A low moan emerged from someplace deep in my chest. Rosario was right, I was a pathetic middle-class white girl, who needed to make her out as worthless in my head just so I’d feel better about myself. I had to tear her down to nothing, to envision her as a wetback selling oranges out the back of her truck on the freeway. I had to obliterate her in my head just so I could stop feeling like I’d been rejected by someone I could never have.
A bittersweet sensation flooded my consciousness as I suddenly saw myself as my parents’ daughter. An entire childhood of hearing their muttering at the breakfast table as they read the paper and complained about this or that kind of person moving into the neighborhood, hearing their admonishing about crossing the street when you see this or that type – and all of my protestations, endless arguments with them about how everybody is equal, and nobody is at fault just because of the skin color they were born with – it all fell apart as I digested the understanding that I had unintentionally internalized so much of it. I hadn’t walked away unscathed of their bigotry; it had been planted deep inside me, like a brambling weed that fed on my own feelings of worthlessness and rejection.
The barbed roots of my parents’ hatred took my breath away and I collapsed in a patch of dry grass and molehills. High in the hills overlooking the Hollister valley, there was nothing around me but the sound of wind through the leaves and the buzz of nearby crickets.
I sobbed, allowing every secret prejudice I’d ever hidden from myself to surface as a black cloud of desolation – as a child, crossing the street when seeing a Negro walking toward me because my mother told me they were dangerous people; as a teenager, ignoring petitions and marches for various human rights causes. I thought then that I was being smart, staying away from unpleasant, divisive issues like politics or street riots, when in reality it was my inactivity – my liberal, moral inertia – that had contributed to a repressive climate where nothing ever changed.
All Rosario had done is look out for me. She never hesitated to take me in when I was in trouble, to be the strong shoulder I needed to lean on in my time of misery. And this was how I repaid her kindness and the kindness of her sweet grandmother, along with all those lovely people who accepted me as their guest without question.
How could I, even for a moment, regard Rosario in such an ugly way? How was I capable of that? In a moment I would remember for the rest of my life, a moment of breathlessness and clenched fists, as my pulse beat hard in my throat and tears blinded my vision, an answer came swift and hard: because I didn’t want to face the truth that I loved her.
I was so angry because I had fallen in love, madly and completely. This feeling traversed beyond the strong desire to touch her face, to hold her hand, to be held by her – I was intoxicated by her essence, her soul, the very being that she was, and this love was timeless and had nothing to do with the form her spirit had descended in. I would love her forever, whether she reciprocated it, whether she even wanted me as a friend after she knew the truth of how I felt about her. Rosario’s tenderness, the vulnerability behind the fierceness of her eyes, all of it lingered in my heart – and I understood her more than I ever understood anything in my life.
But I hated her too, because I hated myself. And hate myself I did. Not only because I had fallen in love with a girl, but because the intensity of my affection rendered me completely at her mercy. In so many ways, I wished she would force me to submit to her desire, rather than feel this overwhelming guilt at having chosen to lie with a woman. The guilt of knowing that I would willingly give my life for just a kiss from her, for a sign, however brief, that she cared for me also.
Submerged in the tears that stained my face and made long wisps of hair cling to my cheeks, I did not hear Rosario approaching. She climbed the hill slowly, perhaps uncertain as to whether to approach me or stay back until my sobs subsided. She stepped over a rock that skipped under her foot and I looked up, startled. At the precise moment our eyes met, everything seemed to melt away and there was only a swirl in the air that encircled the two of us, freezing us inside a timeless moment that I would remember for the rest of my life.
She took all of me in: the pale face, wet eyes, crumpled dress, a bare knee skinned raw from when I’d collapsed. “Diana....,” she faltered. “I looked hard for you. Thought you got lost.”
I wiped my nose with the back of my hand and refused to answer.
“Why are you so upset?” Rosario asked.
