Down to the Bone (5 page)

He takes me indoors and gives me an icy-cold Ironbeer soda to drink.

I feel like an intruder in this tiny place that smells of banana custard and
cafecitos.
It reminds me of my cozy home, except mine was vibrant and lively. I can definitely see myself opening up to the
viejito
who might have the wisdom to help me solve my problems.

He asks me what happened. As I sit on his couch, I can’t hold in my pain. “My mother doesn’t love me anymore. She kicked me out of the house.”

“Oh, my goodness.” He taps my shoulder with his hand. “That is terrible news. Mothers can be so emotional sometimes.”

He becomes a passive listener, which I appreciate. He’s showing real interest. I wish I could tell him about Marlena, but I just can’t.

I wipe my tears with my forearm. “It hurts so much.” All the emotions I’ve been feeling surface.

He takes a seat next to me. “It must be very painful
.
I’m so sorry,” he says with kind eyes. “Just sit here calmly. I’ll put on some soothing music. You’ll feel better right away. My wife is about to get home from the grocery store. Calm down and you’ll see how everything will soon feel better. Once you’ve got a clear head, call your mother and ask her to come and pick you up. By then, she should be missing you and wanting you back.” He goes to the CD player and out comes mellow, soothing Cuban
son
tunes. He sits back on the sofa with his eyes closed. “Just listen and relax. Your pup can sit beside you. This is what my wife and I do when we have problems to solve.”

He is very sweet. Neruda climbs on my lap and I hold her tight.

I close my eyes and let the soothing music help me think . . .

Up until today, summer used to be my favorite time of year. I guess it could be worse. Neruda and I aren’t stuck being homeless in the winter. In a few months I’ll need to wear layers upon layers of clothes, heavy down jackets and wool socks. I’ll have to bundle Neruda up too. I don’t think we’ll survive living outdoors and sleeping in a cardboard box. I better find a place to stay right away. I can’t go to
Abuela’s
house. Mami will never want me to tell her what happened. She’s too old and sick and I can’t bring her problems. Normally, I love being human, but not today. I mean, what are we? A brain attached to a body and a bundle of nerves and feelings? We shouldn’t have been made with emotions. Feelings screw everything up. Our brain structure seems to have developed in a way that sometimes makes humans act out of hate and greed. Many scientists think we come from animals.

I doubt that.

Animals wouldn’t choose to do something to someone that’ll destroy their life. They don’t usually throw away their children. Most moms separate when kids have what it takes to venture out and survive on their own. Animals don’t have the need to buy things, demolish land, build tall buildings, use and save money, kill for money, read, ostracize, gossip, hate . . .

“Right, Neruda?” I whisper to her and pet her back.

If I’d been a female orangutan in love with another female, my mom would be happily picking fleas off my back right now.

“I’m glad you’re not one of us, Neruda.”

I open one eye and look at the little old man. He’s fallen asleep with his mouth open. I should be leaving this house soon. I’m imposing on him. I might need to take another bus, but where will I go?

I feel so lost without my cell.

I sink deeper into the sofa, thinking about how Soli’s the only person who knows that Marlena and I are, you know . . . in love. She caught us kissing one day in Marlena’s room. We thought Soli was in the bathroom, but she barged in on us unexpectedly and said, “Sweeet! I knew it all the time!” Marlena freaked, but we all got to talk, and Soli promised she’d never tell a single soul. And she hasn’t.

The
viejito’s
loud snore shakes my thoughts out of my head.

I look around and fix my eyes on picture frames of him and his wife gardening, looking happy.

My mind wanders. I think about what happened after my mom threw me out of the house:

“Get in! Fast!” Marlena grabs my arm and pulls me indoors. “My family’s in Key West. They won’t be back till later tonight.” She presses her lips against mine. “I love you so much. I wish I could say happy anniversary and, miraculously, everything goes back to normal so we could have the beautiful time we planned.” She hurriedly takes Neruda out into the fenced backyard with a bowl of water.

We rush into her strawberry-smelling office-turned-bedroom. For six months she’s been living in Miami Beach with her
tío
Marco,
tía
Hilda, and three cousins. Luckily, she talked her father into letting her stay with her uncle till she finished high school, while the rest of the family moved back to Puerto Rico.

