Juliet Takes a Breath

by Gabby Rivera

  We lay side by side on her big, comfy bed like we did when we were kids. I snuggled into her pillow and put my legs over hers.

  “You know how you said you were going to ‘school me on some queer shit’ earlier?” I asked. “I’m gonna hold you to that. I’ve literally been writing things down all summer. Things like ‘PGPs’ and what should I say when someone asks me ‘how I identify.’ And honestly, I don’t know much about trans stuff, either. Everyone else seems to know all the things but all I know is that I’m not straight.”

  “Damn, mama. We’ve got a lot to talk about then,” Ava said. She cracked her knuckles. “Lemme go get the rest of that sangria.”

  For the next few hours, we laid out on her bed, sipping sangria. Ava answered my questions. PGPs were prefered gender pronouns but Ava didn’t like that term.

  “Whatever pronouns a person chooses, if they choose any at all, are their right. Not a fucking preference,” she said.

  I learned that a trans person was someone who was assigned the wrong gender by a doctor at birth. Ava told me that was the most basic definition she could think of and that it’s up to a person who identifies that way to decide what it means for them; my job was just to accept what a person feels comfortable sharing about themselves. Mind blown. Ava broke these huge ideas down into small chunks because I needed level one style education. As for how someone identified, that was a way to express what gender or sexuality a person felt most connected to. That seemed mad simple to me.

  “Why not just ask someone straight up if they’re gay or trans or whatever?” I asked.

  Ava let out a little sigh. “Girl, how rude do you plan to be in this life? And trans people can be gay too, FYI. Listen, the idea is to let people identify how they want without someone being in their face asking questions that aren’t any of their business. Kinda like when white people want to know where we’re really from, you know?”

  “Word,” I said in agreement. That “where are you from” line of questioning had always annoyed me to no end.

  Ava talked about people I’d never heard of like Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson. They were trans women of color and helped start the Stonewall Riots. I didn’t even know that Stonewall was a fucking riot. I thought it was just that bar that had Lesbo-A-Go-Go parties on Tuesday nights in the city. I stared up at the ceiling mesmerized. I wished I’d decided to spend my summer with Ava. Maybe I wasn’t such a freak, feminist, alien dyke after all. I was part of this deep-ass legacy and history of people fighting to be free. Ava nudged me.

  “It’s okay not to know things, prima. I’m always here for you. Anything you ever need or want to know or do, call me. Okay?” she asked. The expression on her face was serious, like as if we were about to make a pact.

  “Okay, I will,” I said.

  We shook hands and drank more sangria. After my lesson on basic gay stuff, Ava moved on to gushing about Luz Ángel some more. I told her about my night with Kira. We traded secrets about the girls we liked until we both stopped talking and fell out.

  20. Love in the Time of a Bronx Tale

  I woke up in the clothes I’d traveled in, crawled out of Ava’s bed at 6:00 a.m. and took a shower in her private bathroom. Clean and in fresh underwear, I went right back to sleep next to her. I didn’t wake up again until noon. Ava snored, mouth open, a black satin mask over her eyes. She got all the pretty in this family. Even in her sleep, Ava was the type of beautiful that made it hard for people to concentrate.

  I licked my finger and stuck it in her ear. She swatted my hand, then my face. She threatened me with imminent death. I threatened her with gas that I’d held in since last night. She ripped off her facemask, eyes wide. I laughed until I couldn’t breathe.

  She checked her Facebook and then offered me use of her computer. I had a thousand spam emails and one email from Harlowe.

  Juliet,

  Many apologies. I’d like to pick you up from the airport. It’s how we first met and I’d like to start over the same way. I’m flawed. I’ve been wracked, praying to the goddesses for guidance. I fucked up. I said things that weren’t true. My white privilege spewed out, all over, onto you. I’m really fucking sorry about that.

  I hope your family loves you good. And I hope you come back and that we can work this out. But if you don’t feel comfortable around me anymore, I understand. We’ll make different arrangements.

  Love,

  The fucked up white lady that’s trying to live an anti-racist, pro-woman, feminist life that loves you something fierce.

