Rogelia's House of Magic (19 page)

Xochitl felt an electric shock vibrate through her body. Her sister had always smelled like oranges because she ate three of them almost every day. It was the one thing Xochitl had teased her about. Despite the confirmation that Graciela was watching over her, Xochitl felt so jealous that her sister had revealed herself to Marina she couldn’t help lashing out in anger.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Xochitl cried. “I have been trying to talk with her ever since the accident.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Xochitl.” Marina moved forward and reached for her hand.

Xochitl whipped it from her grasp and ran back through the grotto, down the narrow canyon, away from everyone.

As she neared the bottom of the hill, Xochitl looked on both sides of the trail, through the dense thicket of sycamore, willow, alder, and maple trees.
Marina is lying,
she told herself.

The woods remained silent except for Xochitl’s panting. She traversed the thin trail at top speed for as long as she could. After sprinting for several minutes, Xochitl finally had to slow to a walk. Her side was beginning to ache. She came to a mountain stream that intersected the trail and had to tiptoe on the rocks to cross. Soon after, the narrow canyon opened up to a large field. She walked to a sycamore tree at the edge of the field, sat down, and leaned against its thick trunk.

“Xochitl!” Marina called as she entered the field of yellow and purple wildflowers. Once she saw Xochitl, she dashed over to her, out of breath. “Why did you take off like that?”

Xochitl turned her back to Marina and crossed her arms.

“Please talk to me,” Marina pleaded, but Xochitl didn’t respond. Marina reached out to touch Xochitl’s shoulder.

“Go away, I don’t want to talk to you,” Xochitl said.

Marina stared at Xochitl, but didn’t walk away until, a few moments later, Fern and Rogelia came down the hill. Marina walked over to join them. They stood a fair distance away, but Xochitl could hear every word they said.

“She won’t talk to me,” Marina murmured.

Rogelia looked sadly toward her granddaughter. “Just give her some time. She has been through so much.”

“I think the girl’s voice has been Graciela’s all along,” Marina said. “She always spoke in Spanish. That’s part of why I wanted to learn the language, so I could understand what she was saying.”

Xochitl couldn’t believe what she’d heard. It was so painful to even think of Graciela talking to anyone but her, but to know that her sister had been speaking to Marina for weeks? It was enough to make Xochitl burst into tears.

Twenty

P
ilar drove Fern and Marina to the Los Lobos concert later that evening. Marina had told her mother she was sick and gone to bed early. She pushed her dresser in front of her bedroom door, then snuck out her window. Now she stood next to Fern in line at the will-call window. She stared at the lights shining on the front of the House of Blues concert hall. People rushed by her with dizzying speed. The cars honked down Sunset Boulevard. The sheer grandness of this famous theater left her dumbstruck. She felt totally out of her element. She had never left her safe suburb and gone into Los Angeles, except for the one time she’d gone to Olvera Street on a school field trip.

Los Angeles had a wildness about it that made Marina anxious. Orange County, with its dos and don’ts of how to fit in, kept her very aware of where she stood in the social pecking order. But Los Angeles was like a feral cat, impulsive, volatile, and uninhibited. Everybody was somebody and nobody here, it was that big. Or at least it seemed that way to Marina.

You’ll be okay,
the woman’s voice said in her ear.

Stay with me tonight,
Marina silently prayed.

I always do. But you won’t be able to hear me tonight because of the noise.

Marina sighed. Feeling so out of place in L.A. made her thoughts drift to Xochitl and how alone she must feel living without her family. She wondered what she could have done differently at the waterfall. Marina had tried in vain to talk with Xochitl on the ride home, but Xochitl had remained stone silent. It didn’t seem fair to Marina. It wasn’t her fault she was hearing Graciela’s voice. And Marina wouldn’t have been a good friend to Xochitl if she’d kept quiet about it. What else could she have done?

She wanted to help Xochitl feel more comfortable in her new environment, and she figured that hearing from Graciela in any way might do the trick. However, as Marina looked around at all the strange faces, she started to understand a bit more what Xochitl must be going through. There is no cure for loneliness.

Suddenly, movement on the ground caught Marina’s attention. A trail of cockroaches marched in front of her feet. She squealed and jumped.

Laughter rang out from a group of Latino homeboys.

Marina held her purse closer to her body, feeling stupid and afraid. One of the
vatos,
a bald, tattoo-headed guy with a white shirt and baggy khaki pants, leered and said, “Hey, mama, you gonna dance for us tonight?”

“Back off,
pendejo.
” Fern scowled, turning away from the ticket window. She grabbed Marina’s arm and led her away before the guys could do any more than catcall. “Damn, that took a long time. They couldn’t find our reservation. Stupid Ticket-master. They charge you an arm and a leg and still can’t get it right.” Fern inspected Marina a little more closely and let out a chuckle. “I keep forgetting this is your first concert.”