I just looked at her wordlessly. A part of me shook like a leaf but I didn’t alter my gaze. I felt a last tear slide slowly down my cheek.
She took another step toward me, hesitated, then slowly eased herself to the ground next to me. The sky above wore a coat of celestial blueness mixed in with golden haze, and I flashed back to a time when I was a little girl and sailed on an ocean liner for the first time. For hours I couldn’t take my eyes off that translucent spot where the water met the horizon. ‘That spot you’re looking at,’ my father said to me, holding me up in his arms, ‘that is eternity.’
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I heard Rosario say.
My eyes came back to rest on her beautiful face. I knew she wouldn’t make it easy for me to say it. I knew that if I took this path there would be no going back.
“You must have a lot of straight girls after you, huh?” I sniffed. “You’re used to it.”
She shrugged. “It’s happened once or twice. I prefer not to lead them on. I don’t like being involved with straight women. Too complicated.”
I scoffed and avoided her gaze. “I’m not like them,” I said.
She leaned forward. “I know –”
“No, you don’t know,” I repeated.
Seconds passed, each with the weight of a hundred years. The sound of my pulse was deafening in my ears, so much so that I was surprised she didn’t hear it.
“I love you,” I said, allowing those three simple words to echo through the valley, reverberate down the hills, and smash against the boulders and rocks of that golden country.
She opened her mouth in response, but stopped herself. She stood rooted in place for a long time, looking at me quietly. I covered my face with my hands and hid away from her gaze. “I love you so much,” I repeated, shutting my eyes tight.
Slowly, I felt her hand traveling up my back, its heat piercing through my spine. I refused to look at her, sickened by my own admission.
Her touch grew insistent, demanding attention. She caressed my shoulders and said, “Diana, it’s okay.”
I started crying again. “I don’t want to feel this way!”
“It’s okay,” she repeated. “I’m so sorry.”
Then she scooted closer to me, so close that our legs were nearly touching. I felt her stroking my hair, her hand lingering over each strand, examining it, turning it over in the sunlight.
“I love the way your hair falls over your shoulders,” she said.
I peeked at her out of the corner of my eye. She was calm, smiling. “You’re beautiful, Diana.”
I sniffed again. “Are you crazy? Just look at me, I’m a total mess.”
That made her laugh. “I’m glad you told me your secret,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
“Because now I can tell you that you’re beautiful and you won’t be offended that some crazy queer is making a pass at you.”
Could she really find me beautiful? Her simple confession rendered me speechless. Was she making a pass? No, she couldn’t have meant that, hadn’t she always seen me as a confused little girl who was more trouble than was worth her time? Flustered, I stared down at the ground, trying to interpret this new development. My face was burning with an odd mixture of embarrassment and excitement, my skin so red-hot it felt as though it would singe me if I were to wipe the hair from my cheeks.
Rosario reached over and lifted my chin up so she could look into my face. I stared back at her wide-eyed, startled at the intimacy of her touch. Her gaze was firm, probing.
“Ar
e you sure?” she said, more a statement that a question. Her expression was deep and unwavering. What she meant was, is this more than a crush. Are you sure you’re not mistaken about falling for a woman. Are you sure this is the road you want to take? It’s not too late, you can still laugh it off as a silly transgression, you can still walk away and pretend all this was just a bad dream.
I nodded and watched her face soften imperceptibly. “What am I going to do now?” I asked miserably. “I don’t want to be –”
“—in love?” she smiled. “You can be queer or straight, but love always feels the same way.”
With those words she leaned toward me and kissed me, a deep, persistent kiss that made my body feel as though it was on fire.
A wild beast awoke in me then. I reached for the back of her neck and touched the warm skin underneath her collar, pulling her toward me. She didn’t need an invitation. Her kisses reached within me, making me melt inside. She pushed me back onto the grass, the taste of her kiss mixing with the salty remnants of my tears.
