The Pulse between Dimensions and the Desert (5 page)

Maribel has Nebula in her palm. She pets the lizard. The lizard jumps up onto her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Maribel.”

“It’s okay.”

“Maribel? What if I don’t want to go with you? What then? Why don’t we go somewhere together instead? I can take you to the desert. We can be tourists. The Grand Canyon is amazing. We can go to all the tourist traps and buy shitty food at gas stations. I’ll buy you key chains for your space bag.”

She smiles. Runs her small hands through her silver curls.

“Let’s go to the art museum! It’ll be my gift to you. Pick one piece and after we have travelled through it, I’ll bring you home and I will leave.”

Something about her leaving feels heavy in your chest.

Maribel is tapping her fingers together. You guess the taps are based on a song you will never hear. In case she does disappear for a long time, why not ask her to hang out? You can pretend to be twins. She yawns and you can’t help but think that this is still a lucid dream. The ground trembles. Is it another earthquake? Spatula panics and runs under your feet. Maribel grabs her bag and rips the poster of galaxy clusters off of your wall. She is clutching the small glowing cube. She is going to run.

“Why don’t you just pick a comic book? How do you even know what the fuck to do, surrounded by vast space? Won’t you just die?”

You dig through the pile of comic books with super heroes displaying their muscles and strange perfection. Detective Lupe Santiago AKA Time Fatale has been a personal favorite character. She’s unafraid and of course, she can stop time. She is acutely observant and could help Maribel figure out a solution other than running.

“Here. Go find this woman. She might be able to help you. If not, you can just blend in as a pedestrian. What’s wrong with that?”

There’s a loud bang on the door.

“On the count of three, we are coming in!”

Three large figures kick through the door and tear through the wall.

“Maribel Esperanza Mercado: You are under arrest for trespassing into time portals without proper authorization and for participating in the programming of a time travel device for the consumption of the American public.”

Spatula frees herself from underneath you and starts barking. One of the officers aims his weapon at her. He pushes the trigger button. You tense up and jump in front of Spatula. There is a hole going through your belly. All you can do is scream. You continue to scream in tears as you watch your blood make streams on your thighs and collect into the carpet. You keep your body in front of the dog.

“Help her!”

Maribel reaches for you and one of the officers grabs her by the hair.

“Agent Mercado, please come with us. Our intent is not to hurt anyone.”

“Help Esmai. Help her.”

Maribel punches through the officer’s helmet and spits in his eye. She grabs a piece of helmet shard and digs it into the officer’s neck. The other two continue to watch Maribel and one of them scoffs.

“It’s very simple. You are under arrest. Give us the device and come with us.”

You tumble over. Your face is in the carpet. Spatula is nudging at your face. Should you whisper “I love you” to family members in hopes they will hear it as they place you underground? Can Great Grandma hear you right now? You feel guilty. Your mom will have no daughters left. Is this the pre-apocalypse on this version of earth? Has it all started with you? Maribel has handed over her bag. She’s crying. You hope she will live for centuries.

“Esmai. I’m so sorry.”

The officers watch as she places your potted plants around you. The succulents from great grandma. The cactus from your sister, Lucy. Tiny reminders of the desert that kept you connected to your family. Maribel caresses your face and holds you. Lucy gave you a cactus plant before you moved out of the house. It took her three hours to pick the right one. She picked a turquoise pot and decorated the edges of the pot with stick-on earrings she bought from the Dollar Store. The next day, she was gone. She was found in the middle of the desert. Your knees fell into cement after it was “officially” announced. You held onto the cactus and spines dug into your cheek. You prayed she walked out there in her sleep and that no one harmed her. Your mom came over and helped you pick the cactus spines out. She told you about the first time she realized how small she really was. We are specks in this mess. We are so miniscule, but we express ourselves with the magnitude of an entire galaxy. Maribel kisses your cheek and you can smell the essence of time travel escaping from her pores. She shuts your eyes.

“Go to sleep, apocalyptic friend.”

ROSARIO

He walks up to me and asks me where I’m from. I ask him what he means. He says, you know what I mean. I tell him I was born in Los Angeles. He stands in front of me and asks where my parents are from. I say, my mom is from Mexico and my dad is from Guatemala. He tells me he knew I was an American woman because I speak English well. I tell him Spanish was my first language.

“You know what I mean.”

He starts to speak to me in Spanish with a heavy gringo accent. I can smell his breath and his sweat. He’s asking me if I know how to say ‘hammer’ in Spanish. What about ‘warlock?’ How do you say ‘witch’ in español? He looks me up and down and asks me for my phone number. I tell him to fuck off. He says he’s a nice guy. He has money. He appreciates the beauty in a brown woman. I tell him to fuck off.

“I’m only complimenting you. You know what I really mean.”