She gently kisses my entire face. “She doesn’t know it was me, right? You didn’t tell her, did you?”

I fling onto her bouncy bed and softly pull her to me. “Of course not.” I lie on top of her and fill her neck with kisses. “I’d never do that that to you. I love you.”

She tosses her hair away from her face and lowers her deep-set eyes. “You’re my life.” She plants a moist kiss on my lips. “Tell me everything.”

“She kicked me out. I stashed my things behind the front yard bush and got here by bus.” I recount the entire story, in full detail. “I can’t go back home unless I give her the name of the ‘Evil Culprit.’”

“No way?!” Her eyes pierce mine. “You’ll never, ever say it’s me. Right? She’ll tell my uncle. He’ll call my parents in Puerto Rico. My entire extended family will find out.” She’s talking a mile a minute. “They’ll force me to move back. It’ll be hell for us. I won’t ever be allowed to see you again.”

“Chill, Mar. They’d have to slice my tongue off before I’d tell on you.”

She rolls me over and lightly sits on my thighs. I love that she’s meaty and curvaceous. Her ample hips feel good on me. “I wish you could stay here, but everyone will wonder what’s going on.”

“I know.” I can barely muster the energy to speak.

Marlena leans into me and kisses my earlobe. I love her warm familiar breath. “What will you do? Where will you go? You’ll still work part-time with Tío Marco, right? I have to see you every day.”

Before I can answer, she rushes to her desk, takes out a wad of bills from one of the cabinets, and hands it to me. “Three hundred and twelve dollars.”

I give them back. “No. I’ve got some money.” I won’t take what she’s been saving to buy a car. I’m not going to tell her I would have had my own Jeep today. I don’t want her to feel guilty.

She insists I take it all and stuffs it into my skirt pocket. “Return it if you don’t use it.”

“Maybe I’ll go to Little Havana Hotel.”

“You can’t afford that. Your money will run out right away.” She kisses my forehead. “I hate your mom for kicking you out. I’ve never seen you so sad. Go to Soli’s. She’ll take you in. Just remember you’re in my heart. No one will ever tear us apart.”

Marlena’s the second oldest of three kids and the one responsible for having taken care of her baby sister. Her maturity is part of why I admire her so much. She means what she says, says what she means, and she’d rather have her eyes poked with needles than lie. I know I can trust her, and I appreciate that.

I wrap my arms around her and we roll around in bed. She smells delicious, like watermelon candy.

I run my fingers through her hair. “I can’t stay at Soli’s. She lives in that tiny duplex. Her bedroom is the size of an ant.”

“You know Soli will give you a kidney if you need it.”

The thought of Soli and I being close since first grade lifts my spirits a little. But still, I can’t be a burden on her and her mom.

“Your beautiful green eyes look so sad, Scrunchy. Now that it’s summer, come over every day, and weekends after work, as if nothing’s happened. I’ll have my uncle drop me off at Soli’s the days you can’t visit.” I can tell she’s worried sick, but trying to make me feel better. She holds my hands in hers. “Just make sure Soli never mentions to anyone I wrote those texts.”

I brush my lips against her eyelids, kiss the freckle on her earlobe and whisper to her, “Is this my freckle?”

She half-closes her eyes. “Yours and only yours.” Her voice is soft and melodious.

I kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, down to her mushy lips. I kiss every cell of her body, from her toes, up to her neck, until I find her mouth.

Time clicks by . . . We’re wrapped around each other under the covers, enveloped in a cocoon of warmth.

She slips off a silver ring and slides it on my ring finger. “Happy anniversary. I’ve had it on all day for you. It’ll help keep you safe.” The tiny green emerald set in the center looks like a loving eye watching over me.

“I got you a ring too but left it at home.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

A car noisily parks in the driveway. Her older brother, Arturo—the Inquisitor—is visiting from Puerto Rico for the summer.

“Shit!” We bolt out of bed and get dressed fast. I don’t feel like talking to him. He asks way too many personal questions.

I plop the wad of bills on her desk when she’s not looking, and rush to the backyard for Neruda. Marlena follows.

I open the back fence. Neruda leaps all over me as if she hasn’t seen me in a century. “I’ll call you from a pay phone.”

“Go to Soli’s, please. Call me from her place as soon as you get there. I love you with all my heart,” she murmurs. “You’re everything to me. I don’t want anything to ever happen to you.”