The afternoon sun was blinding and I buried my face inside Rosario’s shoulder, biting her neck. She growled softly and climbed on top of me, pressing me back onto the ground. I closed my eyes as her hands and lips began to explore my face, my mouth, my throat. Then she moved downward, cupping my breast. I moaned and bit my lip, an explosion of sensations coursing through me.
Opening my eyes again, I saw Rosario watching me closely, propped up on an elbow, her breath a hot wind against my face. “How does it feel?” she asked.
“God, don’t stop,” I breathed.
Laughing, she whispered in my ear: “That’s what I like to hear.”
Her kisses became more insistent now, deeper, sending me soaring into the air. I sank my fingernails into her back. I wanted to devour her, press her body so close to mine we would meld together and merge as one being. She pulled herself on top of me, the sweet weight of her body rendering me captive to her desire.
Her hands traveled all over me, probing, studying my body and all its curves. She pressed her mouth over my breast. I felt her teeth grazing my nipple through the thin fabric of my dress. I moaned louder as she quickened to undo the dress’ front buttons, which unfortunately came all the way down to my waist. It took all I had to restrain myself from tearing my own dress off. She reached underneath the light brassiere and grasped my naked flesh, squeezing my nipples hard.
“Oh, God,” I whimpered. “Rosario…”
“You are so beautiful, querida,” she repeated, her breath hot inside my ear. “I love touching you.”
She pushed herself on top again, her leg parting mine, thrusting her pelvis forward. I shuddered, feeling the wetness spreading between my legs.
“Have you ever been with somebody?” Rosario asked, kissing my neck.
“N…no,” I sighed.
“That’s all right,” she replied, her roaming fingers slowing down, lingering on my skin, touching everywhere.
“Oh God, what are you doing to me?” I asked, pulling at her hair.
She laughed. “I’m doing what you wanted me to do.”
Her hand reached down unhurriedly, bit by bit, taking hold of my skirt and pulling it above my knees. I shuddered as I felt the rough denim of her jeans against my bare thighs. Fear made my body tense slightly, my leg muscles clenching together. Rosario felt the hesitation and kissed my neck. “It’s okay, I’ll take it slow,” she said, her warm hands now caressing my knee. She moved ever so slowly toward my trembling thighs, parting them slightly.
I’d never been touched by someone in those spots and I couldn’t believe the electrical impulses that her relentless stroking triggered through my flesh. I arched my back toward her, gasping, the weight of her body pressing hard into me. I shuddered as I felt her fingers slip through the waistband of my cotton underwear and reach into the fire between my legs. I was melting into the earth, turning into a river of lava, a roar of flames shooting into my brain.
“Oh my God, Diana,” she breathed into my ear, “You’re so wet. The things I want to do to you.”
She kissed me hard, her tongue forcing my lips apart, conquering my mouth. Her fingers was immersed in my wetness, dipping deeper into me, until she was there, about to enter me. She hesitated.
“Please,” I begged her, my nails digging into her shoulder.
Suddenly she was inside me and I gasped, a mingling of pleasure and pain coursing through me. She was splitting me open, two of her fingers reaching deep into the core of my being. She thrust slowly, deeper and deeper. I moaned and shut my eyes. An intoxicating scent drifted from a patch of small purple windflowers behind my head, permeating my senses.
“Do you want me to stop?” Rosario whispered.
I shook my head. “It feels so good and so tender all at the same time.”
She waited until I grew accustomed to the sensation of fullness, then thrust again, this time more insistently. The pain was still there, but this time the sense of pleasure was stronger, forcing tears from the corners of my eyes. I wanted to be consumed in the most absolute sense: to be taken by force, to be used over and over until I screamed for mercy.
