Down to the Bone (4 page)

I pluck a piece of paper and pen out of my bag and write Marco’s phone number. I hand it to her. “Have your father call Marco. He’s sort of like family. I’m sure he’ll give him a great price.” It would be ideal if I could say, “Marco’s my uncle-in-law!” But I keep my trap shut.

She stuffs the number in her surfer shorts pocket. “Thanks.” She swings her head sideways, trying to get her long bangs out of her eyes. “I need a serious haircut.”

I ask for the piece of paper back and write Soli’s work number on it. “My friend is the wildest haircutter in Miami.” And it’s true. Soli’s a beast when it comes to ’do’s. She’s so popular she’s got lines of people waiting for her at the shop every Friday after school, Saturday mornings and all summer long. I lift the ends of my long hair. “Don’t go by me. I just let her trim the tips.”

She stuffs the paper inside her pocket. “Your hair is gorgeous.” I look away. Her statement makes my cheeks feel hot. She notices and changes the topic. “You sure know lots of peeps. I’ll give her a call.”

It’s true. I know thousands of people
and
their grandmothers!

She points to a fancy hotel with a large flashing pink neon sign. “That’s a gay club. They throw outrageous parties there, out by the pool, with live
merengue
and
salsa
bands. Want to come with me this Saturday night? We’ll celebrate the beginning of summer vacation. It’ll be a blast.”

I feel like she’s opening a gate for me, but I can’t go through it. I’ve got way too many challenges to solve.

I shouldn’t have come to a gay beach. That’s “queer” of me (pun intended). Here I am, terrified of more people finding out about me. I was thrown out of school
and
my house for texts from another girl and what do I do? I come to a gay beach for the first time in my life. I’m just the most brilliant kid on the block, a typical genie-ass!

“I can’t, really. I have a boyfriend, and he hates me going out without him.” I continue to lie for me and for Marlena. What else can I do? Hang out with a butch dyke who looks like a hot guy and have people start asking me if
I’m
homo. Marlena would never forgive me, and I’d only get into deeper trouble.

I need to stay focused on my mom’s and Marlena’s feelings and never get swept away by wanting a different life for myself.

“No problem,” Tazer says with an easygoing smile.

I stare out past a couple of girls, holding hands. I wish that could be Marlena and me. I look to two other girls taking off their bike gear and helmets, undressing down to their bathing suits. They’re so lucky to be able to be free to express their love in public.

Tazer squints. “I love this beach. I’ve never seen you here.”

“It’s my first time. I came by mistake.”

“Oh.” Tazer’s bangs fall across her face, obscuring her surprised look.

Suddenly, I realize I came looking for a place to belong. I wish I could tell her I felt a need to come and see girls together for strength. It’s refreshing to find everyone on this beach looking so joyous.

“Do your parents know you come here?” I’m curious.

“My mom died giving birth to me.”

I lower my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right. It happened seventeen years ago.”

“How about your dad?”

“Pipo’s never home. He doesn’t know a thing about me and never asks. He doesn’t even know I’m genderqueer.”

“How long have you been trans?”

“Ever since I can remember, I’ve seen myself as a b-o-i into girls.”

“Have you transitioned?” He looks so much like a guy that I wonder . . .

“No. I’m scared of the health consequences of operations and hormone shots. When you first saw me, did you think I was a girl or a guy?”

“A typical guy, but with a leftover tinge of a girl I’m sure will disappear as you get older. I guess you look like a b-o-i.”

His smile widens and gleams something amazing.

The beach fills up with kids bringing in blasting music. The guys show off their muscles to other boys while playing Frisbee. Girls take off their tight, expensive jeans and shoes. They have on makeup and shiny gold jewelry. You’d think they were going out to a club.

Tazer glances at his watch. “Hey, my friend Tokyo’s been waiting for me. He’s having a barbecue at his apartment. We get together
y descargamos
on congas, write lyrics, and eat
puerco asado
till midnight. Just like we did in Cuba.” He stands and scrubs sand off his long legs full of light blond peach fuzz. “Want to come along? I know you have a boyfriend, but we can be friends
,
right?”

