Juliet Takes a Breath (20 page)

Ava drove a black Mustang she nicknamed “the Bullet.” It was half sweet 16 gift and half two-years of saved income from working at Hot Topic. Ava blasted Snoop Dogg and Selena with the windows rolled down as we roared down State Route 953 to Coral Gables. The rearview mirror trembled with the bass. Ava and I rapped and sang along to all the songs on her Como La Doggystyle CD, a mix she made for me.

The hot sun felt good on my skin. It blazed, an endless blue sky and golden yellow sun rays for miles. We pulled up to Ava's giant house; it sprawled out in every direction. The front door burst open and out came to Titi Penny in all her foxy Titi glory. Her dyed hair, a combination of auburn, blonde and brown, was styled in loose banana curls. Titi Penny ran to me and covered me in red-lipstick kisses. She hugged me so tight. I felt weightless.

“Ay, Juliet, it's been too long. You get more beautiful every time I see you
. Que bella.
You look more and more like Mariana every time I see you,” Titi Penny said. She placed her hand over her heart.

She placed her arm around my shoulder and led me into the house. Ava grabbed my bag, not because she wanted to but because Titi Penny would have asked her to do it anyway.

“I spoke to your mother this morning. She didn't know you were coming. Bad girl, Juliet,” she said, and ushered me into the kitchen. The marble island sparkled, a set of sugar jars lined the middle in size order. “She was upset that you didn't tell her, just so you know. Maybe you should call her? Let her know you're here. I'll make you a plate.”

That's how I found myself sweating to death on Titi Penny's
lanai
argue-talking with my mother for almost an hour. No, I hadn't told her I was taking a trip to Miami. Yes, I realized that my internship with Harlowe counted as credits for graduation. I sighed at my mother, not even meaning to. It was this sound, this tone that I couldn't control. I didn't even bother mentioning anything about Harlowe's reading. She wouldn't have gotten it. She didn't understand. She knew what was best for me. I was disrespectful. I had better watch my attitude. I didn't understand a mother's love and need to protect. It was all fine. I should call her back when I found my respect. Ugh. Our phone call ended with her sternly telling me she loved me.

Titi Penny and Ava brought plates of
arroz con gandules, tostones
sprinkled with salt, and grilled chicken topped with cilantro and avocado. A crystal pitcher filled with iced sangria accompanied the food. Titi pressed a heaping plate into my hands.

“Now you know I don't like to be nosy and I just abhor gossip,” she said, “but given all the lack of communication maybe now is good time to give us the details on why you fled Portland.”

Over the course of the afternoon and in between helpings of Titi Penny's bomb-ass food, I told them both everything. I gave them the mortifying details of my decision to come out at the table during my goodbye dinner. Then I showed them the photograph my mother slipped under the door, the one of me and her snuggled up when I was a kid. Battery Park forever immortalized. The version Titi Penny heard from my mother was short, devoid of photographic details, and centered more on her shame. When I tried to press her for specifics, she told me that I'd have to talk to my mother, that what was shared between sisters stayed there.

Titi Penny asked about the breakup with Lainie. They knew I'd been broken up with because of my mom. They hadn't gotten the memo about the break up CD. That revelation brought out some choice words: “
puta gringa
” and “
malcriada
” to name a few. Once again, I pulled out the infamous letter. They both read it, sucking their teeth. Ava took this moment to ask if Lainie and I had ever banged in my mom's house and if we dated because I “had a thing for white girls.” You know, the important stuff.

I briefed them on Harlowe, Maxine, polyamory, and the new words I'd learned but still wasn't sure what they meant. Ava tapped my head at that last one. “
Nena
, I'm gonna learn you some queer shit before you go home,” she said, as she refilled all of our glasses with sangria.

I told them about Kira, her motorcycle and how she scooped me from the bridge. And before I could say anything else, I blushed so hard and couldn't look at either of them.

“So you caught feelings for the librarian. Continue,” Ava said.

When I got to the part about being heartbroken over Harlowe, Ava stopped me. On her third glass of sangria, she gestured with her hands.

