Clap When You Land(46)

I wonder if this is the cash I sent last week. Is this what Camino is to survive off of?





In the bedroom we are sharing, moonlight peeks through the gathering storm clouds, & for a second its light glows on Yahaira’s dark face.

I look at how beautiful she is, my almost twin.

I feel like a fish Tía buys from el mercado: gutted.

My spine pulled out from my back.

When I am sure Yahaira is snoring softly, I reach into her duffel bag. Searching.

But before I find what I want,

there, at the bottom, a marriage certificate.

One with my mother’s name on it. Dated

after both Yahaira & I were born.

Her family was always first.

The real one that I merely interrupted.

I want to crumple to the floor. I want to crumple the page.

Instead, I rip it up.

All the stupid things my father did but never said.

All these secrets & mysteries he kept.

All these papers, papers, papers.

Maybe I can fold these jagged scraps

into a yola that will sail me across the Atlantic.

Maybe I can string these dozens of words into a rope I can use to zip-line to the States. I can’t pay tuition, or light bills, or El Cero with an old man’s regrets.

There goes the last thing I had of him.

I grab what I originally wanted & leave.





I wake up. I am alone. & although nothing has shifted in the night, something feels off.

Outside, the patter of rain lands against wet earth & I want to let it lull me to sleep but I get up.

I can’t shake the feeling of wrongness. On the floor, half buried beneath the bed, is the ripped-up certificate of marriage I brought with me.

I thought Camino might have wanted it.

It was at the bottom of my bag.

I realize I don’t know my sister at all.

If this was Dre I would know how to wrap my arms around her & hug the mad away.

If this was a newbie who lost a game I would know what piece of wisdom I need to offer. But it’s Camino.

I know if I were her,

this would not have been

what I was searching for.





I am quiet as I leave the house.

Holding back tears.

It’s been clear to me since the beginning how it is that this must end.

The quickly scrawled note I wrote for Tía is on the altar, the first place I know she will turn for solace when she realizes that I am gone.

It is the middle of the night, too early to make my way to begin walking the four miles.

Vira Lata whines at my heels, & I scratch him softly behind an ear.

There is one last place I have to see before I go.





I am not dressed for travel.

When I arrive at the airport in the morning I know I will call attention:

no suitcase, no backpack, no guardian.

I only have my purse, the money, & the gift Yahaira does not know she’s given to me.

I will have to bribe someone to buy me the ticket; I will need to bribe someone to pretend to be my parent. I will say the person is an aunt or uncle, I will explain my parents are dead.

It’s possible I might be pulled aside if the agent decides to ask extra questions. I don’t try to think that far.

I am certainly not dressed for the beach in my sneakers & long jeans, my hair bunned up tight to look like my sister’s.

But I have to come here

to the water’s edge.

To the sand that has always hugged me close.

My mother stood with me here,

& looked outward as she would tell me to wave at my father.

It was here my mother would bring me to lay out a blanket as we made a meal of soft bread & hard cheese.

This stretch of boundless land

was where she would hold my hands & we would dance to the live music coming from the resort next door.

I am crying before I know it.

When the sun comes up I must be hard-eyed but in the glint of night

I say goodbye to my mother,

to my mother country,

as the rain begins to fall.





A rustling in the branches makes the hairs on my neck stand.

No. No. No.

How did he know I was here?

How does he always know I’m here?

He must have been watching all this time.

“Your sister, she looks just like you.

But has American written all over her.

I wonder if I can make her acquaintance?”

I ignore him & take a step beyond his reach.

Vira Lata at my feet growls low in his throat.

The rain does not feel quite as gentle as it did.

I tell myself the rain is the reason I’m shaking. & not the threat to Yahaira.

& not El Cero here. Crowding my last hours.

I can imagine what he sees in me: a trembling girl in sneakers & denim.

Inside the purse I hold tight at my side is the only key to freedom I own.

That, a small kit of makeup,

& Yahaira’s passport.

The rest I left behind with a note.

Money for Tía & Carline.

An explanation of the need to leave.

El Cero brushes closer, & I tighten my grip on the purse.

He’s asking me a question but his voice seems far away.