Fern took Marina’s purse and handed it to the security guard for inspection. She held out her arms and the guard waved a metal detector over her body. Marina held out her arms like Fern and suspiciously waited while the guard with her plastic gloves patted her down. Then they showed their tickets and moved into the entrance of the theater.

Marina marveled at the large stage, the multicolored lights, and the slightly bizarre art on the dark red walls. The place hummed with excitement.

“You’ll be fine once the music starts,” Fern affirmed.

Marina shook the stardust from her eyes. This place was too cool. “I’m fine now.”

“Sure you are.” Fern led Marina close to the stage.

Marina gawked at the audience. People of all ages had come to this concert: families, middle-aged couples, some kids their age. Mostly, it was a mix of Latino people. She saw a man with short hair wearing a Reyn Spooner shirt, a guy with a black ponytail sporting a T-shirt with an Aztec warrior depicted on it, a man with a large mustache wearing a cowboy hat, and a smiling hoochie-mama so crammed into a sequined dress she looked like a sausage in too tight a casing. A group of kids around their age stood laughing and talking in Spanish.

“Hey, look, a Sacred Heart.” Marina pointed to the red heart with flames projected onto the stage curtain. The tension drained from Marina’s shoulders. Suddenly, she just felt like she belonged. “You know, I think I like it here,” Marina called over the recorded Los Lobos music, warming the crowd for a night of rock, corridos, mariachi, and blues music.

“Told you,” Fern shouted back.

Marina looked back at the Sacred Heart. It reminded her of Rogelia, and that brought her thoughts back to Xochitl. “Why do you think Xochitl is mad at me?”

“I have no idea. We’ll work it out. I promise it will be all right.” Fern scooted sideways to stand in the front row. “I’m glad you like it here. You just needed a little push to show you what you’ve been missing. You’re learning Spanish, and look at you here. I’d say you’re no longer a
pocha.
”

Marina followed Fern through the crowd. “What’s a
pocha
?”

“A
pocha
is someone who forgets their Mexican roots,” Fern said.

Marina laughed. She stole a look behind her at the waves of people. She felt a rush of pride looking at the masses of brown, mocha, toffee, and beige faces. She was so happy to be part of such a group of laughing, passionate people.

“I wish Xochitl was here,” Marina yelled. After all, it was because of Xochitl and her nana that Marina had begun to gain a little Latina pride.

“Me too.”

With the strum of an electric guitar, Los Lobos walked onto the stage to a roar of applause. “Let me hear ya!” Cesar Rosas shouted with his hands held high, wearing his signature dark Ray-Ban sunglasses. “Yeah, uh-huh. Welcome, music lovers.”

Marina clapped loudly with the rest of the crowd, howling like a coyote at the full moon. She danced with a boy about twelve years old wearing a fedora and the woman wearing the sausage-tight dress until sweat streamed down the sides of their faces. Marina sang the songs they’d been playing since before she was born, like “La Bamba” and “Will the Wolf Survive,” and newer ones like “Kiko and the Lavender Moon.” She laughed at her attempts at Spanish and was impressed at her ability to keep up all the same. At the end of the night, she even caught a guitar pick from guitarist David Hidalgo.

“Gimme that,” Fern insisted.

“Hell no,” Marina retorted. There was no way Fern was going to pry that special token from her grip. Marina turned the tortoiseshell guitar pick over in her hand. The words
LOS LOBOS
were embossed on it in gold lettering.

Pilar drove them home and actually promised to not tell Marina’s mother about the whole night. Marina couldn’t wipe the silly grin from her face. But then she thought of Xochitl and how she had refused to speak to her. Why couldn’t she get all the parts of her life to work in harmony at the same time?

When she got home, Marina pulled open the side gate and crept along the side of the house. She dragged a chair to the wall under the tiny bedroom window.

Andale,
Graciela whispered.

Yes, hurry up. Your mother will want to check in on you soon,
the woman’s voice added.

Marina reached up and pushed the window open with her fingertips. She pulled herself up like she was doing a pull-up in gym class. Normally, she had no upper-arm strength.

Se puede,
Graciela urged.

Marina’s legs scrabbled against the stucco of the house, scraping a long scratch on her right leg. She scrambled through the window and jumped down into her bedroom. She shut the window and rifled through her chest of drawers, pulled out a pair of purple pajamas, and got them on as quickly as possible.

