Clap When You Land(43)

is like everything I imagined & beyond anything

I could have pictured.

I am awakened from the bed I share with Camino

by a fruit-cart guy yelling

mango aguacate tomate.

On the porch,

when I’m rocking in the chair I watch little pink & green salamanders run up the blue walls.

I have never seen so much color, every house its own watercolor painting.

The papaya Tía Solana cuts for breakfast is tender between my teeth.

I take picture after picture on my phone, sending everything to Dre.

I cannot imagine having grown up here.

Cannot understand how my father flipped himself back & forth.





Tía Solana tells Camino she should show me her beach, & Camino flinches as if someone raised a hand to hit her.

I pretend not to notice, but she must see the way my face falls because when Tía Solana turns her back, Camino leans to me.

“The beach isn’t safe. There’s this guy who hangs out there; I don’t think he would be very nice for either of us to see.”

It is the first time I’ve seen Camino be anything but sure, the way she bites on her lower lip & won’t look me in the eye.

I think I know what kind of guy Camino must be describing, & I tell her so. How we have disrespectful dudes in NYC, too.

As soon as the words are out of my mouth,

Camino moves away from me,

making a noise of disgust deep in her throat.

“You think you know so much, Yahaira.

But what you know wouldn’t sweeten

a cup of tea.” She huffs off toward the patio, & I wonder what she means & where she learned to judge so harshly someone she barely just met.





I know I was harder on Yahaira

than I should have been.

But she shows up

after I’ve lived a whole life & wants to pretend

we have so much in common?

She can’t possibly have known anyone, or any situation, like El Cero.

She has no idea what it means to completely abandon your dreams.

She cannot.

Because it seems

what everyone has known but me is that I won’t be a doctor.

I won’t ever be anything more than a girl from a small barrio who helps her aunt with herbs.

& that might be the whole of my life.

& that will have to be enough.

Isn’t that what makes a dream a dream?

You wake up eventually.

But that girl, that girl gets to keep living in the clouds.





When Mami pulls up to the house driving a tiny Prius, the first thing I notice is how hard her hands are clutching the steering wheel.

I did not even know Mami had a license, much less that she would use it.

I try not to flinch & grab Camino although I’m nervous.

Mami gets out of the car with only a purse, but I see a suitcase in the back— she rushes out the car, leaving the driver’s door open.

She runs to me,

pulls me into a tight tight hug.

& I know I scared her.

I wish I could tell her that I scared myself.

Beside me, Camino is unmoving,

as if made of marble.

My mother steps back from me & runs hands down her jeans.

She kisses Camino’s aunt hello, & I realized then, they would have met before.

Ma was Camino’s mother’s friend; she’s probably even been to this house.

Theirs is an awkward greeting. & then she takes a long hard look at Camino. & I can see in her eyes that she sees how much we look alike; this girl who could have sprung from her body, how much we look like Papi,

both of us looking like we could have sprung from his.

She takes a deep breath. So do I.

I do not know how Mami will greet Camino.

I do not know what she is feeling in this moment.

I want to make the moment easy but don’t know how.

Mami takes the decision from me.

She leans in & kisses the air near Camino’s cheek: “It’s nice to meet you, Camino.

I know you don’t know me, & it’s small consolation, but your father loved you very much.”





Mami & Tía Solana sit inside the little house.

Camino & I rock in the chairs on the tiny porch.

It’s strange to be outside but still be barred in.

The wicker rocking chair bites into my thighs.

The stars overhead are scattered rhinestones glued onto the night’s deep, dark fabric.

Camino passes me a cigar she’s been smoking.

I take a small puff & immediately start coughing.

She laughs & roughly rubs circles on my back.

That thing does not taste as good as it smells.

“Just breathe, Yaya. It’ll ease up.”

& from somewhere I didn’t know existed, the phrase spells itself in smoke, in Papi’s voice.

Just breathe, negra, just breathe.

Pain yawns open inside my chest,

a wail pulls up from my mouth.

The sob barreling past my lips,

& pulling an army of tears with it. I can’t stop.

My body heaves in the rocking chair.

& Camino rubs my back in small, small circles.