“Suzy . . . ?”
Finally they call me. Mami and I go behind the mysterious closed door, and everyone in the waiting room stares at us with a look of jealousy. I almost feel guilty for being called, especially since the mom with all the kids is still out there. Now they are jumping from chair to chair while the mom keeps her head down. Maybe they should have called her first.
“Get on the scale.”
The nurse doesn’t mess around. I stand on the step and she moves the weight back and forth.
“Hmmm, you lost a little weight since last time, and that’s with your jacket still on. You should be gaining, not losing.”
“Really?”
“Ay, que niña es, no come.”
“Follow me.” The nurse takes us into a room. I shove off my boots, jump on the examining bed, lie back, and wait for the doctor.
“He’ll be with you in a minute.” After the nurse walks out, I listen to the voices that seep in through the wall. We sit and wait and wait and continue to wait in the small room, and I study the posters on the wall. There’s one that details the human body, another one that shows a very detailed diagram of the stomach, including the digestive system. Interesting, I think as I try to read them while holding on to my own stomach. The wait seems like hours, and I stare at the ceiling. I wonder how many other sick people have lain on this very same examining table.
Finally the door opens. I sit up. “Cómo están? ¿Cómo está Tony?”
“Hola, Doctor. Estamos bien, nomas que esta niña . . .”
He turns his attention toward me and begins to check my eyes and mouth. He then checks my heart with his stethoscope and looks in my ears.
“Lie down, mijita.” My eyes turn from side to side. I look at Mami, turn to Dr. García, then look at the wall. I take a deep breath and lie down, and he begins to press on my stomach. He listens to it with his stethoscope.
“Hmmm . . . Let’s draw some blood and see.”
The nurse comes in with her gloves and prepares to do her task with all the vials. She wraps a tourniquet around my arm and stabs me with a needle. In a second, it’s done.
“You can rest in the waiting room.”
Fine, we might as well wait in the holding pen, aka “the lobby”; we’ve already been here all day anyway. We go back into the blah waiting room, Mami picks up one of the Good Housekeeping magazines on the table, and I curl myself into a ball on the chair. The lady sitting across from us stares at me, and I can’t help but think she might be the substitute teacher who we had the other day when Mrs. Fritz was out sick.
I look down at the floor and close my eyes. I get up to go to the bathroom. The lady keeps staring at me but doesn’t say a word. She’s making me think about all the issues at school, so I quickly walk away.
In the bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror. That only makes me feel worse. My face looks pale. Am I sick? I stick my finger in my mouth, trying to throw up and prove to Mami that I am sick, but nothing comes out. How can it? I haven’t eaten. I wash my hands and walk into the holding pen. When I get back to my chair, the lady is gone. Thank God I don’t have to look at her anymore.
“Suzy . . . ?”
Yes! They didn’t forget about me. Mami and I stand up and head toward the door.
“Room number two, please. The doctor will be right there.” Here we go again, another two hours before he comes in.
This time he surprises us. The doctor comes in just a few minutes later, with the nurse following. He looks over at Mami.
“Do you mind if I talk to Suzy privately?”
Mami looks at me, and I nod. Then she leaves the room, and the doctor sits on his stool and scoots closer to me, with the nurse standing behind him, taking notes.
“Mijita, I’ve known you all your life. If there is something that you need to talk about, you can talk to me. Is everything all right with you at home?”
“Yes.”
“Is everything all right with you at school?
“Yes.” No, not at all.
“Is there something that’s bothering you?”
“No.” Obviously, there is.
“Are you having problems with friends or kids at school?”
“No.” You could say that.
“You know, you can always talk to a teacher, principal, or counselor if you need to.”
“I know.” Yeah, right.
“Well, then if there’s nothing else you want to tell me. I guess your stomachache will pass.”
He gives me one more moment to speak up, but I let it go by.
“Okay,” he says. “Let me call your mami in.”
He steps out, and I put my head down. How could I tell him? How could I tell him anything? He wouldn’t understand. He fixes people with shots and medicine. He can’t fix my problems.
Mami walks in and sits down.
“All the blood work is fine. I’ll give Suzy a doctor’s note so she can go back to school. If there’s something else bothering her at any point, bring her back.”
“Gracias, Doctor.” Mami helps me down from the table and walks out of the room, stopping at the desk to pay.
“Well, Dr. García says everything is fine, Suzy. Do you need to tell me anything?”
“No.” Another lie.
We weave past the blah waiting room with new faces sitting in the hard chairs waiting for their names to be called, then step out to the parking lot, where our monster mobile is. I lie down in the back seat, and we drive home.
“I still feel sick.” I roll over as Mami turns back and looks at me with her eyes wrinkling up.
“Now I’ll call Mina.” As soon as we get home, I crawl into my bed.
“No se le quita el dolor y ya vio al doctor.” I can hear Mami talking to Mina from our bedroom while my hands press down on my stomach.
“Ahorita, sí, estamos listas.” Then the phone slams down, ending the call.
She comes back into my room and sits down on the bed as I close my eyes and protect myself from the flashing light attacking my window. Under the quilted bedcover with the loose threads and signs of wear, I curl up into a tiny ball, covering my ears from the crashing noises coming from outside.
