by Yamaya Cruz
“I need the shadows to go away, bury them deep inside of me so they can never see the light of day.”
I could really get into this song. I looked up and froze when I saw the reflection in the mirror. I opened my eyes wide; I took a couple of steps back and dropped the toilet bowl brush on the ground. I covered my eyes and counted to ten, hoping that the image that I was seeing wasn’t real. I hoped that when I opened my eyes again that it would be gone, and I would see the same face that I saw everyday when I looked into the mirror. Like a child playing peek o boo, I peeked through the creases of my fingers, and drew back when I saw my mom looking at me.
“It’s time she said.”
“Time? For what?” I said, confused.
Then, the reflection changed. Her face became rounder, puffier and her eyes turned green, like Maria’s. “It’s time to go back,” she said.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I watched with exasperation as the images changed. It was almost like watching a horror movie in 3D, I was just waiting for someone or something to reach out and grab me. I backed away from the mirror slowly. I needed to be careful. This was some crazy sick shit, and I didn’t want anyone to take hold of me and pull me through the glass mirror. Oh my God! Where were they trying to take me? Back home? I didn’t have a fucking home. Thanks to Nico, everyone who I ever loved was dead or in jail. He took everything from me. I have nothing. There was nowhere for me to go but crazy, and I was doing great at it. In fact, it was the only thing that I did right.
I laughed like a mad woman. It all made sense. It was so easier to be crazy then to try to get better. Oh it was a bitch to spiral downhill, but at least I knew that I wouldn’t have to climb back up. No. I could sit at the bottom and rot, and just wait for the vultures to fly by and pick at my body. I covered my mouth, and there was a brief moment of clarity. Then there was a voice as crisp and clear like a summer breeze. “Why even go on?” The smiled faded from my face. It was a question that had popped into my head numerous times, but I always chased it away. Now, while looking at myself in the mirror, I seriously had to wonder why I didn’t end it all. I hated suffering, but a part of me was still scared of death.
“You need to die.” I looked back into the mirror bewildered and stared at a woman with seawater eyes and long brown hair.
“Yes, that’s right. I need to die,” I said shaking my head.
Her hair started to blow, like she was standing in front a huge fan. Then she began to rip handfuls of it from her scalp, she shut her eyes tight and when she opened them again, they were black. Her face took on hard edges, with a strong nose and square jaw. Her face looked sun dried with solid hard lines, like cracked dried sand in the Savannah Desert. She was now a man with dark skin. She was Nico. He just smiled and started to laugh, loud wicked cackles.
“Leave me alone!” I screamed.
In a fit of rage, I slammed my fist into the mirror. It broke into a dozen jigsaw pieces. I winced as I waved my hand around, trying to cool off the pain from the fresh cuts and bruises. I ripped a white towel off of the rack and wrapped it around my hand, within seconds the towel was moist and red from blood. There was a loud knock on the door.
“Everything okay in there? I thought that I heard something,” an orderly said from the other side of the door.
“Yeah, everything is fine,” I said as I leaned over and tried to scrap up the glass with my good hand. There was a long shard lying apart from the rest of the pieces. I picked it up and looked at it. I could only see one of my eyes, half of my mouth, and a quarter of my forehead. This is all that is left of me, I thought. This is all that is left. The door swung open and orderly in scrubs rushed in. I jumped up to my feet and quickly stuffed the long shard of glass into my pocket. He looked at me, and then at the mirror.
“What happened in here?” he asked.
I wanted to tell him that I was seeing people from my dreams in the mirror. They were trying to get me and take me away, so I broke it, so there would be no window for them to pull me through. I narrowed my eyes and realized that I was really fucking crazy. Thankfully, I didn’t have to say anything; one look at my hand explained it all.
“Okay, it’s alright. We’ll take care of it,” he said.
“Don’t get mad at him.” I looked back at the mirror. It was the elderly woman, but now her face was distorted, she appeared to have asymmetrical features, with a lopsided nose and her eyes moved up and down like a seesaw.
