Handbook for an Unpredictable Life: How I Survived Sister Renata and My Crazy Mother, and Still Came Out Smiling (with Great Hair) (16 page)

One day, while playing Red Light, Green Light, One-Two-Three, with the big girls on the bottom grove, Cindy ran over with one of the bad girls. “She got cigarettes. Wanna come and smoke with us?”

Smoke? Hell no! Well, maybe I’d just come along and see.

As we tiptoed back into the dorm, Lil Tillie, with the two permanent braided pigtails, was sitting up on her bed. “What’s going on? You going to the kitchen?” “It’s none of your business, Silly Tillie. And you better not tell on us either, or I’ll get you back!” snapped Cindy.

Poor Lil Tillie. She was the nicest thing on the planet.

The bad girl decided that we were going to commit the crime in the clothes closet away from everyone. She lit up and passed the cigarette. I shook my head no; I didn’t want to do it. “She’s such a baby. I told you not to bring her!”

“Shut up, stupid,” I barked back.

I picked up the book of matches and lit one. Watching the flame transported me as it burned all the way down the matchstick, burning my fingers. Cindy took a pull on the cigarette and held it out to me. I gave in. Ugh! It was disgusting. I was gagging, and then we all heard a noise. We froze.

“Someone’s coming!” The bad girl and Cindy ran out. I was frozen, standing there like an idiot with the damn cigarette in my hand. Crazy Cindy ran back in. “Come on!” I panicked and flung the cigarette over my shoulder and ran out. Unbeknownst to me, it landed in one of the bins filled with clothes and lit the bins on fire.

After the firemen left, Sister Renata lined us up and walked up and down, scanning all of us with her beady eyes and her paddle.

“We have ways to find out who did this. You can either step forward now or pay the consequences later.”

No one budged. Sister Renata motioned to Miss Millie. Miss Millie waved over the first girl in the line. “Hold out your hands!” Miss Millie smelled her fingers (nuns’ forensic techniques!). “You’re good. Stand over there. Next!”

One by one, Miss Millie sniffed out each girl’s hands. She got to the bad seed’s hands. Sniff. “You are in big trouble.” She motioned her to stand on the opposite side from the girls who had been checked and cleared. Sister Renata bent her over and whacked the hell out of her tiny butt until she saw red. “And that’s just a sample of what’s to come!” I shook. I couldn’t bear the thought of another violent beating.

Crazy Cindy leaned backwards from the line, trying to get my attention.

“Psst! Psst! Stick your fingers down your butt.”

Cindy actually stuck her fingers down her pants like she was digging for China.

She went up next. Miss Millie took a whiff, and her head jerked back from the stench. Cindy cracked up in her face. Miss Millie motioned her to the “not guilty” side.

Next up was Lil Tillie. Miss Millie smelled her fingers—guilty! Guilty? What the hell? “But I didn’t do it,” cried Lil Tillie. “Quiet!” snapped Sister Renata. She then bent Lil Tillie over and began whacking. I shoved my fingers so fast up my ass it wasn’t funny.

It was my turn. Miss Millie smelled my fingers, looked suspiciously up at me, then over to Crazy Cindy, who gave her this perfect beguiled blank stare. Miss Millie looked back at me; I was shaking and couldn’t meet her eyes. “Not guilty!” Did the fingers in my butt work, or did she let me off the hook? She was always kind to me and hated how Sister Renata beat me.

As we were leaving, we could hear the screams and cries from Lil Tillie and the bad girl. I was disgusted with myself. What was going on? Who was I becoming? I thought about Mr. Neil and Ed Yano, who perceived me as good, and I worried that I would disappoint them. I didn’t want that to happen. I felt desperate to hold on to that part of me. I went over to Crazy Cindy and told her how bad I felt that Lil Tillie took the fall for us. Crazy Cindy just shrugged it off. “So? At least we didn’t get caught.”

I WAS eight years old and was summoned to the office of the head nun, Sister Minetta-Mary. Dag it! What the hell did I do this time? This was serious business, being sent up to see the big boss. Sister Renata accompanied me, not looking or speaking to me either. I was silent during the long walk to the head nun’s office.

Sister Minetta-Mary’s office was simple and carpeted, with leather-studded chairs and a mahogany desk. Sister Renata told me to sit on one of the chairs; she sat in the one beside me. Sister Minetta-Mary came out. Man, she was older than dirty-dirt. She had an authority to her that showed she had put her time in too.