  I wrote her back without hesitation.

  Harlowe,

  I’m still figuring out why I had to leave.

  I’ll be back Sunday morning.

  Starting over is always good.

  Juliet,

  the kid just trying to live right

  I read Harlowe’s email to Ava. Teeth were sucked. Eyes rolled hard. Ava had no time for Harlowe. She wrote me a list of all the other books I needed to read about feminism that weren’t written by white women. I couldn’t understand why it mattered so much. Like, what was so bad about Raging Flower? Ava said it was because Harlowe didn’t make queer and or trans women of color a priority in her work; that Harlowe assumed that we could all connect through sisterhood, as if sisterhood looked the same for everyone. As if all women had vaginas. Ava said her piece as she brushed her teeth, applied dark eye make-up, and checked out her body in the floor length mirror.

  “Um, Ava, don’t all women have vaginas?” I asked, staring at her.

  “Fuck no. We just talked about this,” she replied, “This is why I can’t fuck with Harlowe. All Harlowe does is equate being a woman to bleeding and having certain body parts. Like, I’m so not with that. For me, womanhood is radical enough for anyone who dares to claim it.”

  I ran the water in her tub and started soaping up my legs.

  “Damn cuz, you’re making my brain explode again. I’m trying. There’s just so much to take in from everywhere. I can’t even begin to act like I’ve got it all down, you know? I’m still reeling from making people of color a priority. And, why would anyone assume that a white lady would even know to put all these other people at the center of her book?” I asked, “That doesn’t make any sense to me. Why expect so much inclusion from white people? And why not talk to women and mention vaginas? Why not just take it all in, and then everyone who feels differently or has different bits or whatever create their own thing? I had problems with Raging Flower too but somewhere along the way I just figured, I’d have to be the one to add my real self to the narrative, you know.”

  “Was that before or after Harlowe sold you out to her crowd of believers?” Ava asked.

  She stared at me in the mirror.

  I sighed, “That’s fucked up, cuz.”

  “Juliet, I’m asking because I love you, and I want to challenge you, babe. What are you basing your ideas of womanhood on? And you gotta question who you give your love and respect to. This is about perspective, you know? Like, where do you stand?”

  I didn’t have an answer for her. Or for myself.

  * * *

  We chilled all damn day. Lounged by the pool in bathing suits, sipped iced tea and ate pastelitos filled with cheese and spicy ground beef. Titi Penny mothered me; she brushed out my hair, did my eyebrows, and took every opportunity to kiss my cheeks. I watched her and wondered what her life was like when she my age. When did people become Titis in a void, without visible teeth marks from their histories on their skin? When did they become women who sent Christmas gifts in the mail and spoke to your mom on the phone and existed in a separate universe? I remembered what Mom had told me.

  “Titi Penny, can I ask you something personal?”

  “Of course, nena, ask me anything,” she replied.

  “How do you identify?”

  Ava coughed and spun around in her lounge chair. Titi Penny peered over at me.

  “What do you mean?” she asked. Her voice soft, a slow smile spread across her
lips.

  “Yeah. what do you mean?” Ava asked, as she stared straight at me.

  “Okay, you promise not to get mad?” I asked.

  “Juliet…”

  “Mom told me that I was going through a phase just like you did. She said that you had a lady friend once but now you’re married to Uncle Lenny and so, my gayness isn’t a permanent either.”

  Titi Penny laughed. Ava’s eyes were wide open and so was her mouth.

  “Juliet, your mother never understood three things about me. She couldn’t grasp why I was an activist and worked with the Young Lords. She didn’t understand how I could love a woman, let alone Magdalena—our super’s daughter—and last but not least, she was dumbfounded when I decided to marry a skinny Jewish guy named Leonard Friedman. And yet, she never turned her back on me, Juliet.

  “You were in love with a woman?” Ava asked. “And you never told me about her? I bet she was smoking hot too. Magdalena. Mom! What’s with the secrets?”

  “Yes, I was in love with a woman named Magdalena, okay? I was 18 and she was gorgeous. She taught me how to smoke cigarettes and rat my hair. Don’t ask. And we were lovers for a while, almost the whole summer.”

