Down to the Bone

by Mayra Lazara Dole

  Mami pulls me by the arm. “What a barrio! Uy. To think we used to live like this. Come on! Let’s go to my new house. Pedri is home. Jaime and his sister are in the pool.”

  “Take me first to buy Pedri some toys. I promised him.”

  “Later! We’ll all go together. That way, he can choose what he wants.”

  We climb into her glossy car and in a heartbeat, we’re in my mother’s new two-story fancy house with an Olympic-sized pool and immaculate landscaping.

  ***

  After Pedri shows me all his new toys, I slide a bathing suit on him and off he goes to the pool. My mom gives me a tour around the all-white spacious house.

  I follow her around the stark white, shiny marble floors. The living room is colossal, unlike the cozy, small rooms I loved in my old home where everything was crammed into a tiny space. A high-backed, peach-colored sofa, velvet love seats, marble coffee table, tall floor lamps with handblown glass lampshades, are placed in strategic spots, unlike the jumbled fashion at our old home. Large, colorful, modern paintings dominate the walls.

  “I’ve got to pack for my trip,” she says. “Get something to eat, and let’s talk before I show you your new bedroom.” She walks into her room. The thought of my own room here puts a smile on my face.

  I open the sliding glass doors. An early September storm zoomed in this morning and cleared the bumpy black sky of clouds. I take a whiff of the salty, green and flowery smells and I almost feel whole again. I look toward the canal to check for the manatees Pedri says look like cuddly baby elephants from afar. I can’t wait to go down there and see them up close. Pedri said one almost got hurt by a motorboat yesterday. How can some people just not care?

  They are nowhere in sight.

  I walk into the huge white tiled and stainless steel kitchen and find my mom here. She sticks her head inside the refrigerator and picks at flan leftovers. With my thumb and index finger, I flick her big bootie two times really fast. “Flan is excellent for losing weight, Mami.” She lets out a musical laugh that permeates the house. It fills me with happiness she’s back to laughing with me.

  I’m not hungry and don’t eat anything she offers.

  We climb up the winding marble staircase, go out to the second-floor balcony, and sit on rockers, facing the bay. Mild warm breezes gently sway the Alexandra palms.

  Without warning, flashes of Gisela’s face fill my mind. I shut my eyes and push thoughts away to a place from which I hope they never resurface.

  I wish I were robotic, indifferent to humanity, feelings, and attraction so nothing affected me. It would be great to not take myself so seriously and approach life with a light heart, or maybe no heart at all. Robots don’t get waves of emotions attacking them with pain and uncontrollable sobs. They don’t have fear, confusion, conflicts, impatience, urgencies to kiss and make love with other girls and get in trouble for it. I shake my thoughts. What the hell am I thinking? I never want to be a robot.

  I look downstairs and hear a loud sploosh-oosh as Pedri dives into the Olympic-sized pool. I wave at him. “Outstanding, Little Punk!” My heart feels full again.

  He waves back, “Shyly, I did it!” He blows me kisses and I give him a thumbs-up. He’s with Zenaida, Jaime’s pretty and round-as-a-truck-tire sister. She doesn’t take her eyes off Pedri for one second. Even though she’s not old, she looks like a funny elderly lady in her one-piece flowered bathing suit and a green rubber shower cap.

  Jaime, Mami’s well-built, tall husband, is sipping a drink while sitting on the pool steps with his hairy white legs halfway inside the water. From the stories Mami is telling me, I realize he loves my mother and Pedri a great deal and enjoys spending time with them. I’m thrilled about that.

  I sit on my mom’s lap, kiss her cheek, and press my cheek against hers. She kisses me back. “Uy, Shai Sofía Lorena.” Just as I think she’s going to be sweet and affectionate, like she used to be before the Incident, she says, “You’ve put me through such hell. I thought of you every second of the day. I never stopped wanting you to call and tell me you’d changed. I prayed for you to finally let me know who the deranged girl was, the one who wanted to turn you into something you aren’t. But you didn’t. You fiercely protect her and love her more than your own family.”

  I have an instant gut-wrenching reaction as if a horse kicked me in the stomach. I quickly sit on my own rocker.

  There’s no way I’ll tell her now, that things are smoother. We rock for a little while in silence.