“Of course.” I lie. “But I can’t go now. Maybe some other time.” I don’t want to tell him I need a place to live. He’s too handsome. I can’t accept invitations from a guy who might be trying to rescue me and take me home. That wouldn’t be fair to Marlena and would be detrimental to me.

He writes his digits on a napkin. “Call me sometime. Maybe we can go watch a Cuban film.”

We kiss each other’s cheeks goodbye, and I watch him walk away. When he’s out of sight, I tear his digits into pieces and stuff it inside my bag.

4—Falling Sky

I sit on the towel and cuddle Neruda in my arms. “Don’t worry. You’re coming with me no matter where I go.”

She tilts her head to the right and barks,
guauuu!
Neruda always understands what I’m saying. Ever since I got her from the pound, I’ve been bringing her to the beach. Not this one, of course! On Sunday mornings, I normally spend time with Marlena, her aunt, uncle, cousins and my little brother at El Farito Beach in Key Biscayne. Just for fun, I dress Neruda up in all sorts of garments, like tutus and pink sunglasses or in a bikini. She usually looks like a drag queen, really, and it kills my mom with laughter each and every time. I already miss hearing her laugh.

I pack up and walk toward the road. I stop in front of a pay phone, stick some change inside and dial Marlena’s number. Her grandfather answers and says in Spanish, “Marlenita and the family went to pick up her boyfriend Rick at the airport.”

My eyebrows shoot up. What a great surprise. Why couldn’t Marlena have told me? I guess she didn’t want to spoil our time together. As her grandpa speaks about how wonderful Rick and his family are, flashbacks cram my mind:

“How dare you talk to that girl behind my back after everything you’ve just put me through. Tell me once and for all, Shai Sofía, who were you just talking to? I need to go and speak with her parents. They must know what you two are up to. I shouldn’t have to carry this cross alone while that girl gets away with everything. She’s the one who wrote the texts and
you
get in trouble?”

I grab my favorite red tank—the one I wear to sleep—from under my pillow, and slide it on. I sit on my bed with my head lowered. I hear you never look into a barking, rabid dog’s eyes or it’ll get more vicious and could attack and rip you apart.

My mother breathes fast and heavy. “My friends’ daughters are all normal. It’s humiliating to be the only person I know whose child was thrown out of private school . . .”—she clears her throat—“because of explicit texts with another girl. That will go down in your records for life.”

“Let’s forget about it, Mami, please.” I can’t lift my head to look at her. I wish I hadn’t called Marlena till my mother was asleep, in bed with Jaime. I’m empty-headed, brainless, idiotic, stupid!

She points in the direction of the front door. “If you won’t tell me, then leave.”

“Mami, no. Please,” I beg.

“Go! Get out of here until you decide to let me know who the guilty party is. Your teachers need to know who she is and forgive you. I want you back in that school and her thrown out.”

I stay quiet.

“If you don’t tell me who the girl is right now, leave. Go. Get out!”

Like a crazed animal she tears my clothes and shoes from my closet, and throws them on my bed. My laptop gets stashed in my closet. She opens all the drawers and piles my underwear, CDs, MP3 player, Kindle, some ancient vinyl records, and shoulder bag, on top of my art things.

“I’ve begged enough for you to tell me who the deviant is. I don’t want you living in this household until you come clean.”

“Mami, por favor, por favor.”
I walk around after her. She stuffs all my things in my shoulder bag, and in a huge garbage bag, and throws them out the front door.

“Go!” she says with tears in her eyes. “See if your secret lover’s parents take you in.” Her veins swell and pop out of her throat. “Have
them
pay all your bills, love you, and care for you, as I have.”

Pedri, hearing all the commotion through the open windows, runs to me from the swings in the backyard. “Shyly, what happened?”

Mami screeches out an explanation about my being disobedient. “Your sister knows what she must do in order to come back.” She wipes her tears with the back of her arm.

“Don’t throw Shyly away, Mami, please.” He clings to me. “Don’t go, Shyly,” he bawls.

“Mami, I promise.” I fall on my knees. “I’ll never talk to any of my friends again.”

