Juliet Takes a Breath (3 page)

“Duh, brother, but I mean, like, die in my soul.” Eighteen songs and one Floetry skit all accounted for on the inside of the CD case. Making a mix tape was way easier than announcing to the world that you're a lesbian. I added more bomb stickers and glued a picture of Lainie and me at Lilith Fair to the back cover.

“Spiritual death is unlikely, Juliet. Your soul would just find another creature to attach itself to and then you'd be a falcon or something. And no one cares if falcons are gay,” he said. Lil' Melvin: philosopher, letter writer, concerned citizen, and Twix coupon hoarder. He rolled over on the bed and pressed his forehead against mine, his soft belly rested on my arm. “Let out your lesbionic truths, sister.”

“Lesbionic. I'm keeping that word forever.” I looked up at my Virgin Mary wall clock with my hands folded behind my back, and for a second I thought she smiled at me. Lil' Melvin slipped back into his Animorphs coma.

The smiling faces of Selena, Ani Difranco, TLC, Salma Hayek, and Angelina Jolie gazed down on me from the walls like patron saints on stained glass windows. Surely they understood why I wanted to come out. They waited confidently knowing that eventually I'd just have to do it. It'd be nice if one of them could have said something.

Could I really go downstairs and get this demon off my chest? Was it really possible to exorcise yourself? I walked back and forth, following the worn path in the dark red carpeting. Prayer always freed people from possession in the movies. What kind of prayer made parents the people you needed them to be? If I went through it, I wouldn't be able to take any of it back. I wouldn't be able to rewind my life clock to before Lainie or before the movie
Gia
.

I watched Lil' Melvin eat Twix bars on my bed and read his book. Maybe he was right, maybe Mom and Dad really wouldn't care that there was a gay falcon in the family.

What was left for me to fear anyway? I'd been a nervous wreck since coming home from college. I'd avoided my parents and their questions the same way my parents avoided Jehovah's Witnesses knocking at our door: turn off the lights, turn down the TV. No confrontation; just wait for them to go away.

Dinnertime with the family sent me into panic mode complete with angsty silence and a carnivorous burden; I felt like if I didn't act soon enough, we'd all be consumed by it. And really, all I could do was play awkward, nerdy, fat-girl, closeted-lesbian dodge ball with the questions directed at me.

“No boyfriend,
nena
?”

“No, too busy with student government. Oohh, are you making
arroz con maíz
? That's my favorite.”

Dodge. My portrayal of the aloof-but-diligent daughter should have been nominated for an Oscar or at least a Golden Globe. But no, instead I received pats on the head and plotted ways to get my gay secret out into the world. And by plotted ways, I mean, acted out
muy
dramatic scenarios in my head a la Grandma Petalda's telenovelas. I had to tell them and it had to be before I left for Portland.

My mother, Mariana, and my father, Ernesto, sat at the head of the table. Grandpa Cano built it out of red maple wood before I was born. Grandma Petalda sat wedged in between Lil' Melvin, and me. Across from us were my Titi Wepa and Titi Mellie. Everyone came together for me; this was my goodbye-for-the-summer dinner. Grandma Petalda and my mom spent three hours making
arroz con maíz, alcapurrias
, and
bistec encebollado
. Leaving the Bronx was cause for celebration. Doing it by way of an internship with a published author and for college credits, merited an “all of your favorite foods” dinner. No one in my family knew exactly where Portland, Oregon, was—anywhere north of the Bronx was “upstate” and outside of New York was considered “over there somewhere”—but none of that mattered. Better to make food and have a send-off for the first-born granddaughter, me, Juliet Milagros Palante. This was how we said goodbye. We ate Puerto Rican food, used outdoor voices to tell perfectly exaggerated stories while loving so hard it hurt. The act of eating was a good excuse for me to daydream and wallow in what-ifs while Titi Wepa's latest cop story filled the air.

She looked each of us in the eyes while gesturing with her fork, and said “So I see this asshole rob an old lady by Yankee Stadium and I go, ‘Hey, I'm Officer Palante, get down on the ground now,' and he says, ‘Whatever, bitch,' and takes off running. 'Cuz I'm a chick, he thought he'd get away. I might have tits but I've got brains too. And I knew he was gonna go down River Ave. So I took 162nd and bing boom, I caught him. Got him down on the ground and cuffed his ass. These punks, they don't think ahead. They've only got one move. Not me, baby, my brain has all the moves. Every woman needs a plan A, B, and C,” Titi Wepa said. She slapped the table to bring her point home and clinked beer bottles with Titi Mellie.

