Jubilee

by Jennifer Givhan

  “Bee! I’m coming! Hang on!” He gulped in saltwater and coughed. His eyes stung.

  When he reached her, he called her name again. “Are you okay? I’m here.” She stopped paddling, and turned, treading water. He grabbed hold of her, the water raising them both up, dropping them down, and tried to hold her from behind, the way he’d seen lifeguards on television save drowning victims, but she pulled away from him.

  “Jubilee’s over there,” Bee called, pointing to the doll, who in the water looked like a real drowning infant, whose curls and bright pink dress Joshua could make out floating beside a concrete post at the end of the pier. “I can’t get to her. The waves keep pulling me back.”

  His legs were already cramping, his stomach ached, and his chest compressed. You get your wife back to the shore, Joshy . . .

  “Bee, let me get you out. I’ll come back for Jubilee. Let me get you back to shore. Please.”

  “No! Josh . . .”

  He could’ve asked someone to help. But what lifeguard in their right mind would’ve helped Joshua save a doll from the ocean? And by the time he’d returned to the water, Jubilee could’ve been carried out too far to reach. Bee would be too far to reach.

  “Goddamnit, Bee. Fine. Swim back then. Now! I’ll get her. You swim back!”

  She shook her head. “I can’t leave her.”

  “You aren’t leaving her. I’ll get her. Please, swim back to the shore.”

  She turned back, and he propelled forward, straining his body toward the pier, pushing against the waves. He dove through the tumult and spray, pushed and pushed. He had to save her. He couldn’t let her drown. “Jubilee,” he found himself calling. Like he’d gone crazy. Swallowing saltwater and coughing, he thought of Bee’s dad and, for one gruesome second, imagined himself drowning too. He couldn’t let that happen to Jayden. He couldn’t let that happen to any of them. Breathing as deeply as he could manage with his burning lungs, he thrust his way beneath the water and pumped his legs hard, sweeping back the water with his big hands. He was Beast. He was a superhero. He could save his wife.

  The cramping in his legs spread upward, and he couldn’t breathe.

  Jubilee floated farther and farther out.

  He shoved forward, but the waves were too strong. He was swallowing water. He coughed as wave after wave crashed over him.

  He fought for air. He couldn’t breathe. Come on, Joshy. Come on. Salt in his eyes. Salt in his lungs. The water was too heavy. It was like a chain around his legs, the cramping. He couldn’t free himself.

  Someone was calling his name. Joshy! Come on.

  “Josh!”

  It was Bee. She hadn’t swum back to shore. Goddamnit.

  She was lifting him the way he was supposed to be lifting her.

  “I’ve got you.”

  “No, go back, Bee. I’ll get Jubilee.”

  She shook her head, her eyes bright red, her face scrunched in concentration, but she was focused, serious, dead set. “No, Josh. You won’t.”

  She grabbed his hand, pulled him away from the pier. And with strong, deliberate strokes, set them both flowing with the waves, using the water to carry them.

  “I can get her for you, Bee. I can.” He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose his wife.

  She said nothing but held his arm tight, gripped him so tight, and kept rowing them atop the waves. She was crying, but she was a strong swimmer, he could see that. Much stronger than he was. And she was leading them back toward the shore.

  Where the water shallowed, he planted his feet into the sand, stood firm, tried to balance her upward. But his lungs ached. His breath was coming in shallow wheezes. He meant to support her, but his vision was narrowing, everything—the shore, the crowds, Jayden—becoming fuzzy.

  “Breathe, love. Breathe, I’m here. I’ve got you,” she said, supporting his weight.

  Together, they lurched onto the shore, and Jayden ran toward them, clutching Joshua’s inhaler, a familiar sight, Jayden coming to the rescue with his inhaler. Bianca grabbed it, “Thank you, mijo. It’s okay, it’s okay.” She steadied it at Joshua’s mouth and guided his shaking hands as he pressed down, sucked in the cold, compressed air, waiting for the familiar expansion in his chest. Coughed. Again. Again.