  I wish I could tell her about the fun and deep love I shared with Marlena and the loneliness I felt after our breakup. I long to talk about what I’ve been through and everything Mami put me through, but it’ll make things worse. Isn’t that what mothers are supposed to be for—for talking about important things?

  I’m not in the mood to listen to her speak about morality. No matter what I tell her, I’ll always disappoint my mother. Something inside me wants to be comforted by her but I know it’s not going to happen. Fear is in the air. Since she thinks I’m at fault, and I can’t speak to her about my life, I change the subject before she becomes enraged, and talk about Jaime.

  “Do you love him?”

  She glances up but avoids eye contact. “Of course I love him. I would never marry a man I didn’t love. You know, when Papi died and left us without a penny, I took on three jobs, sewing coats in factorias for rich Americanos. For years I didn’t have a life. I will never forget your father. But now I’m starting to live and love again.”

  I want to make her laugh. She always gets sad when she reminisces about the past.

  “Remember when I was little? One day you told me, ‘Shylita Sofía Lorena, you have a cold. If you put one foot on the porch, you’re going to get it.’ But I did it anyway.” My mom laughs, remembering. “You ran after me. I kept screaming, ‘Mami, I didn’t put a foot on the porch, just a toe!’”

  “You’ve always had a strong personality, Shai.” She chews on the inside of her cheeks.

  “I wonder who I inherited it from,” I tease.

  “Definitely not me!” She smiles and her eyes glow. “Ask my friends; they’ll tell you I’m suave y dulce.”

  “If your friends think you’re soft and sweet, they’re on hardcore drugs.”

  She lets out a colorful laugh, like the splashes of waves Pedri makes when he dives into the pool. I love it when my mother cracks up; it makes me feel that maybe she still loves me.

  “¡Ave María!” She points to a neighbor tanning in her backyard in a bikini. “Skin and bones. And you,” she pinches my stomach, “you transformed from bony to slender because you came out like Papi’s side of the family. They all have gorgeous bodies, not an ounce of fat on them.”

  Mami speaks about how fashionable I look in my shorts and matching top outfit. She talks about everything except important things. She can’t handle anything deep. She starts on about buying this and that so she can keep decorating the new house. The only thing I’d purchase, if I could, would be understanding. I’d take it by the hand and bring it right here and sit it next to my mother. She needs a huge dose of it.

  She changes the subject from buying things, to me.

  “You have the figure of a professional dancer, or a model, but you chose a man’s job . . . planting trees. Uy, Shai Sofía Lorena. If I had known you were going to turn out this way.”

  She searches her dress pocket for diet spearmint gum, unwraps two, throws me one, and sticks one in her mouth.

  I chew fast, blow bubbles, and smack them shut inside my mouth, thinking I no longer need to blur the lines between fiction and fact. I can openly tell her the truth about my life now, but I must stay quiet about the years I lied. I used to make up so many stories about boys I liked. As smart as she is, she never traced the fibs to my real-life events: lovemaking with Marlena. My feelings and truths were irrelevant, as long as I wasn’t deviating from the plans she’d made for me. Honesty would have brought me unhappiness, so it was important that trut
h be overshadowed by lie after lie. Now that I no longer have to fib, I’ll prove to her she provided me with a moral compass I’m happy to follow. She’ll be overwhelmed with joy knowing I’ll never again stray from the one-way road she painstakingly designed for me.

  She looks down at her freshly painted, long, rose-colored fingernails. I almost blurt something out about London, but it seems neither of us wants to bring up the topic. Maybe she’s scared of what I’ll say.

  I play with the tips of my hair. It’s too hard talking to my mother about anything serious. I wish I could tell her the entire truth, starting from the day I fell for Marlena, not just about my current reality. Wouldn’t that be great?

  She stands abruptly. “¡Madre mía! I forgot that while cleaning my closet before moving, I found a coat I used to use when I was skinny.”

  “And when was that, Mami Pastrami with the big culiwami, when you were in Abuelita’s womb?”

  “¡Tu madre!” She wiggles her middle finger in the air. What a great feeling to have my mom goofing with me again. My smile barely fits in my face.

