The Lightning Dreamer (10 page)

Tula performs her secret plays
in the garden, just for me.

 

The words are so quiet
that I have to listen
with all my heart—
not just my ears.

 

The tale of the turtle
is my favorite.

 

If such a slow, awkward creature
can hope to grow swift wings,
then I can at least try to move
my own two weary
human legs.

Caridad is gone! She quit her job
and fled without a farewell, leaving
nothing but a wordless
mist of hope.

 

Mamá falls into a rage, blaming me,
just as she blames me for so much—
her nerves, her headaches, her fear
that I will gain such a bold reputation
that the fiancé I've never seen
will reject me before
our first meeting.

 

None of that matters.
All I can think of is dear Caridad
in bright air,
soaring!

My selfish daughter's punishment
for talking nonsense to the old cook
will be cooking.

 

As soon as Tula marries, her husband
will have to buy me a new cook,
two maids, a gardener, a fine
team of horses, a coachman,
and a stable boy . . .

 

In the meantime, let Tula
stew beans and scrub pots.
Maybe the grit and filth of a kitchen
will remind her that food, firewood,
and a respectable place
in society
are not free.

I do not know where I'll go,
but I do know that words
helped me flee. My name
has always meant “charity,”
such a common name for slaves,
who receive
no charity at all.

 

But I did—first I received
freedom papers, and now,
so late in life, I've received
this winged-turtle liberty
of the mind,
a freedom so huge that it can never
be crowded onto anything as small
and fragile
as a page.

I seize the kitchen
as my own.

 

Chop, stir, scribble—
my punishment
is a blessing of privacy.
Mamá hardly ever steps into
the smoke, so I feel free
to keep my new pages,
instead of feeding them
to hungry flames.

 

When I ask my brother for help,
he agrees to hide my words in his room.
If Mamá finds the bundles of paper,
Manuel can pretend that my legends
are his. No one ever objects
to strange tales written
by a boy.

Caridad's act of independence
inspires me, just as my turtle tale
influenced her.

 

When I finally meet the gentleman
I'm expected to marry, he speaks
of nothing but mansions and jewels,
promising that we will travel to Paris,
attend dances, wear furs . . .

 

I smile politely, but a secret verse
grows in my mind, telling me to run,
join the nuns, flee to the library,
open my own book-shaped portal
to an imaginary world
of freedom
and fairness.

My wedding day is still many
long months away, so I shove all fear
out of my mind, determined to enjoy
my new cooking duties, as well as
the library, orphanage, poetry,
and friendly visits
with Rosa and Lola.

 

Every day, I imagine the true love
that my two girlfriends discuss
with such joy, yet I have no idea
what the word
amor
really means.
When Rosa introduces me to a boy
called Loynaz, I imagine that we
are in love.

 

Sweaty hands. Tumbling heartbeats.
Trembling voices.

 

If this is
amor
, then why
does it feel
just as troubling
as a simple case
of youthful
shyness?

 

Friendship—that is all I want
from Loynaz. All these other
turbulent feelings are too
mysterious. I'm too young
for love, too confused
for marriage.

Lola has eloped!
Rosa blames me for daring
to speak in praise of a future
when women will be able
to choose marriages
based on love.

 

I don't care
if I'm blamed.
One more caged bird
has escaped.

 

Lola is pale and her husband
is dark, but love has no limits—
of that much
I feel certain.

Rosa is so envious that she chooses
to betray my trust.

 

Like a spy, she takes her vicious gossip
to Mamá, reporting my harmless
flirtations with Loynaz.

 

I am accused
of improper behavior.

 

Rosa has transformed
our friendship
into cruelty.

 

Now she is suddenly
engaged to Loynaz,
while I must face Mamá's
fury.