Knitting the Fog Read online

  During nutrition and lunch everyone seemed to know each other. Some formed their cliques depending on their fashion sense, their manner of speaking or thinking, or their school clubs. I wanted to run and hide in the bathroom, but I was scared of the nasty girls who pretended to own the bathroom and its mirrors. I didn’t fit in anywhere. I wasn’t a goth chick, a cholita, a cheerleader, a schoolgirl, a nerd, or a jockette. I was a “normal” seventh grader who wore pleated, pink shorts on the first day of school.

  As soon as the bell rang for nutrition, I ran to the bathroom before anyone else. My plan was to get there before the cruel girls. I wanted to hide in one of the stalls until the twenty minutes of nutrition were over. I ran to the bathroom down the hall in such a hurry that I didn’t notice the girl who was also rushing toward the bathroom door. We crashed into each other trying to enter the bathroom at the same time.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to gather her things from the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated her words as I picked my binder up off the floor.

  She had a warm smile on her face. I smiled back at her. Somehow, our loneliness had found each other in the bathroom.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “I’m Claudia,” I responded, not knowing whether to shake her hand.

  “I’m Annette,” she said, as she smiled her lovely smile again. “Are you in any of my classes?”

  We compared our schedules and noticed that we had PE together for fourth period. We didn’t even bother to use the bathroom. We casually walked out into the hallway together as if we had known each other forever.

  I was happy to see her during fourth period. We sat together listening to Ms. Maddy’s PE classroom rules and expectations. We were both scared of her. Everyone was terrified of Ms. Maddy—she was loud and tough. I had witnessed her loudness but not her toughness yet. I was relieved when she allowed the students to pick their PE locker partner. Annette and I smiled at each other. We knew we would share PE lockers without having to say a word.

  Lunch was right after PE. Annette and I ate together, exchanged phone numbers, and talked about boys. She even tried to help me open my locker, but she failed.

  “My locker is in the main building. Why don’t you put your books there too?” she offered.

  I was too happy to respond. My smile said it all. That day Annette became my best friend. We spent time together during lunch, nutrition, and PE, and the weeks always flew by at school. We had fun talking about girly things, and I felt comfortable being around her because she spoke to me in Spanish without making me feel dumb.

  Middle school wasn’t so bad after all, thanks to Annette. Sadly, she never came over to my house because of the distance; she lived closer to Nimitz, about twenty-five minutes away from my house. She was also terrified of Mamá. I only got to visit her once, and I ended up getting in trouble for it. Mamá never allowed Consuelo and me to sleep over at our friends’ house, and she wouldn’t allow us to have any sleepovers at ours either.

  Ardor de cuerpo

  Reanudar

  mis movimientos

  repetitivos—

  arrancar hojas,

  deshojar pieles,

  ahogar la mente.

  La sensibilidad

  se empaña con cada

  retuerzo.

  La vista pellizcada

  se fastidia de tanto ver,

  de no ver nada.

  La espina quebrantada,

  desdoblada se estira

  lentamente.

  Repetir, repetir,

  sin pensar.

  Rodillas

  que tiemblan—

  se doblan repitiendo

  el rechinante grito

  del hueso ardiente.

  Ardor of the Body

  To resume

  my repetitive

  movements—

  tear away leaves,

  unpeel layers,

  drown the mind.

  The sensibility blurs

  with every

  twist and turn.

  Compressed sight withers

  from constant looking,

  without seeing anything.

  Split, the deteriorating

  spine unfolds,

  slowly.

  Tedious, tedious,

  without thinking.

  Knees

  that tremble—

  they fold repeating

  the screeching shriek

  of the ardent bone.

  Lentils, Anyone?

  Once in a while, my parents would make “fun” plans for the weekend so that Consuelo and I wouldn’t ask for sleepovers or to spend time with our friends outside the house. One particular weekend, Mamá had the brilliant idea to visit Glenda, my stepdad’s sister, who lived in the valley about two hours away. I loved visiting Glenda and her family, but that day I wasn’t in the mood to visit her or spend four hours trapped in the back of the car with Consuelo.

  “I don’t feel like going to Glenda’s,” I said to Mamá when she tried to hurry me. She almost had a heart attack.

  “Who do you think you are? Of course you’re going!” she said, pressing her pointer finger into my chest.

  Her eyes got big and watery as she got closer to my face and said, “You can’t stay home alone. You’re only thirteen years old. So get ready.”

  “Well, I’m not going!” I yelled, running to my room and leaping onto my bunk bed. I hid under the covers and immediately began sweating because I knew better than to defy Mamá. I was expecting her to yank the covers off of me or pull me out of bed by my hair, but she didn’t. She walked out of my room and muttered something to Amado. I couldn’t hear what she said to him.

  A few minutes later, everyone was ready. From my room, I heard Mamá locking the door. I couldn’t believe she allowed me to stay home alone. She let me be for the first time. It was early morning, and I knew they wouldn’t be back until late that night. I had the whole day to myself. I immediately jumped out of bed, and the first thing I did was call Annette.

  “Come over to my house,” she said.

  “Who’s going to pick me up?” I asked. “You live too far away.”

