The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(85)

It takes me longer than it should to wrap my hands. They won’t stay steady. When I’m finished, I look up. The Code of the Heart stares back at me: In Lak’ech Ala K’in.

I got blood on the poem.

My knees finally give out, and I sob on the bathroom floor until I fall asleep from exhaustion.

I wake up in my bed. Mom must have carried me here, which means she saw the glass on the carpet and didn’t kill me. She turns on her bathroom shower, but I can still hear her wailing. When the sound of pouring water goes away, she cries louder. Eventually I hear her footsteps, and light peeks through the crack of my door.

“Are you up, mija?” She sounds hoarse.

“Yeah.”

She turns the light on and sits at the foot of my bed without mentioning the glass on the floor. She didn’t bother putting on the sunglasses she always wears to hide her crying eyes. She’s holding Cesar’s phone.

“I have to tell you something. I’m so sorry.”

“What?” I sit up so fast my vision goes white. I can’t handle any more bad news.

“Mija, I don’t know how to tell you this. . . .”

“Just tell me, Mami. You’re scaring me.” As much as I don’t want any bad news, I don’t want to be in the dark either.

“I think Jamal was cheating on you . . . with your brother.”

“What?” This feels like a fever dream. Why would she be bringing this up now?

She shows me Cesar’s phone, like she wants me to read some texts. I’d be pissed if Cesar read my texts, so I push the phone away. It’s too big an invasion of privacy for me.

“You went through his phone?”

“I wanted to know what happened. Where I went wrong . . .” She’s crying again. I’m surprised she’s not blaming me. If I had any strength in my hands right now, I’d be reaching for hers.

“Don’t cry, Mami. I’m sorry . . . what were you saying?”

She clears her throat. “Cesar and Jamal. They were together. Did you know this?”

I decide it’s best to come clean and admit to it. I’m in a little too deep to play innocent right now.

“I knew.”

She winces.

“I was trying to protect him. Like you told me to,” I say.

“Protect him . . . from me?” She touches her quivering lips with her fingertips.

I nod cautiously, afraid I’ve crossed a line. But part of me doesn’t care.

I want to tell her I’m gay, just to take some of the weight off Cesar. But I can’t bring myself to say it. I’m a terrible person. I still have three days before Cesar gets back. I’ll tell her before then.

“Where did I go wrong?” She cups her face in her palms. Telling her is going to be tough. But her disapproval only makes me want to tell her more. So Cesar won’t have to deal with it alone. She pulls her rosary from her pocket, but I interrupt before she starts praying.

“There’s nothing wrong with not being straight, Mom.”

“But why would he want to . . .” Her voice cracks. “I don’t know how I missed this.”

“Me either . . .” I, of all people, should have seen the signs that he wasn’t okay.

“I missed so much. Did you know he was never on the football team?”

I can’t bring myself to answer.

“I thought he was doing so well.” She wipes her face and walks out.

I’m still awake when my alarm goes off the next day. I can’t go to school. The second Bo asks me what’s wrong, I know I’ll lose it. I’m not trying to cry in public anytime soon. I don’t move until my mom storms into my room, clapping her hands. She’s really going to pretend everything’s normal.

“Time to go! What are you doing in bed?”

“I’m sick . . . ,” I say.

“Oh, no you’re not. You don’t get to ditch two days in a row, missy. You’re going.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are!” She’s yelling now. “You missed yesterday, and look at where that got us!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I throw the covers off myself and sit up, even though she has a point. I don’t know why I’m daring her to say it.

“You didn’t come home with him! You were supposed to be here!” Her voice being hoarse from crying doesn’t stop her from trying to scream at me. She’s right, but she’s just as much to blame.

“Oh, so this is my fault?” I know it is. But not just mine.

She throws her purse at me but misses.

“YES!” The scream doesn’t sound like my mom. It comes out low and starved, like her real voice is trapped somewhere deep down.

“Fuck you!” I yell, ignoring the steam escaping her ears. “You’re the one making gay jokes in front of us! You’re the one who said there was something wrong with Jamal because you thought he was gay!”

Her lip trembles, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s about to chew my ass out or if she’s going to cry again. Her expression goes blank.

“Stay home, then. And clean this shit up.” She stands straight while she walks over to grab her purse, then leaves. I hear the front door shut, the car starts, and she’s gone.