  “Breathe, Joshy. Breathe,” Bianca said, as Joshua kneeled onto the sand, trying to pull the air into his lungs.

  The lifeguards circled now, like birds at a picnic. The lights from their truck flashing.

  Joshua closed his eyes.

  The lifeguards covered his mouth with an oxygen mask, and although he wanted to resist the fuss over him, wanted to pull it off and tell them to leave him alone, the air was a welcome relief, and he breathed, deeply, finally. Over the next several minutes, the lifeguards continued taking his vitals, asking questions, monitoring them. He explained his condition, assuring them that his albuterol had kicked in; he’d be shipshape again in no time. Though that felt only half true. He told them to check on Bianca. She was six months pregnant and shouldn’t have been straining to swim in the ocean like that.

  “We’ve already checked her, sir. She’s in great condition.”

  Joshua looked over toward Bianca. She sat nearby, on the sand, her feet crossed in front of her, a towel wrapped around her shoulders, Jayden next to her, digging with a shovel and dumping the sand into a bucket, then overturning it onto the ground, building a castle.

  The lifeguards, satisfied Joshua was breathing and could take it from here, rode away in their bright-yellow trucks and ATVs.

  He scooched closer to his wife. Was she watching for Jubilee? He followed her gaze to the ocean, gray and tumultuous and expansive. What could he say? He didn’t have the words.

  He reached out for her hand, and she clasped her fingers through his.

  They stayed that way for a while, hands locked together, him tracing shapes with his fingers into her wrist. Her, solemn but brighter-eyed than he’d seen her in a long time, staring at the water. Neither saying anything. Jayden scooping sand. A tableau of a family. No, not just a picture. The real thing. They stayed that way until they were all hungry and cold and tired, and then they walked, together, toward the car where, before Jayden was buckled in, he turned back toward the ocean and said, “Goodbye, Jubilee.” And the waves behind them must’ve washed away the indentations they’d made as they sat there, watching Jubilee float away.

  Jubilee, who was a bridge. Who’d carried Bianca safely to the other side.

  Thirty-Five

  Daughter, I Rise

  After Jubilee

  The downtown Fullerton lights gleamed bright on the back patio of the Mexican restaurant where the reading was held. Her familia was there to cheer her on, Joshua and Jayden, her mama, Matty and Handro, Abuela and Abuelo even. And Lily. Of course Lily, who’d brought Sam. They wouldn’t have missed it. Tonight was her first public reading of her first published poem in a literary journal, and her family was so proud. Elena, her poetry mentor at Cal State Fullerton, had come to hear her read, and they all sat together at a large table under a heat lamp that cool, November evening, eating chips and salsa, listening to the other poets.

  Bianca held her one-year-old daughter, Alba, strapped to her chest in a Moby wrap, and Alba sucked on her fists as her mama dog-eared the page of the journal that held her poem. She took a deep, steadying breath as her name was called from the microphone, and she stood, straightened her blouse beneath the wrap, and walked, tall and proud, up to the stage.

  “Thank you for having me here tonight,” she said. “I’m so excited and nervous to read you my first published poem.” Everyone applauded, and she could hear her family whistling and cheering. “I’ve brought my daughter, Alba, onstage with me because this poem is dedicated to her, and I want my girl to know from an early age what it means to speak her truths, aloud, and never, ever be afraid to follow her heart a
nd her dreams, like I’m following mine.”

  More cheering, more applause.

  “For Alba, whose name means the dawn . . .

  “Not all women need a daughter to make them strong. But for some of us a daughter is the strength that’s been inside us all along, just waiting to rise.”

  Some nights Bee could still hear Esme’s voice. It’s been a long time, mija. Come in, let me fix you a plate.

  Someday, Bee would take her family back to the Valley.