Her story made me think of my plans. I definitely had an A and a B, but definitely not a C. Plan A: I could sit there and keep eating and when dinner was over I could get in the car with the whole family, go to JFK, say a tearful goodbye at my gate and just leave. No big gay announcement. Nothing to put this perfect night of mine off balance. Plan B: tell them I like girls and get this off my chest so that my heart can beat normally again and so that I can stop using my inhaler so much. Red pill or blue pill. Down the rabbit hole or remain asleep under the tree, dreamless and stuck. This dinner could be a straight line, if I wanted: no bumps, no bruises, turbulence-free.

Lil' Melvin read an Animorph book under the table. Less than interested in Titi Wepa's latest cop tale and more connected to the idea that he too could one day morph into an animal.

“I bet you wouldn't be so good at chasing falcons, Titi,” Lil' Melvin said without looking up from his book.

“You don't chase falcons. You shoot them,” Titi Wepa said. “And I've got a nine millimeter for that.”

“Boring. Animals don't have guns. Now, Titi, if you could fly and you flew after a falcon and caught it then, that would be the coolest thing ever.” Lil' Melvin shoved a fork full of yellow rice and corn into his mouth.

Titi Wepa stared at him, coughing, shaking her head. Dad got her a glass of water. Mom snuck around behind my chair, dropped a second
alcapurria
onto my plate. “So quiet tonight. Don't be nervous. Idaho isn't so far away, Poochie.” She kissed my cheeks and sat down at the end of the table.

“Oregon, Mom. Portland, Oregon,” I said, swallowing pieces of fried plantain and spiced beef. I picked up Lil' Melvin's falcon cue, took a deep breath, and dove into my confession. “So, a group of boys cornered me in the supermarket and told me they had the best you-know-whats in the world. So annoying.”

Titi Wepa and Titi Mellie laughed like I'd said something funny. My father looked up from his second plate of food and shook his head. Grandma Petalda sucked her teeth, “These boys today have no class.”

“Boys don't know how else to say they like you,” Titi Mellie said, her neon pink halter top trying its very best to keep all of her bits under wraps. Titi Mellie's lipstick was the same shade of pink as her halter top, her acrylic-wrapped fingernails, and her hair scrunchie.

“Like me? Oh stop, no boy on the block is talking about his junk to me because he likes me, Juliet, as a person,” I said, as my heart beat so damn fast I felt like I was going to faint or die, “Besides, I told him I was a lesbian and he backed off.”

I kept my eyes fixed on the image of the Virgin Mary hanging in the kitchen.

Titi Wepa clapped her hands. “Ah, the dyke-n-dodge trick. I've used that so many times. It's a classic. Gotta be careful though, sometimes that revs up their little
pingas
even more.” Titi Mellie nodded her head in agreement as if wisdom of the ages was being passed on to me.

“Ay, you know we don't use that kind of language at the table,” Mom said, standing up again, re-filling my father's plate for the third time. Her hips swayed under a Puerto-Rican flag apron. “Why didn't you just tell them that you have a boyfriend?”

She had her questions and I had mine. “Why lie? I don't have a boyfriend. I think I'm a lesbian,” I said. My words felt like they were being sucked out of me. They lingered in the air above our red Maplewood dining room table, compact and ready to be tucked away. I thought for sure there'd be an earthquake of some kind after my revelation. Nope.

Titi Wepa added some salt to her
bistec encebollado
. “If not having a boyfriend made people lesbians, Mellie would be running her own parade,” Titi Wepa said, her mouth full of food. Lil' Melvin snorted, his laughter bubbled up around the table until even Grandma Petalda joined in. Not even Mom took my declaration seriously.

“Ok, enough of this crazy talk,” she said, smiling. Mom raised her glass of sweet pink moscato on ice. “Tonight Juliet is leaving the Bronx and going away for an amazing internship. Let's toast to her college career, her brave spirit, and to making all of us so proud.” Everyone around the table raised their glasses and looked at me. In each of their faces, I saw different versions of who I was. This was all happening way too fast. How had I lost my moment?

“Stop. Everyone just stop,” I said as I pushed my plate away. “Thank you for all of this but listen to me. I am gay. Gay gay gay. I've been dating Lainie for the past year. This isn't a joke. I've been wondering for weeks how to tell you all and this is the best I've got. I'm definitely a lesbian.”