“Vamos a ir con Mina.” I take off the covers and look at Mami.
“Why? I don’t feel like going anywhere. Please, Mami, I don’t want to go. I just can’t right now. Can’t she come here?” She places her arm on my back and helps to lift me up.
“She’s the expert, and she needs us to go to her house. Diana, ayúdame. Ven con nosotros.”
My sister helps my mom guide me into the back seat of our monster mobile. As I lie down, Diana leans over to me.
“You’re going to get the egg.”
“I’m not hungry . . .” I say. I’m not in the mood to joke, but it feels good to make her laugh.
When we reach the end of the block, Daniela, Mina’s daughter, comes to our car window to talk to Mami and then peers into the back.
“What happened to her?” She looks at me, but I turn away, wanting to throw up.
“Rápido, niñas, va a llover. Vamos al cuarto de jugetes. Ponla en la cama,” Mina orders, and they rush me inside.
An old and musty mixture tickles my nose. The house is rather new, but inside, it seems too perfect. The tiny bathroom by the kitchen always has the same dusty decorative towels with a wet-dog aroma.
I have been to this house many times. There are three bedrooms. One is for the parents, one is for Daniela, and the other room is the extra room where Mina does the “egg thing.” When I was little, it was my favorite room—full of board games, old dolls, and Barbies. The board games were the best part of the entire room. Every single game you could think of was stacked on those shelves. There was a table in the middle of the room with a chess game in progress. On the floor were individual cases full of
every single Barbie that was available. They even had two Kens. That was where we would always meet.
Today I hate this room. Next to the wall, dozens of stuffed animals cover a small bed. Mina places her arm next to the plush display on the bed and sweeps everything off at once.
“Acuéstala aquí.” Mami picks me up and places me on the tiny bed. Diana walks out, looking at me with a smirk, wrinkling her nose.
“Where are you going?” I ask. “Stay here.”
“No, thanks,” she says. “I don’t want them to do the egg thing to me. I’m going to find Daniela.”
By now Mina is back in the room, holding something in her hand, and she begins to pray over me in fast Spanish with Mami joining in. In the background, I can hear laughter and the piano keys banging. “Chopsticks,” maybe.
“Levanta las pijamas.” She tells Mami to lift up my pajama top. I now see what she has in her hand, and she rubs it on my stomach. The ice on my skin makes me shake with chills.
“No, Mami, please tell her to stop.” I hate the feel of the clammy shell, but she continues to rub it on my back, head, arms, and all over me while the prayers continue. It’s freaking me out.
“Santa Maria, Madre de Dios . . .” she repeats, faster and faster.
“What are you doing? You’re scaring me!” I say.
Mami reassures me everything’s fine.
“Shhhhh, cálmate. Don’t worry.”
Mina continues praying and rubbing the egg all over my stomach. I just want it to end.
“Please, God, don’t let her do anything bad to me.”
She looks right into my eyes then and POPPPP, she breaks the white shell, pours out the gooey white and yolk in a glass of water, and sets it under the bed.
She is done.
“Ahora sí. Ya la cure del ojo.”
“What, what do you mean? Are you sure?”
“Ay, mijita, tienes que entender como trabaja el mundo.”
“How can I know how the world works?”
“Mucha gente tiene mal en el corazón. Se ponen celosos y después uno se enferma. Cuando no se alivía uno, es que alguien te hizo ojo. Te vieron con mal intenciones. A lo mejor no te tocaron tu cabeza. Pero no te preocupes; yo se como aliviarte de eso. Te vas a comenzar a sentir mucho mejor.”
Mina explains how some people may have evil in their hearts. If an evil-hearted person is jealous of someone or expresses bad intentions, it can make the person sick. And when the person doesn’t get well, it means that evil-hearted person didn’t touch them after staring at them. That’s ojo.
But still. Why was she rubbing an egg on my stomach? How was that supposed to help? And why was someone supposed to touch my head?
Mami smiles and gives Mina a thank-you hug and then sits on the bed with me. She smiles and hugs me, kissing me on my forehead, and beads of sweat start rolling down my face and back. I close my eyes. They walk out of the room, but I still hear them talking. Until their words fade . . .
* * *
~
I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until I wake up later. It all seems like a dream, but suddenly my mom and Mina come back into the room.
“Qué bueno que dormiste tanto.” Mina reaches under the bed and takes out the glass with the inside of the egg in it, scrutinizing it.
“How long was I asleep? What happened to me?”
“Ves, se quedo arriba del agua. Ya se fue todo el mal.” The raw egg stayed at the top of the glass. Mina picks up the glass and holds it as high as she can.
“Gracias a Dios, te vas a aliviar.” She lowers the glass and places it right in front of me.
“Mira, mijita, el huevo te dice todo. Ya te curé de ojo!”
Apparently, the egg has spoken. I am cured of mal de ojo, according to Mina. Tomorrow I will have to go back to school. I will have to face Gracie. I hold on to my stomach and wonder . . . does Gracie believe in ojo?