My nails sank sharply into her back. A sound came out of my throat that I didn’t recognize, a primal, animal growl that granted her permission to use me as she would. My back arched up once more and I squeezed my thighs tightly around her hips. Rosario pushed herself into me, fucking me harder, until the earth and sky had melted into a crescendo of fire between my legs and I could hear nothing but the pounding of my heart as my body erupted into a long, shuddering climax.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I love this valley,” Rosario said, breathing in the air speckled with the scent of wildflowers. Her hand run gently over the green blades of grass that grew between us. “I have all sorts of memories here – some good, some bad, but my childhood is here, in this earth. I remember running around everywhere as a kid, playing high in these hills.” Her eyes scrutinized the surrounding valleys. The orange underbrush made the landscape glow a golden russet under the sunset.
It was getting cooler and I began to button up my dress, shivering as I felt the traces of Rosario’s touch against to my flesh. “Will you still come back here to visit? Even when you make it big – you know, in rock’n’roll?” I joked.
“These are my hills, not some land-owner’s. My people’s blood and sweat worked this earth, made those trees you see there grow.” She paused and smiled. “When I sing, I sing for them – the poor, the queer, the voiceless. They give strength to my own voice, make me strive harder so I can sing their song back to them.”
“When you move around so much, do you have anyplace you call home? I mean, before you moved to Pacoima.”
She laughed. “My home is everywhere, Diana. With my people, my family… we make our own home and pack it up and take it with us wherever we go. I remember traveling with the seasons, year after year – spring for grape-picking, summers for the fruit, then cotton-picking…we followed the sun.”
“I think that’s beautiful,” I said, grasping my knees to my chest and taking in the last rays of sunlight as they sank behind the horizon. “You follow the sun wherever it goes. That is your home.” I looked sideways at her, grinning. “I want to feel such freedom too, to feel as light as a bird, about to fly to God knows where.”
“You don’t ever feel like that?”
I shook my head. “I’ve always feel like something’s holding me back. Keeping me from saying what I really want to say, telling me that I’ll look stupid if I take a risk and do something I haven’t tried to do before.”
Rosario smiled at me fondly. “Like dance?”
“I wish I could dance. I wish I could follow the sun too.”
“Nothing holds you back except for yourself,” she said, reaching for me. “And me, of course!”
We tumbled back onto the grass where she kissed me roughly. I inhaled the scent of her sweat, infused with the sharp tang of earth. Closing my eyes,
I breathed in the remnants of sunshine caught in her hair.
The sky was an unusual shade of purplish-mauve by the time we found our way back to the camp. Flushed, we held hands and walked slowly, our arms touching, until the laughter and drunken cheering grew closer. We stood slightly apart then, involuntarily brushing grass and wrinkles from our clothes.
“How do you feel now?” she whispered lightly.
I flushed. “Fantastic.” Everything was so sharp and crisp, as if I’d just drunk one of my father’s Sunday morning espressos.
A strident voice interrupted our reverie.
“So where were you?” Carmen blocked our path, hands on hips. Her feet were planted firmly in the ground as though she was bracing for a fight. A deep frown split her forehead while beads of sweat gathered on her upper lip.
Rosario made the mistake to look at me for a split second, but it was enough. Carmen’s face lit up as though she had figured out something. “I thought you said nothing was going on with your little gringa.”
“Nothing was,” Rosario replied coolly.
“So what’s this? Es ella tu mujer?” Carmen gestured at me with a flick of the wrist.
I took a step forward. “If you have a problem with me, you tell me to my face.”
“Diana, let me handle this,” Rosario said wearily and looked back to Carmen, who smirked.
“But –”
“Just give us a minute alone,” she repeated. “Please.”
The rise in her voice indicating she wasn’t going to debate this. Steaming, I marched back to the tent. What more was there to be discussed? What right did Carmen think she had, to demand Rosario’s attention like this, to make her jump on command like a circus dog through hoops?
I slipped under the covers and curled up into a small ball, trying to forget the sensation of Rosario’s hands all over my body, the dampness that still lingered in my underwear. Anxiety gripped my chest; what if Carmen convinced Rosario to take her back? Would what had happened between us on the hill mean nothing?
Follow the Sun Page 12
