by Mara White
A loss so profound that it stole the air from my lungs and plunged me into absolute darkness. Death is the roadblock, the end of the line. I understand the black hole in the universe.
I knew Irma’s love magic well; she’d helped me before. I trusted her too. She knew how devastating unrequited love could be to the developing heart of a young girl.
I remember leaving here, clutching my candles with sweat pouring down my back. I took love magic into my own hands when I had no recourse. I stuck Lucky in a honey jar.
Irma knew then that pain can leave scars, hardening the tender parts of us into impenetrable walls made of built-up resistance. Where the only exit and hope for salvation is the promise of reciprocation from their beloved—a love requited. And in my case, if mutual, then it became even more dangerous. A delirious love leads to a blinding obsession. Lovesickness was only the beginning of my madness. Mami and Irma were terrified to cure me.
Lucky. I still need magic to exorcise you out of me.
“Uf, tiramos la miel hace muchísimo,” Mami says. She waves her hand around in exaggeration. As if the three years since we threw out my honey jar were the equivalent of decades.
My love spells. My precious jar for Lucky. There was certainly magic inside. Full of as much twisting torment as there was pure love. Mami made me dump it in the trash. The jar had become a soup of heartache and joy, a caustic concoction, a memorial to sick love.
“Corazón lastimado, Corazón dañado.” I trail my finger along the dusty shelf of tinctures labeled by hand, bottled up to cure physical maladies as well as mental and emotional. There are dark ones and murky ones, others that appear to be nothing more than clear water.
Sometimes I hate you for leaving me. Sometimes I hate this life without you.
“Siempre lo traes contigo, mi amor. Siempre lo puedo sentir a tu lado.”
He’s always with me. She always senses him by my side.
I’d deck anyone else who tried to say shit like that to me, but with Irma, I let it go. It’s her job. After all these years it would be weird if she didn’t say that kind of stuff. Everyone has something that needs curing. Just find the chink in their armor and voilà, break in through the weak spot.
Irma’s probably got demons of her own hiding behind the blanket partition in the back room. Even Mami’s got big secrets, which for her, I’m a constant reminder of. Her uncle, my father—one and the same person.
I pick up a can of spray that claims to help keep your in-laws away. I want to buy it for Adam, but he probably wouldn’t find it as amusing as I do. Family is everything, but they’ll drive you fucking nuts if you allow them to.
The first time Irma gave me a cleansing, I was sixteen and so sick with love, emotionally, mentally, it had even started to affect me physically. Extinguishing that flame of hope in my young heart was easy; recovery on the other hand, had been a Sisyphean exercise. Living life trying to ignore Lucky was drudgery.
The second time I came, I was sick with grief. I’d lost my other half, the only person in this world who knew all of me. Irma treated the pain, not the love. I took Saint’s tears for sadness, spent more time crying on my knees in a church pew than I was proud of.
Now I’m here again and my problems haven’t faded. Lucky is so heavy on my heart, it’s suffocating. I love my husband, I love my son, even my job. But a part of me is missing; what’s left doesn’t feel like enough.
“Irma, what do you have for me?” She wafts the sage smoke toward me as I approach, then sets it down into a conch shell and moves the smudge away from us.
Irma drops some oil into the palm of her hand, rubs her hands together fiercely to create some heat and friction. She grabs my hands in hers and massages them while she prays under her breath. Her words float by me, unintelligible, belonging to no language and at the same time—all of them. Irma’s hands are incredibly strong, fingers that have worked hard and know their way around the human body. Sharp notes of Palo Santo and Copaiba arise from her massage. To finish, she splashes me with rose water and extracts a perfect white candle from her apron.
“With your right fingernail, scratch his name into the wax.”
My heart thuds, a sacred, resounding drum beat in my chest. Will they watch me, will they judge? What if I write Lucky? Are they expecting me to write Adam? Why does the truest thing about me have to be such a dirty secret?
Mami pulls a bent photo out of her purse. Lucky and me, standing on the front stoop after his high school graduation.