  Rio Vista would beckon, and Bee would introduce the people she loved—Joshy, Jayden, and Alba—to the place that had raised her. To the place that had made her a mother.

  Where the sweet tea still brews in the sun on Nana’s porch. Where her girlhood house crouches above the canyon’s edge, skirting the New River. Where her dreams, from the fissures of her fifteen-year-old heart, remain as real as any she knew.

  Thirty-six

  Letter to Jubilee

  Once upon a time, a house grew wild and empty in the desert. The cacti scrubbed its floors with dirt. The death birds scavenged. They picked clean the bones. The jeweled beetles scuttled. In and out. All night and day. And once each year, the bats came.

  Girlchild, that house was a wreck. That house bore a girlchild.

  And she held me tight. Baby girl. You held me so tight.

  Hush now.

  The wreck that was your mama rests at last.

  (Forgive me.)

  Forgive me for letting you go.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, Mama. You never gave up on Jubilee, like you’ve never given up on me. I love you forever. Thank you for taking care of my family while I wrote this heart for us.

  I am immensely grateful to my family, Andrew, Lina, Jer; my dad, Philip Boese, and my mama, Dr. Suzanne Casas Boese, thank you for helping me raise my babies so I could write these stories; my big brother, Paul Gonzales, and his husband, Mark Lopez; and my little brother, David Boese, and his wife, Karissa, I couldn’t have done any of this without you—Grandma Marge, fierce advocate, Grandma Linda and the whole Casas family—you all who have taken care of me and kept me safe. Lisa, my better than best. Sally, for loving me in the Valley. Nikki, high school bestie I’ll always adore. Renee in heaven. My dear poetry hermanas, Alicia Elkort, Stephanie Bryant Anderson, Leslie Contreras Schwartz, Avra Elliott, Sherine Gilmour, Stacey Balkun, and Jennifer Krohn—y’all bruja loves cast protective light over me, draft after draft. So much gratitude to Eliza Dreier, who saw in Bee’s story exactly what my heart needed to keep believing, dear kindred soul. Bordistas Lauren Fleming and Jesenia Lua. Lynn Hightower, my wonderful teacher and best novel mentor. Sisters who read Jubilee throughout this decade-long journey, including Jessamyn Smith, LaToya Jordan, Stefani Freele, Molly Sutton Kiefer, Mandy Rose, Nandini Dhar, and Shaindel Beers, thank you. And for Reyna Grande, for reading the first draft and seeing what I couldn’t see then, gracias, hermana.

  For the works and teachings of Rigoberto González and Sandra Cisneros.

  For my first and greatest mentor, Irena Praitis—thank you for teaching me to speak my truths.

  In loving memory of Mr. Croghan, the finest English and humanities teacher a poeta could ask for. I still have the postcard. I hope you knew what your belief in me meant to my spirit.

  I thank my lucky stars for my agent, Laura Blake Peterson, and her guidance and support for my writing. And Vikki Warner, for seeing me and the empowering stories for women that we could share. You lights. I’m so grateful.

  For my whole Blackstone Publishing fam. Y’all are such fierce advocates. Lauren Maturo, you wonder. Thank you.

  My dear editor, Peggy Hageman. You ask all the best questions. I adore you.

  So many other lights in my life—please know your kindness has buoyed my heart.

  Thank you, Dr. Raina J. León, editor of the Acentos Review, where Bee’s voice debuted when “Pyre for Waiting: She May Have Been a Witch” appeared in 2012; this journal gives Latinx folks such a generous platform and welcomes us with open arms. I am forever grateful. Thank you, dear Lorinda Toledo, fiction editor at Witness Magazine, where “La Bee Goes Bar Crashing” first appeared in 2017, for your faith in Bee’s story and your astute edits. To my dear sister-in-writing, Frances Badgett, fiction editor at Contrary Magazine, where “Cattle Call Leaves, A Ghost Story” first appeared in 2013, for your first yes to Bee, and your faithful friendship since that time. And for my dearest Stephanie Bryant Anderson, then fiction editor at Up the Staircase Quarterly, where “Labyrinths in Smoke” first appeared in 2012, for opening your heart to Bee and me, beginning the sisterhood I’ve always needed.