* * *
~
The next morning, I arrive at school wearing my favorite bright red jacket and my signature boots, feeling unbelievably perky, and look for Gracie. For some reason, I feel pulled to her.
I approach a table swarming with “it” girls, and Gracie is nestled in their midst, bent over, holding on to her stomach.
Immediately I know why I’m there.
“Hey, Gracie,” I say.
She looks up but doesn’t say anything.
“Have you ever heard of ojo?”
Her eyes go wide, and that’s all the answer I need.
LA LLORONA ISN’T REAL
BY XAVIER GARZA
THIS RIO GRANDE VALLEY
by DANIEL GARCÍA ORDAZ
This unforgiving desert, this island paradise,
This meandering killer, this bringer of abundance,
This rich, riparian forest, whose loam feeds nations,
This turbulent, winding waterway of mud-green ripples,
This land of tacos and toil, this land of fearsome, faithful warriors,
This lush expanse, flattened by shortsighted, hard-charging pioneers,
This lot of sacrifice and pains, this zone of sleet and windy hurricanes,
This meeting of waters and crossroads of people, this beaten embankment,
This trampled land, traversed by soldiers, tenanted by refugees, blessed by saints,
This stand of brambles, sustainer of Native Americans, Spaniards, Mexicans, and Texans,
This winding tract of royally apportioned soil, this runway to the lingering sun,
This fertile delta, singer of siren songs, conjunto, mariachi, and rock ’n’ roll,
This thicket of mesquites, this shelter of ocelots, frogs, and chachalacas,
This sacred spot, this bringer of pilgrims, this launcher of astronauts,
This palm-lined promenade, this temperate wintertime destination,
This sun-kissed mouth of the river whose people speak in tongues,
This thorny chaparral, this destroyer of mild men,
This realm of wild horses, this tamer of dreams,
This magical amalgamation, this Valley.
Acknowledgments
Every day, I sit alone with my cup of coffee and give thanks for all my blessings. This whole anthology was a series of fortunate events for me. From an idea that popped into my head to the encouragement from a cherished friend, and everything just kind of fell into place. I must have been born under a lucky star, because I do not know how one person could be blessed with so many wonderful people sent all at the right time to make a dream come true. I am forever grateful.
Lupita McColl, I cannot thank you enough for this. I owe you more than words can say, and more than I could ever repay. Thank you, hermana.
In the beginning, we were so tight-lipped about this project that I didn’t have many people to talk to, so I want to thank those few who kept my secret, who helped me keep my head on straight, who figuratively held my hand, who reassured me, who never let me lose focus, who encouraged me to have faith, who told me to burn the bridge that wasn’t meant for me, who listened to me ramble, and who guided me. Heart you.
Celina and Lila: my besties por vida.
Justine, Terri, and Adriana: my girl gang.
My big sister Sandy: my biggest fan always.
Tara Connell: my sister from another mister.
Rosie Brock: thank you for all your priceless advice, friendship, and inspiration.
Lucy and Tina: Thank you for your fierce words from the heart, always. #JaneiteSoulSisters #DayOne
Andrea Cascardi: Thank you for taking a chance on a little ol’ librarian from the borderlands of Texas. Thank you for your time and your wisdom.
Liza Kaplan: It has been an honor to work with you on this project. You are brilliant at what you do. Thank you for seeing the
potential in my idea and in these stories. It is so amazing to finally give it to the world.
To all the Living Beyond Borders contributors: you were handpicked for your priceless contributions to Mexican American literature. You are some of the best and most unique voices out there today. Thank you for believing in this project and trusting me with your words and wisdom for our youth. I am honored. Thank you for making one of my wildest dreams come true. Every single one of you is a blessing to me. Abrazos.
And to my mother: I am who I am today because of you. Thank you, Mama. I love you.
In memory of my cousin Jessica Delia Cavazos, my first best friend. A piece of my heart is in heaven with you forever. I miss you and I love you. March 6, 1976–July 12, 2020.
About the Authors
DAVID BOWLES
David Bowles is a Mexican American author from south Texas, where he teaches at the University of Texas Rio Grande Valley. He has written several award-winning titles, most notably The Smoking Mirror and They Call Me Güero. His work has also been published in multiple anthologies, plus venues such as The New York Times, School Library Journal, Strange Horizons, English Journal, Rattle, Translation Review, and Journal of Children’s Literature. In 2017 David was inducted into the Texas Institute of Letters.
DOMINIC CARRILLO
Dominic Carrillo is an award-winning writer, speaker, and teacher. His books include To Be Frank Diego; The Improbable Rise of Paco Jones; The Unusual Suspects, which was an IAN Book of the Year Award Finalist; and Nia and the Dealer.
ANGELA CERVANTES
Angela Cervantes is an award-winning author of several contemporary middle grade books, including Lety Out Loud, a 2020 Pura Belpré Honor Book; Gaby, Lost and Found; Allie, First at Last; Me, Frida, and the Secret of the Peacock Ring, a Junior Library Guild Selection; and Coco: The Junior Novel, which accompanied the 2017 blockbuster Disney/Pixar movie.
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