Handbook for an Unpredictable Life: How I Survived Sister Renata and My Crazy Mother, and Still Came Out Smiling (with Great Hair) by Rosie Perez Page B

so hard that he stumbled forward. “You are so stupid!” Tia screamed. “I swear to God and
de
entire fucking universe!”
    Inside Woolworth’s, against the side wall, was a long counter with a deli/soda fountain/ice cream parlor behind it. I jumped on the bolted-down swivel stool with a leather cover on top.
    “What you like? A cone?
¿Frijol de vainilla?
[Vanilla bean?]” asked my uncle-father.
    What the heck did he say? I think he said, “vanilla.” I shrugged my shoulders; I was too embarrassed that I didn’t understand it all. The nuns were winning in canceling out my memory of the Spanish language. I looked over at Tia. She came to the rescue. “She likes chocolate. You want a chocolate,
mija
?” I shrugged my shoulders again, then quietly answered, “May I have a hot fudge sundae with chocolate ice cream and chocolate sprinkles instead?” Tia laughed. I giggled back. My uncle-father smiled with us in a sad kind of way, feeling ostracized from Tia’s bond with me.
    Tia ordered a coffee, no sugar. My uncle-father ordered a Tab. They both were beginning to take their diabetes seriously. He satthere watching me eat every bit of my sundae. Talk about feeling uncomfortable. Then he asked me if I would like to go to Puerto Rico with him someday. I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t know anything about Puerto Rico. I looked back at Tia again. This time her eyeballs were shooting evil darts at him. He didn’t say shit after that. We sat in silence for a while. The tension was thick. Of course I had to relieve it with a joke.
    “Tia. Knock, knock!”
    They both just looked at me, completely baffled, like I was crazy.
    “Whaa? Why you say you knocking?”
    I started laughing.
    “It’s a joke, Tia. You have to say, ‘Who is it?’ ”
    “Oh! Okay. Who’s there?”
    “No,” I cracked up. “Not ‘Who’s there?’ You have to say, ‘Who is it?’!”
    “Oh! Okay. Sorry. Who is it?”
    “Banana.”
    “A banana? A banana’s knocking?”
    “Tia! You’re suppose to say, ‘Banana who?’!”
    “Oh! Okay. Banana who?”
    “Knock, knock!”
    “
Ay
, this is stupid!”
    I was on the floor with laughter. It took me at least ten minutes to finish the damn joke! Then my uncle-father called over the guy behind the counter.
    “Excuse me, sir. May I please have a coffee?”
    “How would you like that, sir?” asked the waiter.
    “Wet, please! Get it?” he continued. “ ‘Wet’! Get it?”
    Complete silence—tumbleweeds blew through the department store. Tia then rolled her eyes. The waiter shook his head and walked away. I went back to digging at my sundae.
    When we got back, my uncle-father was standing at the front door, not sure if he should come in or leave. I felt sad for him. Ishould have made him feel more at ease, but I just couldn’t. “Thank you very much for the ice cream sundae, Tio.”
    “
De nada
, baby. And I’m glad you like the dress,” he said, and then left.
    I looked down at my butter-colored frock, then at Tia. I ran down the hallway and ripped it off.
    Later that night Tia, Lorraine, and I were watching
The Iris Chacon
(pronounced
Eee-dee-ss Cha-cone
)
Show
, a Latin variety show broadcast from Puerto Rico. Her nickname was La Bomba de Puerto Rico (The Puerto Rican Bombshell). Iris was voluptuous, pretty, and had the biggest ass you ever saw in your life. She could barely dance and barely sing (and if she did sing, she would lip-synch—badly). And yet, she was charismatic and entertaining as hell.
    “Where’s Puerto Rico?” I asked.
    “Puerto Rico? In the Caribbean! That’s where I was born.
Yo soy Boricua
.”
    “Bo-wing-wa?”
    “Bo-rrrring, Rrring-kwa, kwa.”
    “Bowwwwingkwa?”
    “Close enough. Puerto Rico used to be called Borinquen before Spain took it. I used to take you with me when you were just a little baby. You were so funny, crying, sticking your hands down your diaper to take
de
sand out! You hated sand. Ga, ga, ga, ga, gaaaa!”
    “Can we go to