My smile is pure bliss as I squint into the sun. Lucky’s face is turned to mine so that all you see is his profile. It looks like he’s smelling my hair, like he’s about to lean in and take a bite out of the skin at my neck. Our jeans already look out of style and our hairstyles too. Lucky probably wouldn’t be caught dead with two fake diamond stud earrings anymore. I remember how his jealousy heated me through that day. He was always so cocky, quick to anger, a hot-blooded boy who protected his territory. I was angry, turned on, love-struck and barely holding on to my sanity. That was the night he penetrated me with his tongue. The memory flashes white-hot burning tracks through my nerves, muscles and tendons, memories so sharp they cut clear through to the bone.
I make a noise, some sort of a strangled cry of lament and passion tangled up into one.
“Thanks, Mami,” I rasp out. No one even thought for a second I was coming here for Adam.
Mami places the picture under the brass candlestick. I scratch out “Luciano” into the soft wax with my right thumbnail. I want to scratch his name onto my skin, scratch it right into my bleeding heart. I bring my thumbnail to my lips and nibble out the wax. I chew it and swallow it as tears free-fall down my face. Mami squeezes my hand while Irma lights the candle.
I zone out. Go numb. My memories zoom all the way back to the cradle, like a high-speed bullet train whipping past every day of my life. Years with Lucky are seconds, and the days without him are whole lifetimes. My life force is in my throat; I can’t speak and I can’t breathe. I feel Lucky all around me just like Irma told me. He’s so deep inside; he’s an inextricable part of me.
Tears splash onto the counter, each one like a drop of blood; they contain essential elements that are me. We are silent. No one breathes. The candle flickers and goes out.
Luciano, why?
I can’t do this without you.
Antes
There are so many books in my locker—not only textbooks, but overdue ones from the library too, and thoroughly filled notebooks that I should probably get rid of. A few folded notes from Yari that I never bothered to read lie at the bottom; even a couple from Jeremy, and the only one I ever got from Luciano is down there too.
My apple somehow got swallowed up by my backpack; I search with my whole arm submerged in its depths and come up with nothing. I swear I put it in there, I remember washing it in the sink before school, a shiny, un-bruised red one from the crisper drawer in the refrigerator.
A high-pitched squeal calls my attention down the hallway. Lucky has Yari up over his shoulder and she’s mewling in fake protest, pounding her fists on his back. He spins her around and wears a wide smile on his face. Yari’s shirt goes over her head and her bra is now showing for everyone in the hallway.
“Put me down, Luciano!” she pleads. Yari glows when she gets attention from boys. Her cheeks and lips flush a deep pink and her dark eyes sparkle. It makes her even more pretty. My locker slams louder than I expected. I don’t want them to see or, God forbid, catch me staring.
“S’up, Bey?” Willy says. He’s one of the boys who hangs out on our corner.
“Hey, Willy.” I smile and wave, then cast my eyes down in embarrassment. While I want to flirt really badly, I always feel foolish when I actually try to.
Lucky is done spinning Yari and puts her back on her feet. She sways in dizziness and throws her arms around Luciano’s neck, laughing. That’s when I notice the bright red apple that’s gripped in her hand, with a big bite taken out of it.
She giggles and stands on her tippy-toes leaning into him. Lucky wraps his arms around her waist and yanks her closer.
I hate to admit to myself that their stupid shenanigans turn me on. I usually think, Get a room, to any other kids who find it necessary to flirt and make out in the hallway. But watching Lucky touch her sets a blaze through my bloodstream; I both love and hate to watch their chemistry, to imagine what he does to her when no one can see. At the same time, it drives me absolutely, heart-stabbingly crazy; I know they’re not faithful to each other and that they’re just horny teenagers. I don’t think they’re in love, but rather fuck-buddies and good friends.
“Barf,” I say under my breath as I walk straight into their flirting carnival. If there were another hall, I’d take it; hell, if there were another decent high school in the district, I’d transfer.
