Juliet Takes a Breath

by Gabby Rivera

  “I wanted Harlowe and this internship to change everything.”

  “But how, Juliet? What did you want to be different?”

  “The world,” I said. “I wanted her to change my world.”

  It was Mom’s turn to pause. The television noise died down on her end. She must have lowered it. We sat for a minute together, on opposite ends of the country, listening to each other breathe.

  “Mi amor, only you can change your world,” she said.

  “I don’t think I know how to do that,” I sighed, looked up at the sky.

  “Juliet, I gave you your first set of purple composition notebooks when you turned 13. Do you remember what I wrote in your card?”

  “Remember? I wrote it in that first notebook. You said, ‘Reading would make me brilliant, but writing would make me infinite.’”

  “And that’s the truth, así es,” she said. Her “mom voice” was back.

  “But Mom…”

  “But nothing, let go of whatever expectations you had of this woman and her book and write your own. You must write. You will write. You are Juliet Milagros Palante. This world is yours to reinvent. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand,” I replied. “Mom, we’re good right? This is the start of us being good, better than when I left?”

  “Juliet, my love for you is deeper than anything that happened between us. My love for you is the sun, the sky, and the moon. It’s the air I breathe. It lives in everything I do. It’s better than good. It’s everlasting.”

  “Same, Mom. I love you, too. Now I’m all crying on this bench,” I said. My sleeve was wet from wiping away all my tears.

  We said goodbye right after that. I imagined her going back to the couch and watching the rest of her novelas: All My Children and General Hospital. I’d be home with her soon enough and then back to school. But I wouldn’t be here again, not like this. I wouldn’t be Harlowe’s intern again. I wouldn’t be 19 again. I sat on the bench for a long time, taking in the sunlight. I wondered if it was possible to leave a spiritual imprint without being a ghost. Would a piece of me stay in Portland? Or would I have to take Portland with me? I was down for both.

  25. Bluffs

  I didn’t give up on the research. I had my routine down. I took the same bus to Multnomah County Library, sat in my favorite work spot, and kept digging. All the librarians knew me now. We shared excitement over new scraps of paper with names of new women.

  Kira and I snuck kisses in between bookshelves and hidden corners of basement stairwells. We went for longer rides on her motorcycle. The first few nights of my last week, she brought me back to Harlowe’s. But as my last nights drew closer, she brought me to her house. Kira made me love full-body massages and taught me how to return the favor. Summertime love things, that’s what we were. No questions asked. I’d run my fingers through her hair and feel that happy ache. I knew I was leaving and that maybe this thing between us didn’t matter, but the connection was real. Kira was real. Kira was the one who scooped me up from the Steel Bridge when everything with Harlowe went to shit. She understood my hot angry tears and raged against universal feminism and the whitewashing of womanhood. She’d been the first person to wonder out loud if Harlowe was an ally or an antagonist. Kira, the hot librarian, was now this vibrant force in my world and, I wished I could bring her back with me.

  We weren’t dating, obviously. We didn’t have one of those “what are we doing” conversations. That shit wasn’t necessary. She loved my body so good. She made me more chocolate chip cookies, like even if she’d tried to have a conversation about the state of our relationship, I wouldn’t have known what to say. All I knew was that I fell in love with her humanity, little by little. On my second to last day, she pulled me into the Rare Books room and kissed me so deep, and so honestly that it felt like she was telling me that she loved me too.

  That same night, Kira took me to the bluffs in North Portland. We sat, cuddled up under a willow tree, smoked skinny joints and watched the trains rumble by. The sky stretched out forever. She read to me from James Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room.

  “I’ve got the perfect line for you, Juliet,” she said. Her fingers lazily toying with my hair. “‘You don’t have a home until you leave it and then when you have left it, you can never go back.’”

  “That can’t be true,” I said. A tear slipped out of my eye.

  She saw it before I could wipe it away.

  “No, hey, it’s a beautiful thing,” Kira said. She put the book down and touched my cheek.