  “Lovers, Mom? That word is so...”

  “Oh, stop. Lovers is a fine word, Ava. It didn’t last long. She cheated on me with some guy and was pregnant by September. I didn’t say a word about her to your Mom after that, Juliet. And well, less than a year later I was seeing Uncle Lenny anyway.”

  “So it was just a phase?” I asked.

  Titi Penny paused.

  “I don’t know. Things were different then. I didn’t judge myself for loving her, ever. I didn’t have a name for it so I just let myself feel it. And then, I was deep into organizing with the Lords for a better and safer Bronx when I met Lenny. He was a socialist and I fell for him hard. We fit immediately. I didn’t feel confused about my sexuality or who I was. I’ve always just been Penny and that was enough for me.”

  I turned over and lay my head in her lap.

  “But you,” Titi Penny started, “You are your own person, Juliet. If it’s a phase, so what? If it’s your whole life, who cares? You’re destined to evolve and understand yourself in ways you never imagined before. And you’ve got our blood running through your beautiful veins, so no matter what, you’ve been blessed with the spirit of women who know how to love.”

  The three of us shared space and talked all afternoon. Titi Penny also told me that she and my mom talked almost everyday since I left for Portland. She said that my mom’s read a bunch of books, including Raging Flower. Titi Penny urged me to be gentle because my she was trying to understand me in her own way. I needed to reach out more. Titi Penny told me to trust my mother’s love. I’d try harder. If my mom tried, I’d try too.

  Uncle Len made it home that night an hour before sunset. Together, we sat and ate Shabbat. He prayed over the meal. Baruch atah adonai. We held hands. It felt good to pray, to remember to give thanks and feel connected to something beyond the confusion of being human.

  Ava hyped me up after dinner. Convinced that I needed community, Ava decided to take me to a Clipper Queerz party. Part dance party, part self-care, sliding scale haircut extravaganza, Clipper Queerz parties were hot and underground as fuck. The CQ crew threw events for queer and trans people of color only; no white allies, be they lover, family or otherwise. Mixed race and biracial people were welcomed of course, and no one did any ethnic policing. The CQ crew expected its people to honor their “no white folks” rule and anyone who tried to circumvent it lost their respect and invitation to the next party. Shit sounded mad secretive and exclusive, like gay Masons or some shit. I was intrigued but hella skeptical.

  “I don’t know, Ava. Don’t you feel weird going to a party where a young, political, good-hearted white person, like your Dad when he was younger, wouldn’t be able to attend?”

  I asked her this as she layered my eyelids with black and silver eyeshadow.

  “No, I don’t feel weird. You are just looking to make all the room for white people aren’t you?” Ava asked. She turned around to look at me.

  I sat on her bed, ashamed to look her in the eye. I shrugged.

  “No, that’s not what I’m trying to to do.”

  “Listen, babe, it’s ok. Look, the Clipper Queerz parties are for familia to fucking chill and not worry about the clueless gringa from their job saying some racist shit about Cubans or Black people or anyone. And it’s less about there being ‘no white people’ and more of a night for us to breathe easier. Ok? None of the lez parties are doing this. It’s electric, prima.”

  I needed to breathe easier. Ava reached for my hand. I gave it to her. She slid me off the bed and pulled me back into the bathroom. We looked at our reflections in the mirror. We shared the same lips, heart-shaped and full. Ava had grown out of her chubby cheeks though. She pinched my chin and turned my gaze to her.

  “Let’s get ready together, ok?”

  I nodded. As, Ava did my makeup, she told me about her friends in the CQ circle. She dropped secrets in between facts. She got all hyperbolic about Luz Ángel, who also organized the parties, and it was so cute. Ava wasn’t sure if she could keep her feelings for Luz Ángel to herself. But she was terrified of letting them out.

  “Love wrecks you. It devastates everything,” she said.

