Clap When You Land(15)
she says funds have been allocated.
But if worse came to worst they would figure things out & readmit me next spring semester.
She says she wants me to succeed, it might just take time to figure things out.
She says this with a small apologetic smile.
It would delay my graduation, it would delay my ability to apply to college, & it would delay just how much time I live here.
On her next day off, Carline drags me out of the house.
We do not turn to the beach
but instead walk over a mile
to a small strip of stores
where the tourists buy bathing suits & faceless dolls & seashell souvenirs.
Although her breathing is heavy & her feet are swollen, she says she needed fresh air.
But I know she means I needed a change.
Carline would have been a great doctor or nurse.
She has a sharp eye & was good at science.
We gaze into window after window, pretending to be high-class ladies who would wear fancy cover-ups over our bathing suits & flip-flops that cost enough to cover our tabs at el colmado.
I only let Carline walk a bit more before I steer her to an ice-cream shop.
She won’t ever complain about her aches, but I know the signs of fatigue.
I only have a few pesos to my name but I plan to use a handful to buy us each a scoop.
The lady at the counter takes one look at Carline & then another look at me & waves my little coins away.
She even adds extra sprinkles with her wink.
Her gesture makes me want to cry. The kindness of a stranger, simply because she sees in us something worthy of this small gift.
This everyday kindness in my home.
Even if I could leave,
how would I stomach it?
The thought curdles, sour as bad milk.
Carline & I walk back home arm in arm.
Our ice-cream-sticky fingers making me feel six years old again.
This day feels like a hundred other days we’ve spent just like this.
Looking into windows & imagining a different life with each other by our sides.
Papi put me in the International School after Mamá’s death.
But Carline & I remained friends outside of school.
Tía would leave me at her house when she had errands; Carline’s maman would send her to stay with us when her parents took trips back to Haiti.
& so we know the different kinds of stories our silence can tell.
Her silence tells me: Camino. I’m scared. This baby is coming.
Camino. I hate my job. Where the manager pinches my butt & I have to smile when I feel like crying.
My silence tells her: Carline. I know. I know. I know.
Where do we go? Where is safe harbor? Together
can we swim there? Can we carry our families on our backs?
For just a moment I grab my worries by the nape.
My silence tells them: Leave me. Leave me.
Leave me alone. We will make it. We will be fine.
I promise. Some way we’ll survive.
Camino Yahaira
Fourteen Days After
My school absences are not a secret.
I’ve been skipping school on & off for two weeks.
& when I go back, somehow we are taking finals.
I let my teachers’ words float around me
but have no idea what is due when or to who.
It all feels like such a fake world.
None of this can be real. How is it almost summer break?
What does an essay on The Tempest matter?
What does an analysis of the Hoover presidency matter?
What does an exam in trigonometry matter?
Which one of those things will explain mechanical failure?
Which one of those things will ease how difficult it feels to breathe?
I stare out the windows into the warm mid-June day.
Papi left every year from June until September.
Maybe the only way to make it through these days is to pretend that in the fall he’ll be coming back.
I am not the only one skipping responsibilities.
Ma has not been to work in two weeks, & last night the spa owner called the house phone & left a voice mail.
Today, I wake Ma up,
brush her hair into a ponytail.
I clear the chipped polish off her nails & swipe on a pretty pink color.
I force her into a black dress that fits much looser than it used to.
I hand her her purse
& order her a Lyft.
“Go, Ma. You have to
do something to take
your mind off of it all.
No one does your job better than you.”
She gets in the car
but shakes her head sadly.
My mother, always so organized & ready, the general of the small spa she manages, looks lost & tense.
I watch the car until
it turns the corner
& hold back the impulse to chase after it,
to call Ma & ask her to come back. To not leave.
To never leave.
I’m used to clocks. To using time to succeed.
To slapping my palm hard across a timer
as if it were running its smart mouth.
You don’t have to be God to control time.
To learn speed. They say the plane