“Hello, Rosemary. You know we care about you girls here. We teach you manners, give you a fine education, a roof over your head, and your recent and continuing impertinent behavior is what we get in return? You’re usually a very good girl.”

She paused dramatically, folding her hands together.

“You’re in our outside-school program, correct?”

“Yes, sister.”

“Those privileges are not given to everyone. You do know that?”

“Yes, sister.”

“Rosemary, I think you’re a good child who’s lost her way. Perhaps you need a change of environment. There is a new program called a Group Home—there will be one for girls and one for boys. Eight girls and eight boys will be picked that we feel are either well behaved or academically advanced enough to live in a real house in upstate New York. It will be a great opportunity. You are being
considered. However, one more stunt and you will be taken off that list and all other privileges will be taken away.”

Yay! I couldn’t believe my luck! Man, I’m going to be really good now!

“But this is not why we have brought you in. Sister Renata, please ask Mrs. Vasquez to come in.”

Mrs. Vasquez? All I was thinking was,
Not another damn kid
. Mrs. Vasquez and her swishing fat thighs entered and sat down. The big sister continued.

“Rosemary, you have a father who is different from your brothers’ and sisters’ father. Did you know that?”

Of course I knew that. My half-brothers and -sisters and my mother made sure to remind me constantly. Of course I knew I had a different father after he made that drunken confession to me four years before. Yes, I knew! The whole world was constantly reminding me!

“Your father would like to meet you and has expressed that he would like to take a bigger role and interest in your life. We can take things slow and see how you feel after you have met him today. Does that sound okay to you?”

Uh, no! I don’t want to meet my father—who I have already met! And what nerve of him, especially since I had not seen him in almost a year after I started to fall in love with him because of our weird and wonderful dates he used to take me on! No! This is not okay with me! The head honcho didn’t wait for me to answer.

Mrs. Vasquez walked me out onto the balcony. Ismael was sitting on a bench that faced the railroad tracks. He got up, took his hat off.

“Hello, Rosie. I’m your father, Ismael.”

What? Why was he acting like I had never met him before? I started to get really angry but tried really hard not to let it take over me. Mrs. Vasquez left, leaving us alone.

“Hello, Rosie. I’m your father. I had met you before in—”

“I know who you are!” I rudely interrupted.

Awkward pause.

“Oh. I’m glad you remember. (
pause
) Did you know that I was the first one to call you Rosie? Yes. It is true. (
laughs
) You know, I used to have a girlfriend named Rosie and a girlfriend named Marie. And you have both names!”

He chuckled up even harder. I looked at him and rolled my eyes. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“There’s a restaurant down the hill,” he continued. “Sorrento’s. I thought we could have some lunch there.”

I looked down at the cement staircase, swinging my leg back and forth, praying to God that this would be over soon.

“You know, I wanted to come see you sooner, but I was away on the ship.… Plus, your mother wouldn’t allow me to. You see, you have her last name, Perez, not mine, Serrano. But if you change your last name to mine, Serrano, I can come see you anytime you like.… Or take you to Puerto Rico to visit me and my family—”

Family? Like I’m not your family?

“You see, I was not on the birth certificate and—”

“I don’t want to change my name. I’m fine with Perez.”

His face dropped. He leaned back on the bench and made a deep sigh. I rolled my eyes at him and looked away.

Sorrento’s was this tiny Italian restaurant at the bottom of the hill, directly across the street from the train station. The lighting inside was dark, and each table had a small lighted lamp on top. Ismael ordered eggplant parmigiana for both of us, with a salad to start. I thought that was so weird, not only that he ordered for me, like they do in the old movies and I always wanted someone to do that for me, but also, eggplant parmigiana happened to be my favorite Italian dish.

“You know, if you change your last name to mine, then me and Minguita—”

“I’m not changing my name. I’m Perez. I wouldn’t do that to my mother.”

Say what? My father just nodded his head yes. I watched his eyes flood with tears and then watched them roll down his face.

We ate in silence. The waiter came by our table and gestured to our half-eaten plates.

“Are you finished, sir?”

“No, sir. I’m Puerto Rican.”

As bad as that joke was, I chuckled. My father looked up at me and smiled.