No one moved or laughed, no bottles clinked. From the window, sounds of the # 2 and #5 trains screeching away from their shared track filtered into the dining room. Grandma Petalda was the only one still eating. I set free the elephant, the falcon, or whatever kind of animal spilled its truth onto dining room tables. Was this what ferocious cunts did? I didn't feel ferocious. The smoldering discomfort that rose in my chest was humidity: thick, oppressive humidity.

There was nowhere to look. Titi Wepa polished off another beer. Titi Mellie checked the length of her acrylic nails. Mom stared at me from across the table.

“It's this book, isn't it? This book about vaginas has you messed up in the head and confused,” she said, looking past me, anywhere but at me. Her voice heavy but not accusatory. My father reached out for her hand and held it.

“No, it's not
Raging Flower
. I love Lainie. It's never felt like this with a boy,” I said. Tears betrayed the tiny bit of strength in my voice. Lil' Melvin bowed his head low, his cheeks flushed. He nudged his knee into mine and kept it there. I pushed my plate of food aside. Mom and I stared at each other and I felt like I was falling.

“But, Juliet,” she said, “You've never had a boyfriend, so how would you know? All you know are these neighborhood boys. You haven't given any of the boys at your college a chance. You might like, Lainie, but it's not the same thing. I promise you that.”

“Love, I love her. You don't know anything about my feelings.”

“I know you better than you think I do and this isn't you, Juliet.”

Mom got up from her seat, pushed her chair in, and walked upstairs to her bedroom. No door slam, no stomping feet on the stairs. She ghosted and left us at the dining room table without a word.

It was 8:00 p.m. and my plane was scheduled to take off from JFK at 11:30. I wondered if it would become a one-way trip.

Grandma Petalda cleared the dishes and put food in glass containers, ending my goodbye dinner. Titi Mellie gave me a quick hug, and told me that a good boyfriend is hard to find but that I'd grow out of this lesbian thing. Lil' Melvin exited the dining room to play Final Fantasy. My father kissed my cheek and left the table to go talk to my mother. It had been over an hour and she hadn't emerged from their room. All I heard from upstairs was the hush of whispers that almost became shouts.

Titi Wepa and I sat across from each other. I'd never seen her so still. Wepa's wild brown curls were gelled back into a severe cop-style ponytail. She studied me, her dark brown eyes like a wolf's, met mine, “Ok, lesbian, It's almost time to take you to the airport. Get your stuff, let's load up the car.”

The house felt too small for me. My father emerged from the bedroom and helped bring down my bags. Still no sign or sound from Mom. Dad's face was gray like worn asphalt. Tension lines in the corner of his eyes conveyed feelings of grief, stress, sadness, something other than his usual “men don't show their feelings” type of face. After loading my gear into Titi Wepa's Thunderbird, he held me. It was the longest hug I've ever received from him. I wondered what they had said about me behind their closed doors. Grandma Petalda stood in the doorway, she beckoned me over.

“You are what you are, Juliet. You are my blood, my first-born granddaughter. I love you like the seas love the moon,” Grandma Petalda said, pulling me into her soft belly. “You will be back. This is your home. Now, go say goodbye to your mother.”

I was about to argue with her, say something like, “I can't come back here, Grandma” or “She doesn't want me anymore”—something final and dramatic. But I checked myself. I saw our family in her eyes; she wasn't throwing me away. I kissed Grandma's cheeks, smelled the adobo still on her skin, and felt waves of Grandpa Cano flow through her. She released me, and I ran up the stairs to my parent's bedroom.

I made it to the door, raised my hand to knock, and then stopped. My mom was in there and she wasn't making any effort to come to me. Maybe she didn't want me barging in on her, maybe she didn't want to see my face. I slumped to the floor, feeling like I'd destroyed everything.

“Mom,” I called out through the closed door, “I'm sorry I ruined dinner. I didn't know how else to tell you about Lainie. I didn't know how else to say any of it,” I said, my chest wheezing. “Titi Wepa's taking me to the airport now. I love you so much, Mom.” I took a puff from my yellow inhaler. The small screech of release it made filled the air around me. I waited, listening for movement, for any sound of life reaching out from the other side of that door. The hallway walls were lined with pictures of our family. Pictures from the day my mom and dad got married in City Island hung in wooden frames. My dad rocked a short trimmed afro and full beard with his baby blue, ruffled tuxedo. My mom looked like a statue of the Virgin Mary; she was covered in lace and purity, smiling like she knew in that moment what the rest of her life would be like and it was already everything she'd imagined.