  I walk on what now seems even whiter marble floors into the colossal den. One wall is filled with wall-to-wall mirrors. On the rest of the stark white walls hang expensive colorful modern paintings in detailed thick golden frames. There’s an antiquated rug under an antique coffee table. In every corner there are tall, green, exotic plants.

  I plop myself on the plastic-covered peach velvet love seat wondering when she’s going to show me my bedroom. I guess I could go find it myself but I want it to come from her. I’m sure she’d like to see the surprise on my face.

  In a heartbeat, she’s back, carrying a bulky coat she wants to force me to try on. “Winters are getting colder in Miami. Last year it went down to thirty degrees. You have to be prepared.”

  “That coat’s for Alaska. Not now, Mami.”

  “¡Ave María! You were born with your hand up in the air, saying, ‘Wait a minute!’”

  “I won’t try it on now; it’s one hundred degrees out. Later. I promise.”

  She plunks on the couch, grabs my hand, pulls me to her, takes a container of pins out of her purse, and lifts up the coat. “Remember when Papi bought it for me in New York?”

  I remember clearly. Mami, Pedri and I used to hop on a train every summer to visit my dad when he worked in New Jersey at Monmouth Park racetrack. My best friend in the neighborhood aside from Soli, Gloria, her mom, and other neighbor friends, along with Soli and Viva, waved goodbye. My friends and I had tears in our eyes as they watched the train move forward, and I saw them get smaller and tinier from a distance.

  We have trouble talking about my father without breaking down, but we try.

  “Of course I remember this coat.” I hold it in my arms, bury my face in it, and inhale all the memories of my loving father. I couldn’t have had a better dad. There was no father in the world as sweet and kind as mine. I’m sure if he were alive now, I’d be safe and protected at home, where I belong. If my mom had made a stink about showing me a lesson, even though he had a passive personality and she wore the pants, he’d have stepped in.

  I try on the coat, and it’s a bit large on the sides. Mami has me stand in front of her, with my arms spread out. She sticks pins all the way from under the arms to the hem. I feel a need to blurt out something about London, to jump-start the conversation, to get it out of the way, but nothing comes out of my mouth.

  Even though the central air is on, beads of sweat drip down my eyebrows. The thick fuzzy black coat is making me itchy, but I don’t take it off. I want it on me. I need the memories of Papi’s love around me.

  My mother’s eyes are watery. “Papi was so good to me, you and Pedri. Remember when he used to carry you, and lift you up in the air, and sing, ‘¡La chiquitica más linda del mundo!’”

  Mami tries hard not to cry when she says my dad’s words—The prettiest little girl in the whole wide world—but tears rain down her face anyway.

  I feel like I’ve swallowed a golf ball and it got stuck in my throat. Everything I’ve lost flashes in front of my eyes: my dad, Marlena, my reputation, Mami, my friends, my school, my old neighborhood.

  I want to console my mom, but instead I ask her if she has ice cream.

  “There’s mamey ice cream in the freezer.”

  “Want some?” It’s my best effort at making her feel good, even though I’m adding to the expansion of her two-ton bootie.

  “Sí.”

  I carefully take off the coat and give it to her. I scoop the ice cream into two white porcelain bowls and hand her one. I plunk next to her on the sofa, hoping we can slowly build a bond of closeness, mutual respect and love again. I just have to be perfect and try not to ever upset her or say anything about my real feelings.

  She devours her ice cream, scrapes the last drop from the bowl, and licks the spoon. “Ahhh, I’m going to open a can of chicken broth and heat it up for dinner. I can’t keep eating like this.” She goes to the sink and washes our bowls.

  I bite my nails, thinking that soon one of us will need to bring up the conversation about my being completely changed and in love with London. I’m scared of my mother’s reactions. We’re getting along so well, I don’t want to spoil anything.

  She comes back. We talk about what color she wants me to paint a fruit tree mural inside one of the walls of her bathroom. “Pastel ochre-yellow and salmon,” I say.

  “¡Qué horrible! That’s the color of monkey shit and diarrhea. Neon orange is the ‘in’ color. You have to paint the fruits bright orange, with many hanging mandarinas.”

  I agree, just because I’m about to explode. I can’t keep it in any longer. Without thinking, I blurt, “I’m trying to fall in love with London, Mami.”