“You got to fight him from inside,” she said.
The image had changed again. I squinted to try and make out who it was. My fist had left a huge intention in the center of the glass, causing his nose to look sunken and misshapen. His mouth was abnormally big, looking more like a snout.
“We’ll help you. We’re here to help you,” Chobo said sounding like he was speaking through a bullhorn. I covered my ears and closed my eyes. I wanted to block them all out. I wanted to block them all out forever.
“Okay, Nelly. We’re going to have to ask you to step aside so we can clean up the glass.” I looked at the orderly. He had a broom and dustpan in his hands. There were two people standing behind him.
“There’s no need to worry, we’re just going to take care of your hand and clean up the glass so no one else gets hurt.” he added edging forward.
“I don’t want to be hurt,” I said while backing into the corner of the room.
“I don’t want to feel any more pain,” I said with my voice cracking.
“I know.” The orderly said while shaking his head. “That’s why we’re here, to clean you up, so you don’t feel any pain,” he said.
“You’re a fucking liar.” I spat.
“You work for Nico, you all work for Nico and he sent you in here to kill me,” I hissed.
“Go get Dr. Ontarian,” the orderly said. A man behind him rushed off.
“He’s not going to stop until I’m dead. Don’t you see that he’s trying to kill me?”
“No one here is trying to kill you,” he said holding up his hand in a gesture to keep the peace. I looked at him, and saw that he was edging forward. I remembered the glass that was stuffed inside my pocket. It seemed to get harder like a man’s penis. In a state of awe, I reached down and messaged it from the outside of my pants pocket, a tingling sensation shot from my legs to my upper body. Yes, it was time. I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t be weak; this was all about survival, my survival.
The orderly moved forward. I stumbled back and pulled out the shard of glass in my pocket. My arm shook as I struggled to hold out my hand. They backed away like hostages in a bank robbery. I stood up straight and waved the glass in front of them like it was a gun.
“Stay back, none of you come near me,” I demanded.
“Nelly, why are you doing this? We’re here to help you,” someone said.
“No, you here to hurt me,” I said weakly. I swallowed back a bout of tears because I realized that it was never going to stop. This was never going to end until I did something to stop it, to stop them. Dr. Ontarian peeked between two orderlies. Our eyes met.
I reached over and tried to slit my wrist, but an orderly pushed through and grabbed my hand. We engaged in a brief tug of war match. The orderly had big brute arms, and he forcefully wrestled the glass out of my hand. I stumbled back, lost my footing and fell with my head slamming against the rim of the bathtub. I heard a loud thud, and then my head started to throb. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. There was darkness, just darkness.
I opened my eyes and sat up. I was back in my dream, in the slave quarters. I saw people of all colors dancing around me fervently. My head was still throbbing but when I spotted the musicians, I knew that it wasn’t my head, but the drums. The pounding of the drums became louder, each beat reverberating throughout the room.
“They have healing power you know,” said a man wearing a faded red tunic. He was barefoot, with legs that were as skinny as stilts with kinky hairs that looked like they were being invaded by a c
olony of ants. I didn’t say anything. Instead, I just stared at him.
“Do you know who Changó is?” he asked quizzically. I didn’t answer.
“He was a king who became a God,” he said, smiling like he just revealed a really big secret.
“He had everything and yet he was still unhappy, so he hung himself from a tree,” he continued as he pointed a crooked figure at me. He snorted and then eyed me skeptically, looking me up and down. I felt weird, like he was a dog who was able to sniff my scent. He laughed.
“You’ve come to die like Changó” he said, holding out his skinny arms and lifting up his staff.
“You’ve come to ascend behind the human mind, to a higher level of consciousness,” he said, smiling and revealing two missing teeth. He sucked on his gums and narrowed his eyes to the left as if he was thinking carefully about what he was going to say next.
“In order for a king to become a God, he must pass through certain levels of development,” he said while resting his hand underneath his chin.