  “Who wouldn’t want to go home?” I asked, looking up into her green eyes.

  “Juliet, it’s not that you can’t literally ever go home. The idea is that once you are able and cognizant enough of yourself to leave, the world changes you, and you’re not the same person anymore ever again and that’s the beautiful part,” Kira replied.

  I lay on her lap looking up at her, past her, and into the sky.

  “You know, I saw God once,” I said.

  “Oh yeah?”

  She put the book down and slowly ran her fingers through my curls. Her arm reached across my belly.

  “I was twelve and our church was having a youth prayer service. I didn’t even want to go but my parents made me. I sat there, arms folded, pissed, watching all the pastor’s kids lose their shit and speak in tongues. At some point, I got up and wandered around until I found another chair and sat in it. I was on my knees, on the chair, praying. I prayed until everything around me went quiet and turned golden. I swear, Kira, everyone disappeared.”

  “I believe you,” she said. We locked eyes.

  “It was just me praying in another space until a stillness settled over my body. Peace and warmth like I’d never experienced washed over the room and I knew God was with me. I opened my eyes and all I saw was the golden light but I knew it was God. And I could hear God speaking to me from inside my chest and my heart and I cried. I was in the presence of the Divine. Until it shattered. I heard the voice of the pastor yelling at me and snapping his fingers. When I opened my eyes, I was back in church and Pastor Diaz was inches from my face. He said I was praying wrong and that I should have been kneeling on the floor. I walked out of that church and never went back.”

  Kira shifted under me. I moved off her lap. She slipped down and laid beside me.

  “What did it feel like afterwards?” she asked, her hand in mine.

  “I felt free. I know in my heart God is real. I will always know that and no one can take that from me and I don’t know why I’m sharing this now. But like, I’m here with you and alive and feeling so good and that moment in my life, Kira, it’s one of the best fucking moments of my life and so is this, right here, with you. I guess I just needed you to know both of those things.”

  “Can I kiss you, Juliet?”

  I nodded. Kira pulled me into her arms and kissed me. She kept her lips close to mine. Kira and I sat under that tree until the stars fell into formation in the sky. We kissed on the grass and then wrapped up in her blanket. Her hands found their way under my bra, into my pants, and her lips kissed all the bare parts of my flesh. It wasn’t my last night in Portland but it was my last night with Kira. I didn’t stop her when she touched between my thighs, past my pink boy shorts. The air was cool on my skin. I bit her neck to keep the sounds between us. We laughed when it was over, breathless, and smoked the last joint. She dropped me off at Harlowe’s after midnight. I promised myself not to ever forget that final kiss against her motorcycle or how I stood there and watched her leave even after she’d turned the corner. Tonight was no different. I waited outside in the dark on Harlowe’s porch until I couldn’t hear her engine anymore. I wondered if I’d ever see her again. Brain said no. Heart said maybe.

  26. The Cleansing

  Bright hot sunlight streamed into the attic. I woke up damp with sweat and confused. Was I still in Miami? No, definitely in Portland. I hadn’t felt heat this intense any other day here. I stripped off the blankets,
raised all the shades, and basked in it. My last day in Portland was going to be hot as hell. I woke up ready.

  Harlowe poked her head up from the staircase. Sweat matted her temples. Her cheeks flushed ultra pink. She let me know that Maxine and Zaira were on their way. We were all going on a trip to the Sandy River. Harlowe walked halfway down the stairs and then came back up. She lay down next to me in the sunspot. Harlowe reached for my hand and held it. I was surprised by how cool her hand felt in mine.

  “Juliet,” she said, her legs bent in towards mine, “Sweet girl, I have loved having you in my home. I’ve learned so much about my capacities to love and be vulnerable. I wish you didn’t have to go. Thank you for being brave and patient and for not losing faith in me.”

  Oh, Harlowe. I didn’t believe that I’d been brave or patient, and I didn’t know if I still had faith in her. But I thought about the conversation I’d had with my mom, and found the truths closest to my heart.