I don’t feel like explaining myself to white boys anymore. I have mace attached to my keychain. I unlock the container. I snatch the glasses from his face and press down on the pepper spray button. I soak his face and he’s screaming. I stomp his glasses under my sneakers and bolt away until I can’t hear him scream anymore. That conversation gets older and older every time a white boy spits it out. Sometimes, I think about crushing their windpipes and slicing through their ankles with blades. I would never go that far, but thinking about it makes me feel better.

Blatant sexualization of my brownness makes me gag. I gag out of anger. I used to gag out of fear. At fifteen, three white boys surrounded me and complimented my skin color. They asked if my brown skin indicated dark nipples. They asked me if I shaved. They wanted to see.

“You know what we mean.”

I thought they were joking so, filled with nerves, I laughed. One of them picked me up and I couldn’t force myself off of him. He took me into an empty house. The other two followed and watched as the leader threw me on the ground. All you have to do is show us. We want to see what you look like naked. I didn’t understand why. They told me I was exotic. It was supposed to be a compliment.

At fifteen, I used to look at myself in the mirror in strangely padded bras and loose underwear. I pretended that my skin was lighter. My hair was lighter. My eyes were lighter. I was someone else and I smiled. I never slouched. I stood tall as I waved at the brown girl on the other side of the mirror. The three white boys undressed me and saw what they wanted. They saw weakness. That’s what I used to think.

They saw an object.

I know this now.

That’s not how I want this to end. I have been told that forgiveness will make me feel better over and over again. I do not forgive. I have not forgiven them and this brings me peace of mind. There’s power in my grudge. I do not hold myself responsible for the despicable shit white supremacy has served to me as a legitimate form of expression for white boys. I do not wish them peace. I do not wish them happiness. The most I could give them is a middle finger and spit on the ground at the sound of their names.

LAS MUJERES

Neri Guevara and Mya Soldado work together cleaning houses six times a week. Nine hours a day, they scrub the dead skin cells and grime of the fiscally privileged. Then, they go home, drink some tea and tell each other short stories about their past lives.

Mya was born in Guatemala City in 1967. She traveled to the states in 1990. She works to sustain herself and to send money to her son Rodolfo. She sends him money every month. He’s in Guatemala with a baby girl (Natalia) and a pajarito (Lalo) to look after. He mails Mya a card with a different theme every month as a thank you.

For March: Sloths.

In April: Roses.

En el May: Pajaritos.

In June: Sand castles.

This month, Mya received a card with the Catedral Metropolitana in the center of the city and a photograph of Lalo on top of Natalia’s head. In a yellow dress like limón, baby Natalia is showing gums and two top teeth. Her arms reach toward the sky in glee of Lalo’s resting spot. Mya focuses on the fact that there are several framed photos of her in the background.

Mya sips on her tea then tells Neri: before this life, I was a messenger dove. Una mujer, perhaps a bruja, wearing a sheer black veil with velvet roses on it whispered mensajes to me and every morning, a scroll manifested in my nest for me to deliver. I delivered them to gente in front of la Iglesia de San Andrés Xecul. I transported the scrolls to locals, tourists, Abuelas, and children. The veiled woman whispered to me about lineage and solitude. Every morning, I heard the same message and every morning, I gave a scroll to someone new.

Neri stirs tea with her finger and tells Mya: before this life, I was a calavera possessed by the desert. In White Sands, New Mexico I collected crystals left behind by Martians on brief visits. They left the crystals as gifts for the living, but I calculated they were better fit for the dead. I walked on soft white sand in darkness with a crown of roses on my skull, but never ever left evidence of my wandering. During daylight hours, I sent twirls of wintry air to embrace the guest standing over me. Most ran away, others shut their eyes and kept shifting feet into the sand. The day a curious child decided to dig me up was the same day I passed away.

Neri was born in El Paso, Texas in 1992. She lost contact with her madre and padre on purpose. They aren’t bad people, but they aren’t good people either. Neri misses them in instances of panic. She locks herself in her room, hides under a blanket and cries until she has to emerge for oxygen. Her nerves shift from silence to on the fritz, but she takes her breaths in with depth. In public spaces, she runs to restrooms and covers her eyes with her hands and recites the countries she wants to see. Chile. Peru. France. Guatemala. South Korea. Indonesia.

Neri is up by six so she can catch the bus by seven. Mya wakes up around five to spend moments alone with her thoughts and her coffee. They became roommates after meeting on the Greyhound from El Paso to Denver. A viejito with gray eyes planted himself next to Neri. He took Neri’s hand into his and asked her to let him take care of her. Viejito claimed he could love her. Mya snatched her hand away and scolded the viejito until he moved to another seat. Mya asked Neri if she was alone. Neri nodded and then retreated into sleep. The ride from El Paso to Denver took fourteen hours. Mya told Neri about her decision to move as a new start on perspective. Neri didn’t say very much, but enjoyed the way Mya smiled when she talked about her son and the way her braided hair had curly escapees reaching out like tree roots grasping for earth.