“Once one attains the highest level, then his consciousness is able to realign with the forces of the universe,” he said.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means letting go and finding the heaven that’s inside of you,” he said walking closer to me; I looked deep into his eyes and realized that they were the most peculiar shade of blue. He smiled again, poking out his long chin and accentuating the lines around his eyes and mouth.
“Heaven isn’t a place up in the sky. It’s inside of you,” he said shaking his head.
“I can’t,” I said.
“You have to. Call out to Changó He’ll help you,” he said. “How?” I asked.
He threw back his head and let out a strong belly laugh. He got up and started to limp around the room, using his staff as a cane. His joints looked hard and stiff like he was suffering from a serious case of arthritis. The drums rumbled throughout the room, increasing in intensity. This must have given the man the energy that he needed because he carelessly flung his staff to the side and began to leap around the room, with as much zeal as a street dancer. His arms and legs swung around wildly as the spirit of Changó, who rode him like a bareback horse, mounted him.
“You got to burn away the impurities. You got to go deep inside to where the shadows hide and burn them up alive,” he yelled while struggling to catch his breath.
“He’ll help you to become grounded. He’ll help you to dig roots deep into the earth so you can reach the sky,” he said smiling and raising his hands up in the air. Then he ran, full force and disappeared into the crowd.
The drums got louder. I looked around and saw dozens of people dancing around me, flinging their arms, swinging their heads, mumbling prayers, hoping and wishing for the Orishas to mount them. There were boys banging together claves; there were men slamming their palms onto of drums. There were woman shaking their breast like rattles. Then I started to hear the voices again. The Orishas are inside of you. You have lost touch with your family, the egguns; you have to find them again to be free.
The room was getting really hot. I spotted the old man again from across the room. He was just staring at me. His eyes were as red as polished rubies, and his chest was heaving up and down. His nostrils flared as he started to shake as if he had inhaled too many fumes. Then, he let it out. He opened his mouth and diffused naked blue flames with the precision of a blowtorch. His body was wet and sticky from sweat. I heard a man in the crowd yell,” Changó! Changó is here. right before a vicious ball of flames charred him.
He opened his mouth again. Frightened, I ran over to a large basin of water and jumped into it. I managed to escape the flames unscathed. I buried my head under the water, and rocked back and forth. Then, I could feel myself sinking, deeper and deeper. I panicked only when I realized that I was totally engrossed in water. I tried to lift my head up, but I couldn’t. I tried to swim, but I couldn’t. There was very little light, but I could feel myself floating through tunnels. I touched the walls; they were warm and slimy like mucous. The water swirled around me like a whirlpool and I was caught in the downdraft. My arms and legs swayed as I was swept away by the current. Then, there was light. I could see the light. I shot out of the water, like air from a whale’s blowhole and landed on the soft cushion of sand. My eyelids fluttered open. With much effort, I managed to lift my head an inch from the ground. I scanned my body. I was naked. There was someone hovering over me.
“Water has tremendous healing qualities,” she said smiling. I could recognize that smile from anywhere. It was the elderly woman, but she looked so different. She was wearing an ice blue gala dress with kimono like sleeves. A matching blanket was wrapped around her waist; it was trimmed with an assortment of beads. Her head was adorned in a traditional headdress. She turned so I could see the baby that was in her arms.
“This is you. Today, you’ll be reborn,” she said smiling.
I looked at the baby. She was tiny, with slanted eyes that looked to be sealed shut. Her hair was jet black, soft as lace but spiky like the scales on a pinecone. Her hands were balled up into tiny little fists. And her head was as small as a chickpea.
“Yemayá, mother earth, brings balance,” she said while rocking the baby in her arms.
“She is as powerful as the sea,” she said.
She lifted the baby up and indicated that I take her. I hesitated, and then held out my arms and waited for her to rest the baby inside of them. She was so gentle and soft.
“That’s right,” she said smiling and caressing the baby’s belly. “See, she trusts you. She knows that the world is way too big for her to try and survive alone.” She paused, looked at me and continued.