  Her jaw drops open and her eyes widen. “Trying? You mean you haven’t changed?”

  “No. No. That’s not what I meant at all.” My heart is pounding hard. I look out the glass doors toward Pedri and then back into her eyes.

  She arches her eyebrows something big. “Then what did you mean?” She breathes fast and heavy. “You’ve been with him five months. You’re either in love with him or not, but trying isn’t good enough. Which one is it?” Without giving me a chance to speak, she says, “Tell me once and for all if you’ve really changed or not.”

  “Of course, Mami. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t.” I should have known better. What an idiot I am to not have worded things perfectly to her satisfaction. One more slip and I’m a goner. Things were going so great. I’m a stupid, mindless, dim-witted, idiot!

  “So what did you mean about trying to fall in love with him?” She doesn’t get off the subject.

  “What I mean is I’m falling in love with him.” I say plastic, empty things I know she’d love to hear. “You should see him, Mami, he’s six feet tall. I’m five feet five now. He’s so gorgeous in a skinny, model-type way. His muscles pop out all over the place. He’s kind of like a thin, strong, superhero. You’ll love him.”

  My mom doesn’t give two cucumbers if a guy has a brain. She just cares about my being with a male, and that he’s good-looking so our kids will be beautiful. She still hasn’t even asked me a thing about my life. She might not even care that I dropped out of school as long as I’m on the “decent” road to one day in the future getting married and having kids.

  She smiles big. “Oh, well, then, that’s fantastic, Shai. He sounds like a hunk who just needs a little fattening up. Don’t you worry about that. Bring him here for dinner every night after we get back from Europe and soon he’ll have pecs to die for.” Her smiles fades away. “I’m sorry to tell you I can’t have you back until I’m absolutely sure you’ve changed. I won’t go through the pain and humiliation you put me through again, especially not in front of Jaime. He can never find out.”

  My heart drops in my chest. I look to Pedri and wonder how he’ll take the bad news. I promised him I was moving back. I never want him to stop trusting me. I’d like him to feel he
can always confide in me and know I’ll always be there whenever he needs me. If he loses trust in me, he’ll feel I’ve left him out in the cold. I’d rather die than have that happen between us.

  My mom keeps on. “I told everyone you’re living at a friend’s house in Ft. Lauderdale whose mother is seriously ill. I said you take care of her every day after school, for pay. Our family, friends and new neighbors all think you’re very responsible. Don’t you dare let them find out otherwise.”

  I feel my eyes watering and blink many times to make sure I don’t shed a tear in front of her. I stay quiet, looking down at my feet. She must be blind. I’m one of the most respectable, trustworthy, loyal and overly responsible girls around. It’s surreal I’m such a failure to her.

  “Right now your feelings for London are iffy. While living here you can’t go back to immoral behavior. Pedrito could, by mistake, have read one of those texts.” She repeats, “The day you move to this house is the day you’re absolutely sure you’re in love with a boy.” She shakes her head. “Tell me more about London.”

  I stay far away from my feelings of hurt and disappointment in order to not get her riled up. I talk about London, how I met him at a nonalcoholic teen dance club, and how he has a few acne scars I think make his features interesting, in a rugged-type way, and so I don’t want him to laser them away. All the things she wants to hear. I leave out that the dance club was Papaya’s, and whenever London kisses me, I miss girls more than ever. She obviously wants a stinking liar for a daughter. And that’s what she’s getting. A colossal, hard-core, stinking liar!

  17—Inside Out, Upside Down

  Every weekday these past two months I’ve spent time with Pedri, after work. After helping him with homework, we draw while playing a stream-of-consciousness game I invented: he says everything on his mind, all his thoughts and feelings even if they’re sad, while creating a story on the sketchpad. We sit facing one another with folded legs in front of the coffee table, drawing, while the little storyteller with the lingering scent of bubblegum talks nonstop. Surprisingly, he’s got a photographic memory. His troubles with English grammar I always helped him with probably stem from his pent-up feelings about my mom having thrown me out of the house. He invents stories, about green and yellow striped flying snakes that rescue sisters from colossal gorillas and barking roosters, that crack me up. Then he swears up and down, “They’re for real. Why don’t you believe me?”