“What’s up, Beylenny?” Yari belts out when she sees me. She’s biting into my perfect apple while she waggles the fingers of her other hand at me.
“Fuck off,” I say, barely loud enough to register.
Lucky’s brows knit together and he’s jogging up after me. He yanks my shoulder and tries to spin me around. I don’t usually tell her off. Instead, I swallow my pride along with my pain and just grin and bear it.
“What’s wrong, Len? Everything okay?”
“Yari’s always in my stuff!” I say. My hand finds its way to my hip. I want to spout off all of the things Yari does to take advantage of my friendship. But it’s futile; she’ll always stay the same. And I can’t spend my life being a pushover and then decide one day I don’t like it and expect her to behave differently. “I wish I never gave her my locker combination,” I mutter. I’ve never set boundaries, I always let her manipulate me.
Yari walks over after she’s pitched the core in the garbage. Her jeans are painted-on tight and she’s wearing a fluffy white sweater; a crop top, which is against the school dress code even on casual Friday. I’d point that out to her and at the same time remind her that she’s already racked up five infractions this year alone. But she knows and doesn’t care and I wish I didn’t care either. I want to cry when I look at them. Cry, knock their heads together and strangle them both.
“Yari, stay out of Len’s stuff, okay?” Lucky says reluctantly, like he’s not sure how she’ll react. His hands are in his pockets and now he’s not touching her at all.
“But you know I can’t see something good just going to waste,” Yari says. She puts on a pouty face. I get her innuendo. She’ll never let Luciano out of her grip.
“She takes whatever she wants, doesn’t care if it’s mine!” I shoot her a dirty look and Yari sticks her bottom lip out even more.
“Oh my fucking God, Bey, I will buy you something from the vending machine,” she barks back defensively. Yari sighs like I’m being unreasonable.
“Fucking baby,” she breathes.
I grind my teeth hard.
“I wanted an apple, not a candy bar!”
The bell rings and all three of us stand-off in a showdown. They’re the two closest people to me in the whole world, yet we’re caught in a dynamic that is anything but healthy.
“Don’t be later for class,” Lucky softly prods.
“Aren’t you going to walk us to biology?”
Lucky always walks with us because his class is next door. But today he shrugs his shoulders and eyes Yari with a sharp look that seems to signal they’re up to no good. I hate that they have secrets, that he tells her things he would never tell me.
“Yeah, I’ll walk you down there, but then I gotta split.”
I want to tell him he can’t miss any more school but I’m tired of policing both of them.
“What did Willy want?” Lucky asks. His face tightens in scrutiny.
“Just saying hi. I don’t know. Who cares?” I bite back at Lucky defensively.
At the door to the classroom Yari snatches Lucky into a hurried embrace. She slams him into the wall and kisses him dramatically while I roll my eyes and make my way into the classroom.
Tit for tat, Yari. All I did was say hello to Willy and he got jealous. You sleep with his friends and he doesn’t even lay claim to your ass.
Yari walks in five minutes later, her white sweater stretched and pulled, lips swollen from kissing.
She plops down beside me and moves my open book in front of her because she didn’t bother to bring one. I don’t stop her because I actually read the lab. She needs as much help as she can get if she wants to pass tenth grade.
“I’m worried about Lucky,” she says. She unwraps a giant square of bubble gum and licks it, then sticks it in her mouth.
“Why? Where’s he going, anyway?”
“Fucking drugs, Belenny. Lucky’s in deep.”
Después
“Happy birthday, dear Adam, happy birthday to you!”
Mami belts out the song and claps when Adam blows out the candles. She’s almost as enthusiastic about birthdays as my five-year-old. Luke can’t keep his hands out of the frosting. I let him at it and he drags all four fingers of one hand along the side of the cake, then sinks them in his mouth. I cluck my tongue at him and he laughs a belly laugh and smiles at me. His smile looks like Lucky’s when he was that age.
Mami cuts the cake and gives one of the huge blue frosting flowers to Adam. I know he won’t eat it, but in my family you get the decorations on the cake if you’re the birthday boy.
