Clap When You Land(42)
She seats me at the small round table in the living room.
She sets a bowl of sancocho before me, with a plate of concón.
“Tell me the whole story,
but first eat what your sister made for you.”
I am helping Camino pick herbs for tea, the act of picking the fresh leaves reminding me of Dre.
The mangy dog that sits outside the gate sniffs the metal bars from where he sits. Camino opens it for him, & he settles quietly into a patch of weeds.
“Does the dog follow you everywhere?” I ask her.
I do not tell her Papi did not let us have a dog, despite how much I begged or even as Mami argued it’d be good for me.
“No, Vira Lata doesn’t really leave his spot near the house.
He won’t go that way.” She gestures to the right.
“It leads to a busy street. He got hit by a car once, & I think it made him shy of too many vehicles.
He likes it here because the neighborhood kids leave him scraps, & Tía’s little fruit trees offer shade.
The man next door, Don Mateo, built a little doghouse on raised legs for him to climb into if the water rises.”
But I notice that when Camino goes to close the gate, & it seems she’s turning left, the dog stands at alert, wagging his short stub tail.
Camino catches my raised brow & laughs.
“Oh yes, if I’m going in that direction, he sometimes follows; he loves the beach. He likes to chase
the salty air as I swim. When we are riled up, the beach soothes us both, doesn’t it, Latita?”
She is gentle with the dog. & I have to look away from the tenderness.
Through the gate I see a tall man standing across the street, but what brings goose bumps to my skin
is the way he’s watching Camino,
like he wishes he were the dog beneath her hand, like he would love to sink his teeth into her.
I turn to point him out,
but by the time she follows my whispered words & pointed finger,
the man is already gone.
The night is not over before the house phone rings.
Yahaira & Tía sit on the couch like old girlfriends, & I know my “Aló?” is laced with salt.
A woman speaks rapidly & I only catch
that she wants to speak to Yahaira.
She sounds exactly how I imagined
my father’s other woman to sound:
high maintenance, demanding. Una chica
plástica all the way through.
I pass the cordless phone & Yahaira raises a brow.
The woman is yelling before she gets the receiver up to her ear. Tía pats Yahaira softly on her back & I just can’t. This girl needs no sympathy.
At least she has a mother. At least she has choices.
She has been well fed her whole life. She is clearly loved.
I bet you no one ever forgot her birthday.
& given the burial plans & Yahaira’s arrival, I’m sure Tía has forgotten that in a few days it will be mine. I try & fight back the bitterness.
I know I know better.
But it also feels like my life is a careening motoconcho on a rain-slick road rushing rushing toward something bigger & madder.
Fifty-One Days After
Mami is on her way to DR
tomorrow, & she is pissed.
Apparently she knocked on the Johnsons’ door, panicked, thinking something had happened, & when Dr. Johnson asked Dre, she stayed quiet for as long as she could before she broke down & told the truth.
Honestly, I’m surprised Dre waited that long. That she didn’t call Mami as soon as my plane took off.
Maybe she realizes there are other shades besides black & white.
But even as Mami yells at me over the phone, all I can feel is the sweetest relief.
No one can force me to go back home.
The funeral is in three days, after the remains are cleared at customs & delivered here to this house.
Three days to figure out my sister, my father, myself.
Do you believe in ghosts?
What kind
of question is that?
I don’t know . . .
it’s just that— Of course I believe in ghosts.
There are spirits everywhere.
You
for real?
Anyone
who says otherwise es un come mierda.
Mami doesn’t
believe in ghosts.
Maybe you don’t have them
in New York City.
So, you think Papi’s ghost will live in DR?
I think his ghost will live
wherever we carry him.
Can a ghost be in two places at once?
Definitely: if it’s
Papi’s ghost.
Papi’s ghost would have had a lot of practice.
Fifty-Two Days After
It has been a whole day
where I wait for Mami to arrive & get to know my sister’s aunt who insists I call her my aunt— & watch my sister pretend she isn’t watching me.
Nothing is familiar.
Not the whirring ceiling fan, or the loud generator.
Not the neighbors who keep coming by to hug Camino & reminisce about Papi.
The Dominican Republic