The Poet X(19)

I don’t look at the clock blinking from the DVD player; I don’t look at my phone.

I’ve got an alarm set so I know when to leave.

For now I just listen to the noise, to the music, ignore the stares of a group of boys by the speakers.

When someone brushes my hand I brace myself, tighten my jaw, but when I turn it’s Aman. Playing with my fingers, smiling.

“I didn’t think you were going to make it.

Do you want something to drink?”

I shake my head no. And take in his outfit. He went all out.

Face painted green, waves spinning, T-shirt stuffed with something, all his lean self trying to look like the Hulk.

I can’t hold my laughter and he only smiles wider.

“We are meant to be,” he whispers.

“We both chose green superheroes.”

Someone lowers the lights.

Aman tugs on my hand. “Dance with me?”





One Dance


When Aman asks, my heart starts thumping.

Because this isn’t bachata or merengue or something with coordinated steps and distance.

This song is the kind you get close for.

I push off the wall and Aman shifts in front of me, his hands holding my hips.

I close my eyes and wipe my sweaty palms on the back of his shirt; we’re pressed against each other, swaying, his mouth near my neck.

The shoulder pads under his costume give me something to hold on to, and I’m glad we have at least the padding between us.

Then his leg is between mine and we’re dancing exactly the way people do in music videos.

Like if they weren’t wearing clothes they’d be . . . you know.

I can feel all of him. Not as scrawny as I thought.

When the song is over, another reggae one comes on and Aman rotates so now he’s behind me.

His body grinds against mine, and it feels so good.

I push away from him.

“I need some air.”





Stoop-Sitting . . . with Aman


Outside of Reuben’s building, the Heights is on fire.

People dressed in all kinds of costumes, laughing, and yelling, and singing, you would think it was morning and not 9:30 p.m.

Aman holds my hand in his

but every time I look at him I’m afraid my cheeks will burst bright red, so I don’t.

And then he drops the bomb: “I don’t live too far from here.”

And I don’t know if he means he wants me to go to his house, or if he’s just talking to talk.

“Isn’t your father home?”

I really hope his father’s home.

Aman shakes his head.

Tells me his father works tonight.

I pull my hand from his.

I can’t stop my fingers

from trembling.

I don’t have to fake when I tell him I don’t feel great.

That I should get home

and make tea or something.

I get up to leave, but before I do, Aman tugs at my hand:

“Read me a poem, X?

I want to remember your voice when I think about tonight.”

And then he’s grinning again and pulls me down beside him.





Convos with Caridad


X: I’m on my way home.

C: Good, because Xavier and I been standing on the corner forever.

X: Thanks again. I know you hate lying.

C: Yeah. It better have been worth it.

Was it worth it?

X: It was . . . a lot. I have a lot of feelings. But it was fine.

C: ???

X: It just can’t last. Something is gonna go wrong.

I’m not allowed to be happy while breaking all rules.

C: Maybe you shouldn’t break them?

X: Oh, Caridad. I can’t wait until you like someone. . . .

I’ll make sure to send you all these wise-ass texts, too.

C: Girl, bye. With your hotheaded self?

You’ll never be wise as me ?.





Sunday, October 28





Braiding


I spent the entire Mass thinking about Aman.

And I can tell Mami is going to lecture me for not paying any attention.

But thank goodness, as we are leaving church, Caridad tugs on my hand.

“Se?ora Batista, is it okay

if Xiomara comes and braids my hair?”

I can tell Mami wants to chew me out

but she can never say no to Caridad.

At her house, Caridad sits between my legs, and I run the comb through her long thick hair.

I learned to braid when Mami

didn’t have time to do mine anymore.

“Two long braids? I can make you look

like Cardi B for Halloween.”

I love the reality TV star, but she’s everything Caridad isn’t.

Caridad gives me a smirk and nods her head.

“Sure. I’ll put on old episodes of Love & Hip Hop so you can feel inspired.”

Even after I’m done braiding, we sit and watch two more episodes.

Maybe, the only thing that has to make sense about being somebody’s friend

is that you help them be their best self on any given day. That you give them a home when they don’t want to be in their own.

At least I have a feeling if I asked, that’s exactly what Caridad would say.