Neri and Mya work with four other mujeres. Nayeli, with green eyes and a cackle that makes everyone else laugh during rides in the company minivan. Diana, who writes telenovela fan fiction and knows all the gossip happening in her family from Juarez, LA, and Albuquerque. Lupita, who wears red lipstick todos los días and takes a photo of her baby boy every morning with an imprint of her lips on his forehead. Yvonne with short pink hair and a tattoo of a rose on her forearm dedicated to her sister who passed away two years back.

Today, they are assigned to clean five houses. They each have their lunches packed, their knee pads in hand and hair pulled up. Mya’s hair like a cinnamon bun. Neri wears a ponytail so she can spin it when she’s bored. Every morning, they trade spots as leader to give out cleaning assignments. Today, Yvonne gives the orders. They split the cleaning depending on the size of the house and number of rooms. This house is two stories with four bedrooms and three bathrooms. It is Neri’s turn to clean the bathrooms and Mya’s turn to clean bedrooms. It always takes two to exorcise the filth from the kitchen. Yvonne volunteers and partners with Nayeli. Diana and Mya clean upstairs. Lupita and Neri clean downstairs. Neri puts her knee pads on and pep talks something like “everyone takes shits” in case a floater or a skid mark presents itself to her. With yellow gloves, science goggles, a sanitary face mask, a pink bucket and a utility belt with scrubbing devices, she knocks on the bathroom door and goes inside after moments of silence. The theme is ducks. Neri scribbles into a flip notepad and slides it into her utility belt. Ducks. Sea shells. Daisies. Boats. Affluence means affording an abundance of tacky and wonderful decorative flaws. Someone knocks on the door and Neri looks over her shoulder. There’s a white boy with blue eyes. Maybe home for the summer. He excuses himself and asks Neri if he can step inside for private matters. She takes her face mask off and smiles. He reciprocates. Neri fans herself and steps away from the door so she can’t hear the stream of pee from the duck bathroom. The young man comes out and tells Neri that he likes her curly hair. Neri blushes so she quickly puts her face mask back on and echoes a thank you.

Mya carries the vacuum in one arm and rose scented carpet powder in the other. She knocks on the door and goes into a room with posters of pretty women and angry looking men in all black clothing, two guitars on the ground, a drum set and a giant entertainment center. Mya plugs in the vacuum and aligns the strokes of the suction into perfect straight lines. She hums underneath the bustle of the vacuum. She takes two steps back and two steps forward. She moves her hips in figure eights. She dances alone and laughs. She thinks about the moments when she danced close to strangers at night clubs and then never saw them again. Mya continues to dance and stumbles over the cord. Her body shifts and she takes the vacuum down with her. The TV clicks off. A young guero walks in and runs toward the unplugged chord. Mya grabs her left hip. She picks herself up and looks at the boy. She waves her hands and says sorry, so sorry. His face is red and he tells her to get the fuck out. Before she can get to the outlet, he pulls the vacuum chord out and throws the rose powder out of the room. His lips are pursed as he pushes the vacuum. Get out. Get out. Get out. He says it three times as if he were counting down. Mya plugs the vacuum in and clears up his spill then heads to the rest of her assigned rooms to finish cleaning in time.

In the van, Mya says nothing. Neri grabs her bun and tells Mya she looks lovely when she’s angry. You look like a nurturer. Mya pulls away. Mya tells the women: in my past life, I was a messenger dove. A veiled woman, perhaps a bruja, whispered mensajes to me every morning. Todos los días, a scroll manifested itself in my nest for me to deliver. I delivered them to gente in front of la Iglesia de San Andrés Xecul. I transported the scrolls to locals, tourists, abuelas, and children. The veiled woman whispered to me about lineage and solitude. Every morning, I heard the same message and every morning, I gave a scroll to someone new. I did this for years and years until one afternoon, I tried to fly home and a plastic bag caught me in mid-air. I fell to the ground and slid on the gravel at the mercy of the gusty winds. I slid and I slid until I woke up in this body.

When the van stops in front of the office, las mujeres get out and Neri hugs Mya. She takes Mya to a rose garden in Mariposa Park. Neri lets her hair down and tells Mya: when I was six or seven, I thought eating flower petals could turn me into a flower. I picked flower petals and ate them until all I could do was burp up perfume and dream about floral infestations taking over my intestines. She picks petals off of a pink rose and places them on her tongue. She picks more and more and chews them up and sticks her tongue out at Mya. Is it working? Mya shakes her head. It will work eventually.