Juliet Takes a Breath (25 page)

 

 

 

Bright hot sunlight streamed into the attic. I woke up damp with sweat and confused. Was I still in Miami? No, definitely in Portland. I hadn't felt heat this intense any other day here. I stripped off the blankets, raised all the shades, and basked in it. My last day in Portland was going to be hot as hell. I woke up ready.

Harlowe poked her head up from the staircase. Sweat matted her temples. Her cheeks flushed ultra pink. She let me know that Maxine and Zaira were on their way. We were all going on a trip to the Sandy River. Harlowe walked halfway down the stairs and then came back up. She lay down next to me in the sunspot. Harlowe reached for my hand and held it. I was surprised by how cool her hand felt in mine.

“Juliet,” she said, her legs bent in towards mine, “Sweet girl, I have loved having you in my home. I've learned so much about my capacities to love and be vulnerable. I wish you didn't have to go. Thank you for being brave and patient and for not losing faith in me.”

Oh, Harlowe. I didn't believe that I'd been brave or patient, and I didn't know if I still had faith in her. But I thought about the conversation I'd had with my mom, and found the truths closest to my heart.

“Thanks for opening up your home to me and letting me into your world,” I said. “I've learned so damn much. And, yo, seriously, thanks for always having and sharing your amazing weed.”

Harlowe laughed, like rolled over on her side type of laughter. I laughed too.

Maxine and Zaira arrived; they called out to us from the bottom of the stairs. Harlowe jumped up to meet them. I threw on shorts and a T-shirt over my bathing suit and was out the door in less than ten minutes. I rode with Maxine and Zaira. Harlowe would take up the rear in her car. We'd meet up with Lupe and Ginger Raine along the way.

Every year the five of them picked the hottest day of summer to take a trip up to the Sandy River. They'd hike up to a certain spot and then ride the river down. Sometimes they'd invite friends or new lovers; all were welcome. They called it “the cleansing” because riding the river was a transformative act for them, like an annual baptism.

Maxine teased out the story as we rode in her black pickup truck. I chose to ride with Zaira and Maxine. I wished Lupe was in the truck with us because then it'd be the Latinas and the Black women and it'd be like my neighborhood where everyone has black or brown skin and we ride for each other so hard and with so much love even when things are violent and when times are tough. In the Bronx, everyone lived so close and so pressed up on each other, we barely had enough room to breathe let alone separate. And everything I'd experienced in Miami showed me the power of being connected to queer people of color and the beauty of POC-only spaces.

I wanted to recreate that here with them before I left. Riding with Zaira and Maxine was the only way I knew how. But Lupe was riding with Ginger Raine, of course, and I needed to remember that I wasn't in Miami anymore and that my intentions weren't so pure. I was curious like a motherfucker and had a million questions to ask Zaira and Maxine.

What happened when I left? What had they thought about Harlowe's words at Powell's? How did they feel about connecting themselves to a white friend who was brilliant, loving and problematic? I wanted and needed to know. So I let Maxine, giddy as hell, tell me all about the cleansing and I listened to Zaira tell me about how she came alive and connected to the water spirits the first time she rode down the river and about the way she wept when her first Octavia Butler writing group participated in the cleansing. I listened to all of it. I even got a little misty-eyed when they told me how excited they were to share this day with me and how proud they were to know me. I hadn't even done anything but exist. How could they be proud to know me when I'd run away? I didn't question them, I just took in their words and let them fill up the weird and uncomfortable spaces in my heart.

Finally, it was quiet. They'd both found memories to sit with while we drove. The vibe in the car was peaceful. I almost felt bad about disrupting it but I knew I'd feel worse if I left without asking them all the things that burned in my heart.

So I asked. I brought up everything all in one breath. The silence that followed was deep. Maxine and Zaira both took a solid pause and then laughed. Zaira, in between Maxine and I, leaned on my shoulder. Her skin, soft like rose petals, brushed against mine.

