyes and look back up at Amber.

  She shrugs, pushing at the hangers, as if she’s more focused on the clothes in front of her than the conversation she’s forcing the both of us into. “It’s just, he and Vivian were supposed to hang out is all. And I wanted to know if he really had to help his mom or if he just ditched her for you.”

  Help his mom?

  I try as hard as I can to keep my face from betraying any emotion but at the very base of my stomach, anger slithers, hot and dangerous. “Sounds like a conversation the two of them should be having.”

  “Yeah, but you’re here. And you and I are friends. So, if I ask you to back off, that should be cool.”

  I shove my phone back in my pocket and sigh. “You and I aren’t friends, Amber. But Elijah and I are and if we did hang out, it’s because we are,” I say, as patiently as possible.

  Just when I think we’re starting to make progress so I can walk away and wait for Miley in peace, Vivian walks up.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Little Miss Cockblock Queen herself.”

  She’s still got that gorgeous long straight hair but now that she’s caked her face with makeup, she looks a lot older than the girl I used to see around.

  “Vivian.” I opt for a more mature approach.

  “Still keeping Elijah from being happy, I see.” Her eyes scan the racks around us and it’s almost hilarious that she can be so vile with minimal amounts of effort.

  “If that’s what you want to call it. But I have some shopping to do, so I’ll leave you ladies to it.”

  The word “ladies” is hardly how I’d address them. They are mean girls. Bitches.

  But I don’t want to do the insult dance with them. It doesn’t feel good, making others feel poorly.

  “You might want to try Walmart, sweetie,” Amber says as I turn away.

  “Or Hot Topic. I bet she’s a cutter,” Vivian calls out from behind me.

  My eyes close at her words but I keep moving, opening them and hoping Miley gets here soon.

  I try to walk away, but they follow me, singing, taunting, laughing, and talking loudly enough for people around us to stare at us.

  “What do you two want?” I whip around and ask.

  “For you to stop getting in my way,” Vivian says. She reaches out and flicks my shirt’s collar with one of her long acrylic nails.

  “Uh, you might want to back the hell up,” I hear my best friend say from behind me.

  Vivian rolls her eyes but steps back. “Of course. Here’s her loser sidekick.” She places her hand on her hip and gives us a smirk. “You know if you weren’t loaded, you wouldn’t be shit.”

  “But I am.” Miley doesn’t stand next to me. She steps around me and just in front of me. “Meanwhile, you two troll people at the mall when you should be leaving with all the shit you boosted before you get caught.”

  Vivian looks around before sneering. “You don’t know what…”

  “I can see the tags sticking out of your bag,” Miley states, pointing with a laugh. “Get your dick-thirsty lives together before I tell them to call security.”

  I gawk at Miley.

  Where the hell is this coming from?

  Part of me is proud of her but the other part of me, the part that hates confrontation and hurt feelings, wants to urge her to just walk away with me because we’re better than this.

  “How about you shut the fuck up?” Vivian says, stepping closer.

  Amber’s eyes volley between her and Miley and then to me.

  Please don’t let a fight break out.

  I move forward so we’re right next to each other, should I need to pull her away. But she just smiles.

  “How about you get a job? Or a hobby? Because this,” Miley gestures her balled up fist toward her cheek while her tongue pokes at the other side, “isn’t working out for you.”

  I snort and Vivian’s eyes turn into slits.

  “He doesn’t even like you. He just feels sorry for you.”

  Her words are meant to hurt me, but I’ve already been hurt by this interaction. By the only person who isn’t here.

  “Almost like how we feel sorry for you guys,” I say. I allow myself that one small victory.

  “Right?” Miley guffaws. She turns to me and places her hand on my shoulder. “Do me a favor and fucking kill me if I feel like I have to bully someone for a guy to pay attention to me.”

  We both chuckle and a throat clears behind us. We turn in unison, more than ready to get out of this store.

  “Is there a problem here?” a security guard asks, his eyes looking for trouble.

  Miley takes my hand and smiles the same smile she gave Amber and Vivian—all lips, no humor. “No, sir. But you might want to check their bags,” she says, jerking her thumb toward Amber and Vivian.

  We rush out of the store and Miley doesn’t look back.

  But I do.

  The security guard is pulling items from their bags. Vivian’s got her arms crossed. Impressive due to the amount of stuffing in her shirt.

  “They deserve it,” Miley says as she tugs me away, trying to get me to pay attention to where we’re headed.

  But I can’t.

  “We’re not gods, Miley. It isn’t our job to hand out punishment.”

  She drops her arm. “What? So now I’m the bad guy for defending you?” Her arms are crossed now. Finally, her ha
ir’s blonde again. Still short, but she let her mom book her an appointment with a stylist while they were on vacation.

  And I can’t help but be reminded of how different she and I are.

  “I’m not saying that,” I start.

  “Good. Because it seems like the only bad guy here is the one they’re fighting with you over.”

  I want to defend him, but there’s no use. While there’s only a small truth to her words, I still can’t deny it for what it is. And the more we walk, the more I think about it.

  I pull out my phone and type out a message, not thinking before I hit send.

  Me: I didn’t know you ditched Vivian to hang out with me.

  I’m about to shove my phone back in my pocket when it dings with a message.

  Elijah: How’d you know about that?

  Me: She tried to corner me at the mall.

  My phone rings with an incoming call.

  “Are you okay?” His voice is full of concern and Miley eyes me but continues to walk without saying a word.

  “I’m fine. It was nothing.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “At first, but Miley came and had my back.”

  He chuckles. “I’m sure she did.”

  There’s a moment of silence, where I have to remind myself that he and I are and have only ever been friends. In spite of what everyone else thinks.

  In spite of what I thought I may have been seeing or feeling.

  “Listen, I think it’d be easier for me if we didn’t hang out as much.” The words are stilted and far from natural, even as they come out of my own mouth. And I imagine how I’d feel to be on the receiving end of them.

  “What are you talking about, T?”

  “I mean, this isn’t the first time a girl’s been threatened by me. And it gets ugly.”

  “And I have your back every time.” His words become louder and more agitated, as if he doesn’t understand why it’s come to this.

  “I know, but doesn’t it get tiring? Especially when we’re only friends? You don’t have to defend your other friendships like this.”

  “My other friendships are nothing like this.”

  “Maybe that’s not a good thing,” I whisper. I wish I could see his face. I wish this were a conversation we were having in person, alone.

  But that’s what happens when you let your emotions rule you: You make decisions that make sense in the moment, only to come to a better solution mid-disaster.