“Wait, what? How could she break your heart? Did you fall in love with the Pussy Lady?
Dímelo qué
?”

“No, it wasn't like I wanted to date her. I fell into some kind of love with her though, like when you look up to someone and want to be like them and feel like they're family. That kind of love. Ava, when she talks about feminism and faeries and all that shit something inside of her lights up, glows even. No one on this earth is like her, yo. How could I not love her?”

“Girl, c'mon on you could have realized that she was some hippie-ass, holier-than-thou white lady preaching her bullshit universal feminism to everyone. Is there no backlash on Harlowe Brisbane in Portland? 'Cause around here we give no fucks about that book,” Ava said.

“It's not that easy. She wasn't like that, really, not until the night of the reading. You don't even know her. And since when do you know anything about being gay and being a feminist? Last time we chilled all you could talk about was Limp Bizkit and cheetah print tights.”

“Enough,” Titi Penny said. “You two clear the dishes and the food. Leave the sangria.”

We did as we were told. Ava and I brought everything to the kitchen, both of us quiet. I continued my Portland story, giving them the extended director's cut of Harlowe's reading at Powell's. It was so fresh and I was still confused. I recounted Harlowe's version of my life to both of them. Ava sucked her teeth, but said nothing. Titi Penny laughed, amused but not in league with Harlowe.

“So you're some poor little ghetto girl stuck in the Bronx, huh? Mariana hasn't mentioned that,” she said. “And so after stereotyping my beautiful niece, this lady hasn't checked in on you beyond one phone call, didn't take you to the airport, and now you're here with us?”

“Yes, Titi Penny.”

“Ok, just wanted to make sure I'm with you, sweet Juli. A whole lot of life has come your way this summer. You came out, experienced your first breakup, learned about veganism. All the big things.”

Titi Penny's smile revealed the same gap Ava had between her front teeth.

“Are you teasing me, Titi?”

“Yes and no. I'm glad you're here. We have three days to love you good,” Titi Penn said, “and discuss the importance of naming racism when it comes for you unexpectedly in the form of a mentor, a lover, or someone who exists in the gray areas. But for now, maybe you two go upstairs, unpack, and reconnect.”

Ava laughed. She put her arm around my shoulders and led me to her bedroom on the second floor. Her domain covered the entire back section of the house. She had movie posters of
Mi Vida Loca
and
Kids
on her wall next to magazine covers of Rosario Dawson. She'd pinned protest fliers and bulletins for LGBTQ outreach programs to the wall. She pulled me out onto the balcony and lit a Black and Mild. Together we watched the sunset. Ava bumped her hip into mine.

“I didn't mean to upset you, prima. You know I love you,” Ava said. “I'm still figuring out my shit too and the circles I run in are mad with it. Like no time for white supremacy or second wave white feminism. But it's not fair for me to judge you, you know?”

I was surprised by her apology and curious about everything she was learning.

“No worries. Let's just start over. Tell me all the things,” I replied.

“There's a lot you don't know about me,” she said. “A lot I'm still figuring out. Like, I'm not gay but I'm totally in love with a girl named Luz Ángel. And most of the time, I'm basically attracted to everyone and lots of times no one at all. I don't think there's a word for that. I prefer the term queer and that's where I'm at right now.”

“Whoa, Ava, I had no idea,” I said. I reached out for the last inch of her cigarillo and said, “I wanna know all about Luz Ángel.”

“Oh my God,” Ava said, as she slid open the door to the balcony. “Where do I even start?”

Ava jumped on her king size bed and spread out. “Luz Ángel is a brown skinned fucking babe, queen of my heart. She doesn't even know it. She's so busy running Tempest, the queer and transgender people of color group on campus. Every time she speaks, I'm just done. I sit in on Tempest meetings basically hoping she notices me while learning about how to organize against and fight oppression.”

“So like exactly how I started dating Lainie by signing up for a women's studies class?”

“Yeah, but a little more radical,” Ava replied.

“I don't know how anyone could not notice you, Ava. You're fucking gorgeous and I've been jealous of you for having all the looks ever since we were little kids,” I exclaimed. I put out the cigarillo.