“Oh girl,” she said, as she patted my thigh. “Everything you feel is valid. Know that, sister. We must always question the world and those in it, especially those that say they're acting in our names. Personally, I adore Harlowe, ever since the first time I met her. Politically, though, the issues run deep. I see a woman constantly working on herself. I see a society that enforces systems beyond her control, that validates whiteness, frames narratives of people of color around poverty and violence, and propels good people into perpetuating the very structures they're trying to dismantle. But I'm not here to make space for good white people. There've been times when I've needed to distance myself from Harlowe and people like her.”

Zaira shifted her hips to look at me. Her knee-length coral-colored dress shimmered in the sunlight. Her dark brown eyes made me want to weep. Gorgeous. Deep. Honest.

“First and foremost, I live for myself, all of my selves. I could sit here and tell you all the ways lesbianism has influenced my life, the way loving science fiction and working with social justice organizations has influenced my life. I could connect all those dots and make this easier for you, but all I really want to say is that you will find your way. You'll meet people that you love who fuck up constantly. You'll learn how to weed out the assholes from the warriors. You'll know what groups of people to stay away from because they're not safe spaces for your heart. You'll learn when to forgive human error and when to eradicate the unworthy from your spirit.”

Maxine let out a rush of air from their mouth. Her face grew serious.

“No one held you back from standing up and telling that room of people at Powell's who you really were and what your story really was,” she said. “No one. You chose to walk away. This isn't a judgment on that choice. This is me pointing it out. You did that. You let Harlowe's narrative be the air people breathed about you. This isn't about Harlowe or her whiteness, this is about choice. What choice will you make next time when someone says something like that about you? Will you walk away? Or demand your voice be heard? Will you speak your truth, Juliet? I mean, why did you even come here?”

I said nothing as tears slid down my cheeks. She was so right, and I don't know how I missed it. I felt ashamed of myself. Embarrassed. How could I ever trust myself to make decisions if I didn't have that type of insight? I never opened my mouth to counter what Harlowe said. I froze and ran. Froze and ran.

All of the women in my life were telling me the same thing. My story, my truth, my life, my voice, all of that had to be protected and put out into the world by me. No one else. No one could take that from me. I had to let go of my fear. I didn't know what I was afraid of. I wondered if I'd ever speak my truth.

Why had I come? I pulled out my notebook and answered Maxine's last question for myself. If the narrative was going to shift, it had to start with me.

 

 

List: Why Was I Here?

 

Feminism
. To understand what it meant in real life, outside of textbooks and if I could ever call myself a feminist

To Get the Hell Out of the Bronx.

Lesbians
. To chill with all the lesbians and see if there were different ways to be one, to make sure I was one, to find out if I was something else.

Harlowe
. Because
Raging Flower
changed my life, and I had to know what it was like to live with and learn from the person who created it.

Pussy
. Because before
Raging Flower
, I didn't know there was power between my thighs.

Politics
. I had none. Never thought anything was worth giving too much of a shit about. That shit had to change.

Me
. Because I'm a messy, over-emotional, book nerd, weirdo, chubby brown human and I needed to learn how to love myself, even the shameful bits.

 

I was last on my own list. Would I ever be first? Had I wasted my entire summer? I read my list a few times over. I liked it. It was honest. The first six points were the outer shells. Maybe I was last because I'm at the core of all those other things. That I could sit with and feel proud of and so I relaxed for a minute, eased my shoulders. Enjoyed the ride.

Maxine blasted Donna Summer's
Love to Love You, Bab
y and
Hot Stuff
. The vibe in the car was good, like hella good. Maxine and Zaira had said their pieces and that was it. They didn't pressure me for any response. They went back to being humans in love, Zaira curled up next to Maxine. I had my list. We made it to the river having spent the last few minutes in the truck with the windows down and the radio up. The spirit of the cleansing took over. We were all ready to be reborn.