Dad, banking on my change of mood, decided to just spill the truth. He told me that word had gotten back to my mother about our “dates” back in Brooklyn. And she had heard rumors of him claiming me as his, saying that he was going to have my last name changed. Lydia was pissed and told Tia that if my father pursued any legal actions, she would make sure that he and Tia would never be able to see me again. He got scared and stayed away, but finally got the nerve to stand up to her and told the Home that he was in fact my real father.

Bullshit. Yeah, it was great that he finally stood up to my mother, kind of, but all the other stuff was immature, selfish drama on the part of both my mother and my father! They were acting out their own bullshit over a failed romance, and I was the one getting hit the hardest by being left in the Home as their saga continued. And Tia was hurt too. If they both put their nonsense aside, I would have been back at Tia’s, and she and I would have been happy like we had been.

“May I be excused, please? I need to use the ladies’ room.”

My father stood up and pulled out my chair for me, like the men would always do for Bette Davis and Barbara Stanwyck in the old movies. I liked that, but couldn’t let on.

Inside the bathroom stall, my heart was pounding. Why didn’t I say yes and agree to change my last name? I didn’t understand at the time that that would have been my ticket out of the Home. I could only feel anger toward him for not seeing me for such a long
time. I saw this as something that would further separate me from my mother. It was too much for me to comprehend. I splashed water on my face, quietly snuck out of the restaurant, and ran back up the hill to the Home, leaving my father sitting there like a clueless idiot.

After hiding out for a while in the dormitory, I started to think about what the head nun had told me about being on the list for the Group Home. Man, I hoped I hadn’t blown it by pulling this shit with my father. I decided to go back to the main office and face the music. If I was going to get punished, I wanted to get it over with, take it like a champ, and hopefully still be considered for the program.

My father was there waiting and immediately ran up to me and hugged the shit out of me, thanking God that I was all right. Sister Renata started screaming, pointing her finger in my face. My father turned to her and firmly told her not to yell at his daughter. And he never wanted to hear her speak to me that way again. Ooh! Pops got heart! I was shocked. Sister Renata was fuming. Too bad he didn’t understand that I was going to pay for his actions on top of mine.

My father told them that he was going to have me walk him down to the train station. He took my hand as we started down the hill. I pulled it back. He stopped, turned to me, and just smiled this sweet smile. We continued down to the station, not saying a single word.

The train pulled in. My father turned to me and smiled. “I’ll see you very soon. I love you very much, Rosie. I am your daddy, and you are my life, and I’ll never forget you, ever. And I want you to meet your sister Carmen and your little brother Tito. You call me if you need anything.” He got on the train and turned around to me, pumping his fist up and down in the air as he cheerfully cried out, “Choo-choo!” I had the instinct to laugh but shook my head with a smile in disbelief instead.

Ismael changed after that visit. He replaced a lot of his limited idle time wasted on philandering—not all of it, mind you—with time spent with me. He began to visit on Sundays at the Home or come to Tia’s whenever I would go down for a home visit. The visits to Saint Joseph’s always included a meal at Sorrento’s Italian restaurant. I loved those “dates,” loved how he continued to pull out my chair for me and order my meals too. I began to melt for him again—my guard was still a bit up, but I certainly wasn’t as icy as I was before. I couldn’t be, not with his charm and corny jokes. He was still a merchant marine, and when he was out at sea, he would write me many letters from all around the world, always ending with, “Your loving father, Ismael.” I cherished those letters and kept them in my locker all the way in the back so that no one would steal them.

•   •   •

My father’s apartment was inside of a nice limestone building, on Linden Boulevard in East New York, ten minutes away from Tia’s. There were a bunch of kids playing stickball in the street. It was my little brother’s birthday party, and the smell of roasted pork and
pasteles
reeked through the open first-floor window. On the way there, Tia told me that Tina, who they’d told me was my cousin, was really my sister and her real name was Carmen. (Tia had wanted to call Carmen Tina since she was born on Valentine’s Day and … anyway, just some Puerto Rican weird shit.) She also told me that Carmen was not my father’s wife’s kid, but that my little brother Tito was. My father had been married to her during the conception of his two love children, Carmen and me—again, more dramatic Puerto Rican weird shit. Tia made me promise never to let on that I knew about Carmen’s real mother.