“She feels safe and secure in your arms,” she said reaching over and taking the baby from me.
“We’re all babies, clinging to mother earth for nurturing, for love and support. It is only when we break away from her bond that we feel insecure,” she said while wrapping the baby up in a blanket. She yawned, moved her head a little to the right and rested again. She didn’t appear to have a care in the world.
“Like the polar bears?” I asked.
“Yes, life can be as abundant as the fish in the sea, but when things become unbalanced we suffer,” she said.
There was a long moment of silence. “It’s time for you to go now,” she said.
I shook my head. I turned around and ran back into the sea. The water splashed around my feet and ankles and then made its way to my thighs. The funneling of waves swept me off my feet. I floated further out into the sea where I couldn’t see land. Rogue waves that were almost a hundred feet high rose and buried me deep into its belly. I swam in total darkness until I reached the very bottom. I pressed down on the hard sand, digging a hole to clamber through. I squirmed out of the hole and exhaled deeply as my head peeped out of the basin of water. I climbed out on all fours like an amphibian venturing out of the sea. I was soaking wet and freezing.
I slowly got up to my feet and stood hunch back like a primate, hugging my body, trying to generate some heat. I scanned the room and spotted a man resting crossed leg in the corner. He got up to his feet. He got halfway across the room when he fell to his knees, his body began to jerk, and his shoulders and arms swung from side to side as the energy shot into him like bullets. Like a fallen soldier, he collapsed, only to miraculously spring up with super human strength. He stood up and took long powerful strides around the room. He plucked a cigar out of an old man’s mouth and began to smoke it. I walked over to him.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked through a fog of smoke. “You’re Kingfoot,” I said.
“Wrong!” He said pointing a finger with his cigar in his mouth. “I am Oggún, the master of power. I’m just in Kingfoot’s body,” he said smugly. I just looked at him like he was crazy.
He stuck out his chest and puffed on his cigar and continued.
“I am the power within you that you haven’t discovered yet,” he said
after blowing out smoke.
“What?” I asked confused.
He raised one eyebrow and leaned in closer to me.
“Power needs to be hunted,” he said.
“I was hunting for power when I discovered iron. With tools made of iron, people were able to work faster and fight better. When you hunt and find power, you can create a whole world of possibilities,” he continued.
“But Nico has power, too much power, and he’s done so many bad things to people,” I said.
“Real power is about controlling your own destiny. It turns negative when we use it to control others,” he said while flicking some of the ash from the cigar on the ground.
“When you are able to hunt for power, you’ll be able to create your own destiny,” he said while stuffing the cigar back into his mouth.
“Remember, the only power that Nico has is what you decide to give him,” he finally explained.
I watched in amazement as he stuffed the whole cigar into his mouth. His cheeks looked like they were loaded with gumballs, and his jaws, taunt and tight as they moved with exaggerated movements. He opened his mouth wide, sticking out his tongue out like a baby to indicate that it was empty. The cigar was all gone. Then he stomped off, dissipating like a cloud of smoke.
The music had changed again. Now, it was more seductive, more sensual. I looked over at a small crowd of dancers who all moved in unison. They circled around a beautiful woman with seawater blue eyes. Her hair was pulled up in fancy chiffon and was adorned with colorful peacock feathers. Gold bracelets were clasps around her wrist and a gold plated necklace hung around her neck. The dancers shimmied around her and then took their places behind her. She glided across the room, manipulating the fabric from her multi-layered gown to rise up and flutter like butterfly wings. The dress was yellow and embedded with white lace embroidery. She executed a full body turn in mid air, revealing a pale underskirt. Her dress billowed around her like the petals of a fully blossomed rose. She fell to her knees and kneeled forward with her dress rippling around her. She clapped her hands together and brought them to her chin in prayer position. She then peacefully rested on the floor, lying on her side. She gracefully climbed up to her feet and turned her back to me. I could smell the scent of sweet jasmine.