 

 

 

The Sandy River terrified me. But, I'd also never been to a river before. Sure, I'd been to Orchard Beach in the Bronx, but Orchard Beach was man-made and the only things rushing there were the Puerto Ricans to the handball courts. The Sandy was surrounded by real live nature. Trees. Mad trees everywhere. Trees so tall they looked like they touched the sky. Trees as wide as a subway car. Trees, yo. By the Sandy River, amidst all those trees, I felt incredibly small, a dust-speck-floating-around-in-the-universe small.

We piled out of the trucks and stood at a split path. One way led into the woods, the other was a paved path to the riverbank. I'd expected a ceremony of sorts, or at least a reading from the Gospel of Mother Earth. Ginger Raine and Lupe weren't going to hike this year. Nobody wanted Ginger Raine to give birth in the woods, not like that, not without a birthing tent or some midwives. They walked to the river and wished us well.

“Wait, if the river is right here, why do we have to hike through the woods?” I asked.

“Because it's fun. It works the body and it's part of the ritual,” Maxine said. “But if you want to go with Lupe and Ginger Raine, feel free.”

I sighed, and shook my head, with a smile. “Okay, I'm coming. I'm already here, why not go all the way?”

The four of us set off towards the opposite path and plowed through the dense foliage. Ten minutes into the hike and I couldn't see the way out of the forest. We made our way around massive tree trunks with deep, gnarled roots that stretched out in every direction. The trail had a slight incline, and my thick thighs were no match for it. I was sweating and chafing about a quarter of the way in. Maxine and Zaira, swift on their feet and experienced with this trail, moved along without a break. The slower I went, the less of them I could see until they faded out of sight. Harlowe wasn't slow; she was just easily distracted. She kept pace with me because she stopped often to pet nature. For real, she stopped to coo at ladybugs and hug trees.

My lungs wheezed slightly. I'd had excellent lung capacity for the last week since Lupe's acupuncture but the exercise wore me down. I needed another session but that wasn't going to happen in the middle of the forest. The trail wasn't getting any easier. I scraped my knees and thighs against scraggly bushes. I could hear the water rushing but couldn't see it. When were we going to clear the damn path and get to the water? Why did people think nature was fun? I didn't understand. I kept on. Wheezing a little harder, I looked for my inhaler. I checked my bag, my shorts, and then I checked them again. No inhaler. I dumped the contents of my bag out onto the ground, amidst dirt and bugs, and looked. No inhaler.

“Juliet, you should hug this tree with me,” she said, arms pressed around a tree trunk. It was too wide to wrap her arms completely around the it. Harlowe the tree hugger which was the term Titi Wepa used to belittle people who cared about the environment. “Stupid tree huggers” or her favorite “Punk ass tree-hugging liberals.”

“I'm good on hugging the tree,” I said, a familiar tightness settled into my chest, the beginning of an asthma attack. “Right now, I wish I had a different body, one that could sprint up mountains and not keel over from lack of oxygen.”

I paused for minute to catch my breath. I shut my eyes, retraced my steps, and remembered that I'd left my inhaler on the bed in the attic.

“Fuck, Harlowe, I don't have my inhaler,” I said, freaked. My heart began to beat so fast. I didn't know what was happening inside but I thought I might faint.

“It's okay, Juliet, “Harlowe said, as she walked over. “Just come and hug the tree.”

“I'm not going to hug the damn tree, Harlowe.” I replied. “I can't breathe.”

“Trust me, Juliet,” Harlowe continued. “Just hug the tree. It'll absorb your worry.”

She looked like she belonged in an ad for a meditation retreat or something. The serene smile on her face, the joy emanating from her entire body. I wasn't in the mood for it. Asthma was serious and hugging some goddamn tree wasn't going to help me.

“I'm not hugging the tree!” I said. I tried to breathe deep but the rasp in my chest wouldn't ease up.

“Juliet,” Harlowe called to me. “Pressing your body against the foundation of the forest will open your lungs. Come, hug the tree.”

I stomped over to the massive tree and I kicked it. I stared at her, arms folded across my chest. I didn't know why I kicked the fucking tree. It's not like I hated trees. But damn, why did she think she knew what my body needed better than I did?