“I’ll tell Jaime I let you stay at a friend’s house in Ft. Lauderdale for the summer. Don’t forget to take your dog.” She goes to the laundry room where Neruda has her bed and wakes her up. She practically throws her to me.

Pedri hugs me hard and runs to his room sobbing.

My mom pushes me out of the front door. I stumble and almost fall. “I’m sorry, Shai, but I can’t continue loving you if you stay with that girl.” She calms down a little. “I love you with all my heart. I’m doing this for your own good. When you’ve changed, and you’re honest with me about who she is, come back.”

She slams the door in my face.

A bunch of sparrows fly overhead. There’s a weird brown ring around the clouds. I think the sky is going to fall. I feel an odd sensation in my chest, as if I have a hole in there the size of Cuba.

“Shai, are you there?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“I thought you had hung up and I was talking to myself.”

Marlena’s grandfather and I get along great. He’s interested in politics and reading Spanish newspapers to us so we never lose our mother-tongue and stay up on what’s happening in Latin America.

We chat a little longer in Spanish about world events. “Communism is evil, Shai. Thank
good
ness it hasn’t cast its spell around the world, taking everything down with it, including people’s morale, their desire to be somebody, and hopes and dreams for a better world. Communism equals death of the soul, it makes folks limp through life . . .”

When he’s done, we say our goodbyes. I feel as if a train just hit me. Not because of his usual talks, which I like. But because on top of everything I’ve been through, I can’t get to Marlena.

Why did Rick have to come today, of all days?

Rick is an eighteen-year-old Marlena met at her uncle Marco’s house two years ago. He lives in Puerto Rico all year round with his dad. He visits his mom and Marlena whenever he can take off a week or two from work, and on holidays. Marlena has to act like she’s into him so her family doesn’t get suspicious. That stings. Her uncle Marco, Marlena’s father, Rick’s father and grandfather are close friends. They want Marlena and Rick to get married one day. Just my luck!

If I want to stay with Marlena, I pretty much have to accept the Rick situation. I could easily rant against her having him as a boyfriend, but that will only destroy our bond. There’s no way Rick can compare to the powerful feelings she and I have for one another. Alternating people like that, though, always shuttling between two perspectives, is something I’m glad is in my past. In some strange way, I’m thankful I don’t have to go on lying anymore about
my
“boyfriend.”

I walk to the mailbox a few blocks away, grab a pen and paper from inside my shoulder bag, and write Pedri a note:

Hi, Little Punk. I love you more than all the raindrops that have ever fallen on earth. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. I want you to be a little man and behave. Don’t get into trouble. I miss you SO much, Pedri. I’ll call you every day.

Ten kissies on the tip of your nose.

I love you, love you, love you!

Your big sis,

Shyly.

It sucks to not have my cell anymore.

I run to the nearest drugstore and buy envelopes and stamps, something I’ve never done in all my life. I kiss the envelope and throw the letter in the mailbox.

I bolt into a jog with Neruda on a leash. Fast red cars zoom around like flying candy. Billboards selling perfume, silicone breasts and jewelry are everywhere.

We run a few minutes in the blazing heat, away from traffic. Every step I take, I take in the direction of nowhere. It’s excessively hot. My legs feel like taffy, but I keep running as fast as I can.

I’ve run into someone’s backyard. I look up and find myself in front of a massive San Lázaro statue encased in an altar. He’s standing with a golden cane and a few dogs licking his wounds. The cane turns an aqua blue. I shut my eyes. When I open them wide, San Lázaro is walking across the yard, talking to himself. I dash after him.

“Please, please, San Lázaro, you’ve got to help me!”

He stops abruptly and turns to face me. I bump into him and fall to the ground. He stretches out his hand. I grab it as he pulls me up with the strength of fifty men. His eyes meet mine.

“
Muchachita.
” A man’s voice speaks to me in Spanish. I shut my eyes and open them many times until the blurring subsides. In front of me is a wrinkled old man with a cane. I look to my right and San Lázaro is still encased in his shrine. “You must have fainted from the heat.” He helps me up. “It’s 102 degrees out. Let’s go inside where there’s air-conditioning.”