  Ava was convinced that Luz Ángel’s voice could make millions march. She believed that being part of someone’s cause or fight was just as solid as declaring love. And she was in it thick over her; Ava called it that “no justice, no peace” kind of love. I wondered about love. Would I ever feel that kind of love? I fell in something for Harlowe, maybe it was hate-love? No, I didn’t hate Harlowe. Her words hurt because I loved her, but what did it mean? Did love make me run from Harlowe to Miami or did I get here because I loved myself enough to fly away?

  21. Undercuts and Transformation

  The music was good and loud when we pulled up in Ava’s Mustang. We walked along the side of the house and Ava pushed open the fence gate. The Clipper Queerz party stretched out before us in all its radical glory. Lit from the bottom, the in-ground pool shimmered. To the right was the DJ setup and along the back were the barber’s chairs. A person in a bright pink bikini ran over to us and pulled Ava into a full body hug.

  “Florencio!” Ava shrieked, a huge smile on her face. “You’re soaking wet, dammit. Hey turn around, I want you to meet my cousin, Juliet.”

  Florencio spun in my direction.

  “Well, hello. I’ve never met a Juliet before. I’m Florencio and my pronouns are she and they.”

  “Hi, I’m Juliet,” I said. Florencio’s use of she pronouns surprised me but I remembered Ava telling me not to be a rude ass bitch, so I just went with it.

  Florencio eyed me for a moment.

  “Are you a hugger? ’Cuz I’m a hugger.”

  I nodded and Florencio hugged me good. She kissed both of my cheeks.

  “Darlings, I hate to leave but the pool is calling me. I do hope you both find your way in,” she said. “Oh and, just so you know, Luz Ángel’s here.” Florencio hip bumped Ava before darting off to the water.

  “I’m not going to make it,” Ava said. She audibly swooned.

  “It’ll be fine, prima,” I replied.

  The atmosphere at Clipper Queerz party boomed; it was vibrant and open. Ava and I walked over to the cooler and grabbed some beers. Shitty, cheap, and totally perfect American beers. Ava introduced me to twins, Alonzo and Necia. Both of them newly shorn and very queer.

  “It’s good luck, I swear,” Necia said. She reached for my hand. “Rub my head. Make a wish.”

  “There’s no such thing as good luck, Necia. It’s all about what the universe wants,” Alonzo replied.

  I rubbed both of their heads. Their short mohawks matched. They looked like brother and sister but since neither of them said anything about pronouns, so I didn’t say anything either. They were Necia and Alonzo.

>   I took a long swig of beer. More folks filtered in and out of our small circle near the coolers. Ava did her best to introduce me but her eyes were on the one person who seemed to never be close enough. Luz Ángel moved around the perimeter of the pool, talking and laughing with everyone else. It made sense that Ava felt like Luz Ángel didn’t know she was alive. Maybe my cousin wouldn’t find her ‘no justice, no peace’ love with this girl.

  Florencio wiggled in between me and Ava to grab a beer. Her body was covered in water droplets. She looked like queen of the brown mermaids.

  “Are you going to get a cut,” Florencio asked.

  My eyes widened and I looked down for a second. I felt a little nervous.

  “Never. My hair’s too long. I couldn’t ever cut it,” I said.

  Another swig of beer. Florencio clinked bottles with me.

  “If there was ever a place to do something you’d never do, it’s here,” she said. “Shit, at the last party, I left with someone’s name tattooed on my ankle. To this day, I swear, I don’t know who it was. But when I meet whoever Valentina is, we’re going to kiki like it’s 1999.”

  Florencio showed off her ankle tat and I laughed. I felt freer than I had all summer. Ava pulled an ultra-slim cigarette from Florencio’s gold case. She made her way to the edge of the pool. I didn’t follow. It seemed like she needed a moment to herself. Besides, I wasn’t alone; people flowed in and around me all night. Everyone had big ideas to share. They dropped phrases like “radical politics”, “gender essentialism”, and “government-sanctioned inequality” in between conversations about silver lipstick and the importance of self-care. Each cluster of humans wanted to take on the world and reimagine it. In the background, along with the bass thumping, was the sound of clippers buzzing.

  The music faded. Luz Ángel stood in front of her table with a microphone in hand. She waited for the party to hush on its own. All eyes were on her and her red thigh high boots. I moved closer. She cleared her throat.