  “Thanks for opening up your home to me and letting me into your world,” I said. “I’ve learned so damn much. And, yo, seriously, thanks for always having and sharing your amazing weed.”

  Harlowe laughed, like rolled over on her side type of laughter. I laughed too.

  Maxine and Zaira arrived; they called out to us from the bottom of the stairs. Harlowe jumped up to meet them. I threw on shorts and a T-shirt over my bathing suit and was out the door in less than ten minutes. I rode with Maxine and Zaira. Harlowe would take up the rear in her car. We’d meet up with Lupe and Ginger Raine along the way.

  Every year the five of them picked the hottest day of summer to take a trip up to the Sandy River. They’d hike up to a certain spot and then ride the river down. Sometimes they’d invite friends or new lovers; all were welcome. They called it “the cleansing” because riding the river was a transformative act for them, like an annual baptism.

  Maxine teased out the story as we rode in her black pickup truck. I chose to ride with Zaira and Maxine. I wished Lupe was in the truck with us because then it’d be the Latinas and the Black women and it’d be like my neighborhood where everyone has black or brown skin and we ride for each other so hard and with so much love even when things are violent and when times are tough. In the Bronx, everyone lived so close and so pressed up on each other, we barely had enough room to breathe let alone separate. And everything I’d experienced in Miami showed me the power of being connected to queer people of color and the beauty of POC-only spaces.

  I wanted to recreate that here with them before I left. Riding with Zaira and Maxine was the only way I knew how. But Lupe was riding with Ginger Raine, of course, and I needed to remember that I wasn’t in Miami anymore and that my intentions weren’t so pure. I was curious like a motherfucker and had a million questions to ask Zaira and Maxine.

  What happened when I left? What had they thought about Harlowe’s words at Powell’s? How did they feel about connecting themselves to a white friend who was brilliant, loving and problematic? I wanted and needed to know. So I let Maxine, giddy as hell, tell me all about the cleansing and I listened to Zaira tell me about how she came alive and connected to the water spirits the first time she rode down the river and about the way she wept when her first Octavia Butler writing group participated in the cleansing. I listened to all of it. I even got a little misty-eyed when they told me how excited they were to share this day with me and how proud they were to know me. I hadn’t even done anything but exist. How could they be proud to know me when I’d run away? I didn’t question them, I just took in their words and let them fill up the weird and uncomfortable spaces in my heart.

  Finally, it was quiet. They’d both found memories to sit with while we drove. The vibe in the car was peaceful. I almost felt bad about disrupting it but I knew I’d feel worse if I left without asking them all the things that burned in my heart.

  So I asked. I brought up everything all in one breath. The silence that followed was deep. Maxine and Zaira both took a solid pause and then laughed. Zaira, in between Maxine and I, leaned on my shoulder. Her skin, soft like rose petals, brushed against mine.

  “Oh girl,” she said, as she patted my thigh. “Everything you feel is valid. Know that, sister. We must always question the world and those in it, especially those that say they’re acting in our names. Personally, I adore Harlowe, ever since the first time I met her. Politically, though, the issues run deep. I see a woman constantly working on herself. I see a society that enforces systems beyond her control, that validates whiteness, frames narratives of people of color around poverty and violence, and propels good people into perpetuating the very structures they’re trying to dismantle. But I’m not here to make space for good white people. There’ve been times when I’ve needed to distance myself from Harlowe and people like her.”

  Zaira shifted her hips to look at me. Her knee-length coral-colored dress shimmered in the sunlight. Her dark brown eyes made me want to weep. Gorgeous. Deep. Honest.

  “First and foremost, I live for myself, all of my selves. I could sit here and tell you all the ways lesbianism has influenced my life, the way loving science fiction and working with social justice organizations has influenced my life. I could connect all those dots and make this easier for you, but all I really want to say is that you will find your way. You’ll meet people that you love who fuck up constantly. You’ll learn how to weed out the assholes from the warriors. You’ll know what groups of people to stay away from because they’re not safe spaces for your heart. You’ll learn when to forgive human error and when to eradicate the unworthy from your spirit.”