Marina slipped into her bed but was too excited to sleep. She pulled out the journal and a flashlight from her end table drawer and wrote about how the Los Lobos concert had made her feel more welcome and, for the first time, like she truly belonged to the Mexican race—something her family had never made her feel. She closed the book and tucked it under her bed. She got up and stood in front of her closed bedroom door, contemplating whether or not she dared paste her Los Lobos guitar pick on her door with the other memorabilia.

A chill wind blew over her right shoulder. Marina looked around, expecting to see someone standing behind her.

Move the dresser,
the woman’s voice spoke in her head.

Marina immediately obeyed without thinking.

Instantly, the door opened. Her mother jumped back a little when she saw Marina, who hid the pick behind her back.

“You’re up,” her mother said curiously.

“I—I need a glass of water,” Marina stammered.

“I wanted to be sure you’ll be okay for your Grandpy’s birthday party tomorrow,” Marina’s mother said.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” Marina assured her, feigning a weak voice. “The extra sleep helps.”

“Good. Okay, brunch is at eleven,” Marina’s mother said. “You need to be ready by ten-thirty. They won’t seat us until everyone is there.” Marina’s mother gave her daughter a once-over. “How did you get that scratch?” She pointed to Marina’s leg.

“I—I got it earlier, when I was out with Fern and Xochitl,” Marina spluttered.

“Not at the barrio, I hope,” Marina’s mother said pointedly.

“No, Mom, I wasn’t in the barrio,” Marina snarled. The impulse to say something nasty grew steadily in her gut.

Watchale,
Graciela cautioned.

Marina forced her mouth into a smile.

Satisfied, Marina’s mother turned and walked down the hall.

Wearing a preapproved dress, Marina walked into the White House restaurant behind her mother and stepfather the next morning. Perfectly pressed napkins sat propped up on gold plates that rested on perfectly pressed white linen tablecloths. White roses in simple glass vases adorned each table. A pianist played Bach on a white piano. The whole restaurant reeked of uptight, pompous attitude. Marina longed for the camaraderie she had felt the night before at the concert.

You need to find the balance between the two,
the woman’s voice said.
You can belong in two worlds.

Well, she could try.

Marina hugged her aunt Carmen. “Don’t squish my hair.” Aunt Carmen fussed with her brown mass of curls. A few of Marina’s younger cousins ran past her but were instantly scolded by the maitre d’.

Marina wove in and out of the white chairs to reach her Grandpy, who sat at the head of the table.

“Happy birthday, Grandpy.” Marina sat down next to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“How’s my oldest granddaughter?” Grandpy asked with a wide grin. He had warm brown eyes and long ears, and his full head of black hair was perfectly combed with brilliantine.

“Fine,” Marina replied lovingly.

Grandpy pinched her cheek. “Did I ever tell you I love you?”

“All the time,” Marina said with a smile.

“Good.” Grandpy patted her hand. Marina reached for a glass of water and took a sip.

“Hey, Marina.”

Marina looked up to see her twenty-one-year-old cousin, Jordan, sitting down across the table from her. He was tall and broad-shouldered and had played football all four years of college.

“Hey, Jordan,” Marina said, setting down the glass. “Glad you came.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Jordan said. “Happy birthday, Grandpy.” Grandpy gave Jordan a wink.

Aunt Carmen pushed a bowl of calamari soup in front of Jordan. “Eat it,” she insisted.

Jordan smiled his big wide grin and crinkled his nose. “No.” He shook his head.

Aunt Carmen pushed the bowl in front of Jordan. “Just try it,” she cajoled. “For me, your mother.”

Jordan gently pushed the bowl back. “No thanks.”

Marina would have blown a gasket by now, and Jordan was being so calm. Maybe patience came with age.

It is certainly an option,
the woman’s voice said.

Marina’s mother leaned closer to Aunt Carmen. “Have you ever had your boys’ astrological charts done?”

Marina rolled her eyes. She was so tired of these incessant personality definitions she would puke if she saw another one. Her mother was always putting people into little boxes so she could pretend she knew everything about them.

Pon atención,
Graciela said.

Yes, pay attention. There’s something for you to learn here,
the woman said.

The waitress leaned between Aunt Carmen and Jordan to clear the soup bowl Jordan had pushed away.

Aunt Carmen gripped the waitress’s forearm to stop her from taking the bowl. “No, he’s not done yet.” Aunt Carmen handed Jordan a spoon. “Just a little spoonful.” She glanced at her sister. “No, Rebecca, you know I’m not really into that.” Carmen turned her attention back to her son. “Please try it, Jordan.”

Marina couldn’t help staring at Jordan as he gingerly dipped his spoon into the bowl. He had traveled all over the world on a cruise ship with the Semester at Sea. He had been to Venezuela, China, Myanmar, and about six other countries. Marina watched, horrified, as Jordan chewed and chewed and chewed the soup.