“Oh stop, you're gorgeous too. And you got all the
tetas
in this family. Lucky bitch,” Ava said, as she poked the side of my breast.

We lay side by side on her big, comfy bed like we did when we were kids. I snuggled into her pillow and put my legs over hers.

“You know how you said you were going to ‘school me on some queer shit' earlier?” I asked. “I'm gonna hold you to that. I've literally been writing things down all summer. Things like ‘PGPs' and what should I say when someone asks me ‘how I identify.' And honestly, I don't know much about trans stuff, either. Everyone else seems to know all the things but all I know is that I'm not straight.”

“Damn, mama. We've got a lot to talk about then,” Ava said. She cracked her knuckles. “Lemme go get the rest of that sangria.”

For the next few hours, we laid out on her bed, sipping sangria. Ava answered my questions. PGPs were prefered gender pronouns but Ava didn't like that term.

“Whatever pronouns a person chooses, if they choose any at all, are their right. Not a fucking preference,” she said.

I learned that a trans person was someone who was assigned the wrong gender by a doctor at birth. Ava told me that was the most basic definition she could think of and that it's up to a person who identifies that way to decide what it means for them; my job was just to accept what a person feels comfortable sharing about themselves. Mind blown. Ava broke these huge ideas down into small chunks because I needed level one style education. As for how someone identified, that was a way to express what gender or sexuality a person felt most connected to. That seemed mad simple to me.

“Why not just ask someone straight up if they're gay or trans or whatever?” I asked.

Ava let out a little sigh. “Girl, how rude do you plan to be in this life? And trans people can be gay too, FYI. Listen, the idea is to let people identify how they want without someone being in their face asking questions that aren't any of their business. Kinda like when white people want to know where we're
really
from, you know?”

“Word,” I said in agreement. That “where are you from” line of questioning had always annoyed me to no end.

Ava talked about people I'd never heard of like Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson. They were trans women of color and helped start the Stonewall Riots. I didn't even know that Stonewall was a fucking riot. I thought it was just that bar that had Lesbo-A-Go-Go parties on Tuesday nights in the city. I stared up at the ceiling mesmerized. I wished I'd decided to spend my summer with Ava. Maybe I wasn't such a freak, feminist, alien dyke after all. I was part of this deep-ass legacy and history of people fighting to be free. Ava nudged me.

“It's okay not to know things, prima. I'm always here for you. Anything you ever need or want to know or do, call me. Okay?” she asked. The expression on her face was serious, like as if we were about to make a pact.

“Okay, I will,” I said.

We shook hands and drank more sangria. After my lesson on basic gay stuff, Ava moved on to gushing about Luz Ángel some more. I told her about my night with Kira. We traded secrets about the girls we liked until we both stopped talking and fell out.

 

 

 

 

I woke up in the clothes I'd traveled in, crawled out of Ava's bed at 6:00 a.m. and took a shower in her private bathroom. Clean and in fresh underwear, I went right back to sleep next to her. I didn't wake up again until noon. Ava snored, mouth open, a black satin mask over her eyes. She got all the pretty in this family. Even in her sleep, Ava was the type of beautiful that made it hard for people to concentrate.

I licked my finger and stuck it in her ear. She swatted my hand, then my face. She threatened me with imminent death. I threatened her with gas that I'd held in since last night. She ripped off her facemask, eyes wide. I laughed until I couldn't breathe.

She checked her Facebook and then offered me use of her computer. I had a thousand spam emails and one email from Harlowe.

 

Juliet,

Many apologies. I'd like to pick you up from the airport. It's how we first met and I'd like to start over the same way. I'm flawed. I've been wracked, praying to the goddesses for guidance. I fucked up. I said things that weren't true. My white privilege spewed out, all over, onto you. I'm really fucking sorry about that.

I hope your family loves you good. And I hope you come back and that we can work this out. But if you don't feel comfortable around me anymore, I understand. We'll make different arrangements.

Love,

The fucked up white lady that's trying to live an anti-racist, pro-woman, feminist life that loves you something fierce.