  Maxine let out a rush of air from their mouth. Her face grew serious.

  “No one held you back from standing up and telling that room of people at Powell’s who you really were and what your story really was,” she said. “No one. You chose to walk away. This isn’t a judgment on that choice. This is me pointing it out. You did that. You let Harlowe’s narrative be the air people breathed about you. This isn’t about Harlowe or her whiteness, this is about choice. What choice will you make next time when someone says something like that about you? Will you walk away? Or demand your voice be heard? Will you speak your truth, Juliet? I mean, why did you even come here?”

  I said nothing as tears slid down my cheeks. She was so right, and I don’t know how I missed it. I felt ashamed of myself. Embarrassed. How could I ever trust myself to make decisions if I didn’t have that type of insight? I never opened my mouth to counter what Harlowe said. I froze and ran. Froze and ran.

  All of the women in my life were telling me the same thing. My story, my truth, my life, my voice, all of that had to be protected and put out into the world by me. No one else. No one could take that from me. I had to let go of my fear. I didn’t know what I was afraid of. I wondered if I’d ever speak my truth.

  Why had I come? I pulled out my notebook and answered Maxine’s last question for myself. If the narrative was going to shift, it had to start with me.

  List: Why Was I Here?

  Feminism. To understand what it meant in real life, outside of textbooks and if I could ever call myself a feminist

  To Get the Hell Out of the Bronx.

  Lesbians. To chill with all the lesbians and see if there were different ways to be one, to make sure I was one, to find out if I was something else.

  Harlowe. Because Raging Flower changed my life, and I had to know what it was like to live with and learn from the person who created it.

  Pussy. Because before Raging Flower, I didn’t know there was power between my thighs.

  Politics. I had none. Never thought anything was worth giving too much of a shit about. That shit had to change.

  Me. Because I’m a messy, over-emotional, book nerd, weirdo, chubby brown human and I needed to learn how to love myself, even the shameful bits.

  I was last on my own list. Would I ever be first? Had I wasted my entire summer? I read my list a few times over. I liked it. It was honest. The first six points were the out
er shells. Maybe I was last because I’m at the core of all those other things. That I could sit with and feel proud of and so I relaxed for a minute, eased my shoulders. Enjoyed the ride.

  Maxine blasted Donna Summer’s Love to Love You, Baby and Hot Stuff. The vibe in the car was good, like hella good. Maxine and Zaira had said their pieces and that was it. They didn’t pressure me for any response. They went back to being humans in love, Zaira curled up next to Maxine. I had my list. We made it to the river having spent the last few minutes in the truck with the windows down and the radio up. The spirit of the cleansing took over. We were all ready to be reborn.

  27. I Was Reborn by the River

  The Sandy River terrified me. But, I’d also never been to a river before. Sure, I’d been to Orchard Beach in the Bronx, but Orchard Beach was man-made and the only things rushing there were the Puerto Ricans to the handball courts. The Sandy was surrounded by real live nature. Trees. Mad trees everywhere. Trees so tall they looked like they touched the sky. Trees as wide as a subway car. Trees, yo. By the Sandy River, amidst all those trees, I felt incredibly small, a dust-speck-floating-around-in-the-universe small.

  We piled out of the trucks and stood at a split path. One way led into the woods, the other was a paved path to the riverbank. I’d expected a ceremony of sorts, or at least a reading from the Gospel of Mother Earth. Ginger Raine and Lupe weren’t going to hike this year. Nobody wanted Ginger Raine to give birth in the woods, not like that, not without a birthing tent or some midwives. They walked to the river and wished us well.

  “Wait, if the river is right here, why do we have to hike through the woods?” I asked.

  “Because it’s fun. It works the body and it’s part of the ritual,” Maxine said. “But if you want to go with Lupe and Ginger Raine, feel free.”