  Y’all who said yes and gave me the courage to keep banging down doors and climbing up fire escapes, thank you.

  This book is for the girls and women in the borderlands. I see you. You fierce queens. Keep singing your truths. Keep believing, no matter what. Never let anyone take that beautiful light away from you. Keep rising. Keep crossing bridges. I love you.

  Credits

  Toni Morison. Sula. NY: Knopf/Vintage, 1992.

  Maroon Five. “Come Away to the Water.”

  Simon and Garfunkel: “Bridge over Troubled Water.”

  Emily Dickinson: “A wounded deer.”

  Emily Dickinson. “If I can stop one heart from breaking.”

  Emily Dickinson. “Hope is the thing with feathers.”

  “Harlem” and “Dream” from The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes by Langston Hughes, edited by Arnold Rampersad with David Roessel, Associate Editor, copyright © 1994 by the Estate of Langston Hughes. Used with permission of Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved.

  MGM/Judy Garland. “Somewhere over the Rainbow.”

  Selena. “Bidi Bidi Bom Bom.”

  Shakespeare. “Sonnet 116.”

  Laura Esquivel. Como agua para chocolate.

  Sandra Cisneros. “Loose Woman.” Loose Woman. NY: Knopf, 1994. Reprinted with permission from the author.

  Sandra Cisneros. “You My Saltwater Pearl.” Loose Woman. NY: Knopf, 1994. Reprinted with permission from the author.

  Margery Williams. The Velveteen Rabbit.

  Gloria Anzaldúa. La Conciencia de la Mestiza: Towards a New Consciousness.

  Elvis Crespo. “Suavamente.”

  Stephen King. “Why We Crave Horror Movies.”

  Sandra Cisneros. “Full Moon and You’re Not Here.” Loose Woman. NY: Knopf, 1994. Reprinted with permission from the author.

  Jerry Herman. Hello, Dolly!

  Bob Merrill and Jule Styne. Funny Girl.

  Jennifer Givhan. “I Believed All Poets Were Dead” from Protection Spell. Copyright © 2017 by the University of Arkansas Press. Reproduced with the permission of the University of Arkansas Press, www.UAPress.com

  Excerpt from the poem “Black Blossoms” from Black Blossoms © 2011 by Rigoberto González. Reprinted with permission of Four Way Books. All rights reserved.

  AsapSCIENCE. “The updated Periodic Table Song.”

  Shakira. “My Hips Don’t Lie.”

  Edgar Allen Poe. “The Raven.”

  John Donne. “Song: Sweetest Love I Do Not Go.”

  The Clash. “Should I Stay or Should I Go.”

  Bob Marley. “No Woman No Cry.”

  Emily Dickinson. “After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes.”

  Robert Louis Stevenson. “The Swing.”

  Lynyrd Skynyrd. “Free Bird.”

  H. D. “Eurydice.”

  Margaret Wise Brown. The Runaway Bunny.

  Ana Castillo. So Far from God, W.W. Norton, 1993. 48-49.

  Robert Frost. “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”

  Edna St. Vincent Millay. “First Fig.”

  Emily Dickinson
. “One Need Not be a Chamber to be Haunted.”

  Sandra Cisneros. “It Occurs to Me I Am the Creative/Destructive Goddess Coatlicue.” Massachusetts Review. Vol. 36, Iss. 4, (Winter 1995): 599. Reprinted with permission from the author.

  Excerpt from the poem “Mise-en-scène” from Black Blossoms © 2011 by Rigoberto González. Reprinted with permission of Four Way Books. All rights reserved.

  Edna St. Vincent Millay. “The Suicide.”