the blue and red mix together. I’d get up and run around the tree, go inside the garage and hear it again: Do—ong! Do—ong! Not able to find her, I’d stop trying and go inside and forget. When it was over, I could still hear them. She’d creep up and say, “Where’d you go?” And I’d say, “I’m right here. I’ve been here the whole time. You’re the one who got lost.” She’d run inside or to the back of the house and leave me there, sitting by myself, with the bells in my head and the bells in the trees. Still ringing. Do—ong! Do—ong! Do—ong!
LA SANDÍA
I woke up this morning and I couldn’t find my journal. No one was awake so I went to the counselor’s office, and there it was on her desk, by the printer next to the phone. I grabbed it and flipped through it. They hadn’t changed anything or marked in it, but still. How did they find it? It was there. Someone went to my room and took it. And I’m sure they read it, but which part? In the hallway I looked to the exit where the security officer was sitting, leaning back, listening to some news channel on his stupid radio. I went over to him and knocked on the glass, “Hey!” I screamed, and he was shocked by the sound of my voice. It was the first time he had heard it. He flinched and turned around. “What about my rights?” I screamed. They were thieves. The man, tall now, standing, looked at me. “Why aren’t you in bed?” “Because!” I yelled. “You like it when people take your things?” “Calm down,” he said and opened the door. He tried to reach for my shoulders but I backed away. The hall lights turned on and I heard Larry from down the hall. “What’s going on?” he said, coming out of the counselors’ lounge. “What?” I said. He looked at the journal in my hand, with his stunned and stupid face, probably because it was the first time he heard my voice. “You took it!” I screamed. “You can’t take my things!” Then he tried to catch me, but I kicked him between his legs.
In my room, crying all stupid, my mouth wet, I shoved my bed in front of the door. I went to the shower and turned the cold knob as far as it’d go. The journal got wet when I opened the first page and the letters began to smear. I was about to tear it into pieces so that no one could ever figure out what I’d written. But something stopped me. I threw it out and it landed on the sink. Then, under the shower, I turned the knob to hot and grabbed it with both hands. I wanted to hit my head against the wall but I was too chicken, then I was mad for being too chicken. My skin turned pink, and to keep moving I grabbed the shampoo and covered myself with it.
Larry and the officer banged on the door, over and over again, until I screamed as loud as I could. “THIEVES! You hear me! THIEVES!”
And then they stopped.
EL MUNDO
T here was a photograph from their wedding day in a frame under the television. You can tell it was Papi who took the shot, the way Mom is running away from him, looking back, the veil between her and the lens. When you look at the photo you know he’s smiling too. You can sense it. Entre ellos no hay nada en el mundo que no tenga sentido .
Tencha gave me a photo of myself the other day and I tried to remember being a two-year-old sitting on the counter with flour on my face. My hair was red then, which is weird because now it’s black. The ones who love me say, Sí, mija, eres tú. I have no choice but to believe them. In the photograph, the girl has a smile over her face, her mouth is half-open, and there’s a pasty white mess between her fingers.
EL NEGRITO
T his is what Julia said to me this morning.
“Larry thought it might be a good idea if I was the one who spoke to you. I know it’s been awhile since you’ve been here and that’s what I’d like to talk to you about.”
I was sitting by the window with hot chocolate in front of me steaming out of a cup.
“I want to apologize,” she said.
LA SANDÍA
I woke up this morning and I couldn’t find my journal. No one was awake so I went to the counselor’s office, and there it was on her desk, by the printer next to the phone. I grabbed it and flipped through it. They hadn’t changed anything or marked in it, but still. How did they find it? It was there. Someone went to my room and took it. And I’m sure they read it, but which part? In the hallway I looked to the exit where the security officer was sitting, leaning back, listening to some news channel on his stupid radio. I went over to him and knocked on the glass, “Hey!” I screamed, and he was shocked by the sound of my voice. It was the first time he had heard it. He flinched and turned around. “What about my rights?” I screamed. They were thieves. The man, tall now, standing, looked at me. “Why aren’t you in bed?” “Because!” I yelled. “You like it when people take your things?” “Calm down,” he said and opened the door. He tried to reach for my shoulders but I backed away. The hall lights turned on and I heard Larry from down the hall. “What’s going on?” he said, coming out of the counselors’ lounge. “What?” I said. He looked at the journal in my hand, with his stunned and stupid face, probably because it was the first time he heard my voice. “You took it!” I screamed. “You can’t take my things!” Then he tried to catch me, but I kicked him between his legs.
In my room, crying all stupid, my mouth wet, I shoved my bed in front of the door. I went to the shower and turned the cold knob as far as it’d go. The journal got wet when I opened the first page and the letters began to smear. I was about to tear it into pieces so that no one could ever figure out what I’d written. But something stopped me. I threw it out and it landed on the sink. Then, under the shower, I turned the knob to hot and grabbed it with both hands. I wanted to hit my head against the wall but I was too chicken, then I was mad for being too chicken. My skin turned pink, and to keep moving I grabbed the shampoo and covered myself with it.
Larry and the officer banged on the door, over and over again, until I screamed as loud as I could. “THIEVES! You hear me! THIEVES!”
And then they stopped.
EL MUNDO
T here was a photograph from their wedding day in a frame under the television. You can tell it was Papi who took the shot, the way Mom is running away from him, looking back, the veil between her and the lens. When you look at the photo you know he’s smiling too. You can sense it. Entre ellos no hay nada en el mundo que no tenga sentido .
Tencha gave me a photo of myself the other day and I tried to remember being a two-year-old sitting on the counter with flour on my face. My hair was red then, which is weird because now it’s black. The ones who love me say, Sí, mija, eres tú. I have no choice but to believe them. In the photograph, the girl has a smile over her face, her mouth is half-open, and there’s a pasty white mess between her fingers.
EL NEGRITO
T his is what Julia said to me this morning.
“Larry thought it might be a good idea if I was the one who spoke to you. I know it’s been awhile since you’ve been here and that’s what I’d like to talk to you about.”
I was sitting by the window with hot chocolate in front of me steaming out of a cup.
“I want to apologize,” she said.
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