  “Walk over and I’ll meet you halfway.”

  I was ready for an adventure. I showered, got dressed, and snuck out through my bedroom window. Mamá had locked both doors, and I couldn’t open them without the key. I carefully removed the window screen, climbed over the windowsill, and jumped out of the house, landing like a cat. I closed the window and placed the window screen back. Breaking into or out of my house was too easy. The realization kind of scared me.

  I began my fast-paced journey to Annette’s house. I had never walked such a long distance on my own in the US. I didn’t make eye contact with anyone driving or anyone who passed me walking on the street. I kept my face glued to the cement. I felt guilty knowing that I was being sneaky. It took me almost forty minutes to get to the 99 Cents Only store where Annette and I planned to meet.

  “You made it!” she said. “Wow, you’re sweaty.”

  I wiped my forehead with my shirt’s sleeve and said, “I have five dollars. Let’s buy candy and ice cream.”

  Annette had some spare change, too. We got some Corn Nuts, neapolitan ice-cream sandwiches, and two KitKat bars. It took us about twenty-five minutes to get to her house from the store. We were having such a good time walking together that it never occurred to me that it was going to take me more than an hour to walk back home.

  The day went by fast hanging out with Annette. We talked about everything, from boys and school to our breasts and periods. Annette had the biggest boobs I had seen on a twelve-year-old. She’d begun menstruating at the age of ten. She was surprised that I still hadn’t gotten my period.

  “You’re so lucky,” she said.

  “I know,” I lied, pretending that I wasn’t dying to get mine.

  Annette’s mom was kind and soft-spoken. She bought us a pizza for dinner, but somehow forgot to ask m
e when or who was going to pick me up. She didn’t drive and her husband wasn’t yet home from work.

  As it got darker, I began to feel sick to my stomach. I was scared to walk back home alone. I pretended not to care as I continued to comb Annette’s hair. She had already teased and sprayed my copete. I was pretending to have fun. I was good at taming my anxiety.

  In the middle of our pretend beauty salon, Annette’s mother came in the room and handed me the phone.

  “It’s your mom,” she said.

  I felt like fainting. How did she get Annette’s number?

  I grabbed the phone and in an unsure, squeaky voice said, “Hello?”

  “There you are!” Mamá’s voice quivered.

  She sounded weak, like she had been crying for days, but then her tone changed. “We have been worried sick about you, and you don’t bother to call or leave us a note? We searched all over the neighborhood, and nothing. I almost called the police!”

  Her voice continued to gain momentum and power. “Give me Annette’s address. I want you to wait for me outside her house. I don’t want to see or speak to anyone, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I’ll be there in twenty-five minutes.”

  I broke down in front of Annette.

  “Why are you so scared of your mom, Claudia?” she asked.

  “You have no idea what she’s capable of,” I admitted.

  Annette hugged me and walked me outside.

  “I need to be alone because I’m not sure what Mamá is planning to do or how she is going to react,” I said.

  “I understand,” said Annette.

  I sat on the curb, anxiously waiting for Mamá. I drew stick figures in the dirt with a pebble. I cried just imagining what she would do to me. Would she hit me with a belt and pull my hair in the middle of the street, Mamatoya style?

  A few minutes later, she pulled up in her gray, four-door Honda Accord. She unlocked the door and gestured me to get in. I got in. She didn’t say a word to me. She didn’t even bother to look at me. I shivered from the cold and the thought of the physical pain she was planning to inflict on me.

  Mamá’s eyes were puffy and red. I began to wonder if she felt remorse for leaving me locked up in the house. Or maybe she thought that someone had kidnapped me and she was just grateful to see me alive. The twenty-five minutes on the road were quiet and long. Even her silence took the form of a slow-motion ache.

  When we arrived home, before stepping out of the car, with the softest voice she said, “Go inside, put on some shorts, and come to the kitchen.”

  My jaw almost got stuck in an awkward O position. I knew for sure that she was going to whip me, but I wondered with what.

  I walked inside the house quietly crying, my face defeated. Amado was sitting in the dining room looking down. Instead of looking upset or concerned, he looked sad as if somebody had died. I went straight to my room. Consuelo was sitting on her bed looking mad.

  “You’re so stupid, Claudia!” She shook her head in disappointment and continued, “I was forced to give out Annette’s number. We were worried about you!”

  I had nothing to say. I continued to cry quietly as I got undressed. I was terrified to walk out to the living room, to the kitchen, where Mamá was waiting for me. What was she planning?

  Amado tried to dissuade her.

  “Talk to her instead,” I heard him say.

  “Don’t tell me how to discipline my daughter!” Mamá snapped.

  Amado walked off and shut himself in their bedroom. I was standing in the middle of the living room pretending to be tough. No more signs of tears were on my face.

  “Come here,” Mamá demanded.

  I walked over to the kitchen. I hadn’t noticed the pile of lentils she had spread on the floor. I was confused. I wasn’t sure what she expected me to do with the lentils. Eat them raw? Sort them out or pick them up, one by one with my tongue?