Adam has a scotch, neat, room temperature in his hand. He seems a little out of it and I’m sure this isn’t his first drink. I rub his back through his shirt, then lean down to kiss his cheek.
We already had an argument about the dogs, who are now locked in the spare bedroom. They aren’t invited to the party. Adam isn’t a fan of my two pit bull mutts I rescued from the local dog shelter. But they are babies, the two of them, and completely harmless. They treat Luke like one of their pack and would never touch a hair on his body.
“Happy birthday, baby. I got you something, but I’ll show you later after the party,” I whisper in his ear. Adam looks at me with his brows turned down at the outer edge. It’s his puppy-dog face and I know that he’s suffering. But there’s nothing I can do to take away the pain. He shared this day with his twin, a whole lifetime of birthdays together. And now that he’s gone this day hurts Adam more than all the others.
The ice cream is frozen solid like a rock; I run the scoop under hot water and dish out a bowl for everyone. Adam is opening a package full of socks and undershirts. It’s the universal present Mami buys for all men. Luke is zipping around the apartment on his scooter, buzzed from the sugar. Adam appears to be on the verge of tears if it weren’t for the Scotch holding him together. The tension is high and the sadness-palpable.
Happy Fucking Birthday.
Después
I keep staring down the poor guy and he catches me every time he looks up. I wanna pick his brain for hours, ask him every little detail. I want to find out if he loved her when they were growing up. He got to marry his cousin and it’s just like nothing out of the ordinary. I spit in the dust and think about how much rules and customs differ from place to place, but underneath it all we’re all humans and human nature is the same.
Sameer nods at me a couple times. He’s got on a helmet and aviators, M-16 strapped to his chest, and I wonder if back in Queens he ever imagined doing something like this. I nod my head back at him and we continue our stare-down. Eddie and two other guys are at the entrance and we’re at the exit checkpoint, making sure nobody is coming out with contraband or unaccounted-for boxes. Army base, regulation and procedure. Boring as fuck. We take turns going into the outpost to drink up a little air conditioning.
After lunch I can’t hold it in any longer. I’m pacing, overwhelmed with memories, and this guy Sameer isn’t helping. He’s got my mind racing with unrealistic stuff. Like call Bey, tell her I’m alive and drag her ass over here so we can be a normal couple.
“Yo, Sameer!” I can barely hide the desperat
ion my voice carries as it travels across the checkpoint to him.
“What?”
“You said you were close when you were coming up? Like you already knew way back then?”
He’ll think I’m a shitshow, this guy. Obsessed with only one thing. I try to align myself with a sliver of shade that comes down from a solitary tall palm that’s been planted on this side of the wall. I step into the strip of shade and my shadow disappears except for the head and butt of my gun, the spread of my shoulders.
“Yeah, sure. I mean, I knew her. We weren’t all that close. I got a lot of cousins so I saw them all, you know, on holidays and shit like that.”
“You didn’t fall in love with her back then?”
Sameer takes off his shades and wipes at the sweat that covers his face.
“Naw man, I thought I was gonna grow up and marry Pamela Anderson.”
I laugh out loud at his joke. It breaks some of the tension.
“We got Baywatch. It was kind of outdated, but those red swimsuits and the . . .”
He brings his hands up to his chest to signify the giant breasts and swimsuit cleavage.
“I fell in love with her when I was a kid,” I blurt out. Sometimes you got to get shit off your chest. It feels like a huge fucking relief to say it, like a ton of guilt and bad feelings have been lifted away.
“And you still do?” Sameer asks, but he looks like he already knows.
“So much man, so fucking much.” I shake my head. I’m gonna start crying in front of this guy and he’ll be sorry he took the post.
“Go get her then. You only get one chance—fuck, in a job like this, you gotta make every second you’re with them count.”
“Not that easy, bro.”
“I bet it is. Call her tonight. Tell her you made a mistake and you love her.” He smiles and sharp starbursts of sunlight bounce off of his sunglasses.
“I wish.”
