The Pulse between Dimensions and the Desert Page 6

  “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 entertainmen
t 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.

  SWEET GUM

  It snowed the night you told me we should separate. I went outside with no shoes and no coat. I cried as frost collected on the cars and in my hair. We met four summers back. Four years was nothing. That’s what my older friends used to say. I wanted to crawl back into bed with you. The urge to say sorry was overwhelming even if I wasn’t sure what to be sorry for. I went back into the apartment and you sat in silence. I said nothing. You said nothing. It went on for days in between my bursts of crying which I couldn’t help. I had to stay with you for a month until I could find a place of my own. Anytime you left the apartment, I called you and called you and you never answered. I knew you were with other women. I knew, but it wasn’t anything I could stop. It wasn’t my place. I found a small house with cheap rent and I painted it purple. I used neon pieces of construction paper as wallpaper and napped every single day for three months.

  The first night I decided to go out it was because I stepped on a flyer to a three-story night club, “Area 21” on my way home. The flyer promised free drinks before 10 and an art gallery tucked away in a tent on the roof of the building. At the entrance, the bouncer stifled laughter when he saw me. He pointed at my mid-section and told me if I cut my black tee shirt into a crop top, I could go in. I scratched my scalp and slid lipstick on my mouth. He handed me the scissors. I took my shirt off and cut above the belly button. I put my shirt back on went around him as he caught drift of fake IDs. Heard him tell the girls they could go in if one of them cut slits into the side of her dress. I nudged at the short purple door and crawled through the entryway. I crawled inside a black and white checkered tunnel that led my body up and down until I tasted artificial fog and saw pulsating white light.

  Area 21 is an old office building with sticky floors and vomit phantoms. Cubicles from the previous 9-5 ghosts are individually themed. I picked “Mermaid Cavern” because a young pretty couple took “Manatee Mansion.” I danced alone as lasers splattered sweaty messes meshing together. I bumped into a masked man and woman. One of them offered me a drink. I declined. The woman offered me shrooms and I stuffed the fungus into my bra. The masked people attempted conversations. I covered their mouths and shook my head. We danced close. I tasted their exhaling breaths. They tasted my fingers. I left them in the Manatee Mansion and headed toward the center of the club. I chugged water from the mouth of a spitting angel water fountain and then followed an exit sign home.

  Sweat is clinging onto clumpy strings of curls and down my temples. I had a dream about a neighborhood burning. My house was engulfed in emerald flames. Smoke twirled around me. I grabbed at my throat and coughed out silence. I woke up alone. The piercing through my gut is thick. I can hear the branch digging into the mattress underneath me. The sweet gum’s branches are growing fast. I can’t wipe away the dark arms of the tree reaching toward me like I usually do to the shadow people of sleep paralysis. The sweet gum grazes my cheek. A twig initially tickles. Then, with all its might, it settles into my bicep. The thought to scream is secondary to the creeping regret of never having a child. I regret not leaving with the masked couple. I regret not erasing you completely out of my memory.

  I imagined you as the father to my kid because of your persistence on calling yourself a future soccer dad. I drove to Arizona in the summer. I hiked down the Grand Canyon alone, tasting dust and wishing you could see how much it looks like a painting. Our little girl, vocal and stubborn, a combo of you and I would say that it looked better in HD. If I had given birth, my endurance for this pain could compare. I could claim this was nothing because I brought a god damned human being onto this floating speck in space. She would be my gift to you along with a box full of this sweet gum’s spiked capsules.

  I am stuck to these branches and twigs soaking my mattress with reds of Blood Type O. I only figured this out because you told me what yours was at a house party as meaningless mingling and curiosity brewed for my own. This is where we first met. You called me pretty. You told me you enjoyed the cadence of my laughter. I shook your hand and waved as I left the party.

  The sweet gum continues to expand and reach into my home. Parts of the ceiling are crumbling into a skylight. Patches of twinkling atmosphere expose themselves. The air is cold and still. Every breath is harsh. I can still smell hints of the earth.

  I couldn’t hear the message you left me on New Year’s Eve because I had just kissed someone new and music was blurring into drunken ears. I danced against a person I didn’t care for and I felt his warmth at the end of the night. I deleted your number, but I had it memorized. I never read the long texts you sent me because I was finally sincere with my disdain. I missed your last voicemail because I was busy at work. You got stuck on the interstate driving from Illinois. Tornado sirens wailed at plots of people piled into cars. You said you loved me and apologized about some bullshit we argued over before you bolted to a woman you met online. I was adamant on not speaking to you, so I erased the message and called you a fucking liar under my breath.

  I went to the movies alone. It was a B-movie about wizards. I wore 3D glasses inside and reached toward the screen when the leading wizard winked at the audience. She stepped out of the screen and sat next to me. She showed me her pet scorpion and the constellations on its tail. She didn’t need a wand, she simply needed her hands to cast spells. She took her hands and gently placed my hair behind my ears. She waved her hands from side to side and LED lights dispersed from the ceiling. They synchronized in colors then they blinked at different rhythms and colors. She snapped her fingers and mirrors surrounded the audience. We sat amongst makeshift stars with our buckets of popcorn and crinkly wrappers collecting on the ground. I walked out of t
he theater and I wanted to call you. The movie ends with the head wizard winking and blowing a kiss as she makes the theater pitch black. Droplets from the ceiling landed on my head and exposed skin. I felt hundreds of legs crawling on me. I sat in darkness and applauded. The lights came on and my skin was covered in pink and purple dust. The crawling came from the scorpions let loose as a consolation prize for watching the movie. I thought you might like the ending. I left you a message and asked you to call me back.

  Sirens go in and out of my hearing and a helicopter’s searchlight seeps through the cracks of this foundation. Gray is filling up my sight. I can’t feel the branches or the cold air. I catch glimpses of an overcast beach, holding your hand, running up and down the shore, finding an abandoned bouquet that you said Poseidon delivered to me because of how much potential I had at nineteen.

  LA REINA

  The crown of nopales reaches up at the stars with pink and yellow flowers hidden due to the darkness, but unafraid to blossom when Reina wakes in the morning to watch over the children. She paints her face with blue, red, yellow and white. Small triangles in blue on each cheek and lines from ear to ear, gliding over the bridge of her nose like a heart monitor pulse mimicking mountain ranges on the earth below. The children line up in the morning to get a glimpse of Reina. She sits on a throne made of crystals in her deep violet gown with rainbows of geometric patterns following the seams. She wears earrings made of black scorpions and a ring on each finger representing the stars she’s had the pleasure of visiting. She smiles at them always. She notices the ones who are becoming more and more transparent each morning. They are becoming part of the nebulous disorganization in the cosmos. They are becoming bigger than themselves. Her chest is heavy every day as she loses them, one by one. So, she goes to earth every night. She travels down the black spiral staircase stretching from the sky to the earth to float around and look through the windows of homes about to lose the child inside. Her feet are silent down the steps. She sniffs out abnormally slow hearts and looks inside window panes. She can see blue lips glowing and parents dreaming. She can see the little soul stretching and yawning. Reina motions at the child. Looking into his eyes, she can see his chronological health complications and DNA strands shrinking and snapping. Reina smiles at the child. Her smile is brighter than the full moon and the child walks toward her. She carries him up the spiral staircase in silence and shows him the cloud garden. The clouds sprout springs of white. Some of the vines reach higher than the child can see. Reina tells him not to be afraid. She tells him to play until the day he is finally gone.