  Then she said, “Kneel here!” She pointed to the lentils. I thought it was a joke. I wanted to laugh, but I knew better. Then I thought, This is going to be a piece of cake. I can pretend that this is painful, the worst punishment ever. I can fool everyone and become an easy martyr.

  I knelt on the lentils wearing my old pajama shorts.

  “Don’t get up until I say so,” she commanded.

  I didn’t respond. I did as she told me. I sat back and rested my butt on my calves.

  “Sit up, kneel high!” she said.

  I couldn’t help but smirk, and she noticed my small act of defiance. I did exactly what she wanted me to do. I knelt high. I pretended to be praying. Laughing at Mamá’s idea of punishment inside my head. I kept thinking how I was going to play it off and make it seem that this was the worst thing she had ever done to me. But five minutes in, the lentils started to cut into the skin on my knees. Fifteen minutes into it, my legs were numb. I couldn’t move.

  That’s when it hit me. This woman knows what she’s doing. I’ll show her how tough I am. I can kneel for hours if I have to. I can prove my point.

  An hour passed, and I could feel each lentil seed perforating my skin, one by one. I couldn’t tell just by looking at it because I couldn’t move, but I was sure they had become part of me. Tears of rage and pain began rolling down my cheeks. Mamá sat on a chair across from me, staring at me, her silent glare telling me that she had won the battle and to never defy her again.

  I closed my eyes but the tears inevitably kept coming. Amado stepped out of the bedroom and went to get a glass of water.

  “That’s enough, Victoria,” he said, again trying to defend me.

  “Not yet,” she said.

  “I can stay here all night long!” I yelled back, hiding my tears behind my palms. Soon my sobs turned into a burst of bitter laughter. Crying, laughing, crying, laughing, like a mad child—a wounded animal.

  Mamá let another hour go by. My laughter must have stabbed her deep inside. Thank goodness I didn’t feel the pain anymore. My knees were locked. I was bleeding from the small cuts the lentil seeds had produced. I kept crying with anger. I’m pretty sure Mamá recognized that anger well. It was the only type of tears she would exhibit in front of us.

  Amado came out of his room another time. He began arguing with Mamá.

  “Get her off the floor, now!” he insisted.

  “Let her get up on her own,” she responded.

  I tried to get up but I couldn’t. The bottom half of my body felt dead. I began to shout, “I can’t get up. I can’t!”

  Amado began to cry. He tried to pick me up from behind, by my arms, but I refused. I wanted to get up on my own and walk to my room. I wanted to show Mamá that she had not defeated me, but I couldn’t move at all. I began to cry inconsolably, again.

  Amado ended up picking me up and carrying me to my room. I lay on the top bunk, shocked, letting what Mamá had done to me sink in. Consuelo didn’t say a word. I heard her sobbing through the night.

  It’s Been A While Since I Heard Your Last Song

  Ya no cantes tu canto desde tu jaula, Cenzontle. ¡Libérate!

  Do not sing from a cage—

  Bellow your 400 poems from the distance of your silenced home: Yes, mockingbird, your feathers have bones. Eres pájaro, vuela.

  Reinvent your wings. Spread them out, you are not a flightless bird. Never sing the song of another caged bird.

  Cenzontle,

  Forget the branch of the weeping willow. Venture out to palos verdes and sugar pines.

  But build your nest here, on the branches of my ceiba tree.

  Ya no cantes tu canto desde tu jaula, Cenzontle. ¡Libérate! Do not sing from a cage.

  PART IV

  RETURNING TO MY MOTHERLAND

  Kim Ayu—Vení Pa’ ca

  Mis entrañas se contraen

  Es mi aliento que se escapa

  Va en busca de mi gente

  Oigo un eco que retumba

  Voces dulces, lengua tierna:

  Kim ayu—ve
ní pa’ ca

  Corre viento que me roza

  Con olor a incienso

  La marimba se oye lejos

  Son los moros, han llegado

  Con sus danzas de venados

  Oigo un eco que retumba

  Voces dulces, lengua tierna:

  Kim ayu—vení pa’ ca

  Los repiques de campanas en

  Los templos siempre estallan

  Ese acorde no se olvida

  En mi piel cae la cera

  Esta quema, y hace llagas

  Que me adiestran a apreciar

  Mi nueva existencia

  Oigo un eco que retumba

  Voces dulces, lengua tierna:

  Kim ayu—vení pa’ ca

  Mi alma ruge, ya no tiembla,

  Ha encontrado al nuevo Edén.

  (En Poqomchi’) “Suk Nuk’uxl—

  Mi corazón está contento.”

  Kim Ayu—Come Over Here

  My insides contract

  It is my breath that escapes

  It goes in search of my people

  I hear an echo that resonates

  Sweet voices, tender tongue:

  Kim ayu—come over here

  A wind of incense grazes my core

  The marimba’s keys

  Chime in the distance

  It is the moors, they have come

  With their ancient deer dances

  I hear an echo that resonates

  Sweet voices, tender tongue:

  Kim ayu—come over here

  The clamor of the bells

  From the temple resound

  That melody can never fade

  On my flesh I feel a wax burning

  It leaves scars that teach me

  To appreciate my new existence

  I hear an echo that resonates