I don’t tell her I’m not going to Soli’s. “I love you more.” I wrap my arms around her and breathe in her delicious scent. I need to take it with me for strength.

The soft Cuban music stops abruptly.

“Excuse me sir,” I say twice until he stirs. “I don’t mean to wake you up.” I’ve got to make a phone call but I won’t do it behind his back.

He straightens his spine up against the couch. “Oh, excuse me,
muchachita,
for being such a terrible host.”

“Can my puppy get some water, and may I please use your phone?”

He opens his eyes wide. “Why, of course. Goodness, I fell asleep. When you get old, these things happen.” He yawns and pats his shirt and pant pockets. “Come right into the kitchen and use our house phone. I’m not sure where I misplaced my cellular.”

I sip my soda as he gives Neruda water in a bowl. Then I call Soli and tell her I need a place to crash. Soli doesn’t wait for me to finish my explanation.

“Stay put. I’ll be there in three seconds!”

That’s one thing about Soli: she’s never let me down.

5—Tongue Tango

Soli honks. I kiss the
viejito
goodbye, thank him, and climb into her primitive, freshly painted, red VW bug.

“Woah!” I open the door and plop on the passenger seat with Neruda.

Soli has undergone a wild makeover. A silver ring is stuck to one nostril of her thick nose. Pitch-black tiny dreadlocks—which she dyed blond at the tips—stand on their ends, as if they just had an electric shock. Her cherry lipstick, orange minidress, and raspberry sandals are so bright, I think I might need to put on sunglasses.

She sticks out a pierced swollen tongue. “I’m celebrating our last day of school. I’m divine, aren’t I?”

I cover my eyes. “Celestial.” I get weak at the knees and beg her, “Never show me again and hide it from your mom.”

Soli’s always trying new things. Recently, she got a boy’s lip tattooed behind her ear. This bothers her mom who believes empty spaces on one’s skin should be sacred. Soli would rip off an arm and hand it to a kid in desperate need of one. She’s the first to help me get a group together on our birthdays to clean trash off the beaches. Last Thanksgiving, we gathered friends to cook at a homeless shelter that helped feed the needy. I love that she supports me in everything I do.

She slaps my cheek. “Sure. Like, I’m going to hide my tongue from Mima.” She blasts some trance music, puts her foot to the pedal and
off
we go!

In addition to her being smart, strong-willed and the horniest kid in this city, Soli’s ability to stay optimistic about the world at large is astounding. She’s earned a reputation among friends as the wildest, most fun-loving girl in our school. Yesterday, when we got our yearbooks, hers was instantly filled with memories of pranks Soli’s pulled, like the day she met with Mrs. Superior-Sicko and told her she needed to take the year off to sail around the world, alone. “It’s already been done by a teen, but I’d like to beat her world’s record.” For days, MSS tried hard to talk her out of it. When she was about to call Soli’s mother, Soli agreed it wasn’t a safe idea.

Soli’s a thrill seeker and adventurer. We both love water sports and got hooked on sailing and kayaking—we do it during school holidays (her feisty aunt charters catamarans off of Key Largo). She talks about saving enough money to go sky diving, getting her pilot’s license to fly a jet, and crazy things like that. Her love of acting in school plays has landed her many lead roles. Most of our mutual friends think she’s destined to become an actor.

I doubt she’ll ever do that, though. She’d like to one day buy a house for her mom and knows she needs steady, reliable work for it to happen. That’s why the wackiest kid around will be going to university for a master’s in psychology.

“What a screwed-up day, Shyly.” (She’s called me Shyly since first grade and has spelled it with a y ever since, and it’s the reason Pedri spells it that way too). “Fart Face didn’t want to let us leave till we told her who wrote the texts. She thinks it’s me.” She laughs. “I told her, ‘It’s not me, but if I knew who it was, no way would I ever tell
you
, or any teacher in this
disgusting
school.’ I picked up my book bag and flew out the door.” She momentarily glances my way. “What they did was wrong. Things like that ruin people’s reputations. As if any of us in the whole class were virginal. If she’d read my private texts to my exes, she’d have collapsed from a seizure. Fart Face could have taken you aside and spoken to you in private. She should have never, ever, read those texts to your mom.”