Juliet Takes a Breath (26 page)

Harlowe looked at the tree, mouth wide open. She touched its bark and whispered an apology, then she turned to me.

“Do you feel better?” she asked.

“No, not really,” I said. I sank to the ground and she sat next to me.

“What do you need, Juliet? Besides your inhaler, what can I do for you?” she asked.

I looked over at her and let go.

“I was so fucking mad at you for saying what you said at the reading, that I was dodging bullets and grew up in the ghetto. I never said anything to you like that, never made my life out to be rough like that. Ever. You just made up some shit so that you wouldn't look stupid in front of everyone. And I know you apologized but that email wasn't enough,” I said. My voice was tight, a bit ragged. I wasn't going to cry. “And I was so mad because the night before you went out there, I felt like I loved you, Harlowe. Like I could love you forever, like we were family and sisters and deep-ass friends, you know? The second I felt that love, boom, you blasted me right out of the room. And I let you, and that's why I won't hug your trees, that's why I'm frustrated right now and probably why I can't breathe, okay?”

“Fuck,” she whispered, looking down.

“And you know what, Harlowe? That shit was racist. I thought you could really see me, beyond all of that,” I said, “Like just me, Juliet.”

“That burns, Juliet,” Harlowe said, leaning back against the base of the tree.

“So say it,” I replied, looking over at her.

“Say what?”

“Say that it's everywhere. Say that even someone like you with all your beautiful words about womanhood and feminism and faeries everything…”

“Can still be a racist moron?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

“Yes,” I laughed, despite myself, “Yes that even someone like you could still be a racist moron.”

“Juliet, I am a racist fucking moron and any white person living in this damn country, if any of us tell you otherwise, is a liar and not to be trusted. You can be white and poor and racist as hell and wear your Confederate flags and there's rich, white people who hide their racism behind homeowner's associations and luxury condo income requirements. And then there are hippie gentrifying, well-intentioned white morons like me and none of us are better than the other. But like, just know that I really do love you and I'm sorry about all of it.

Our eyes met. Harlowe's eyes were big and wet. Was I supposed to apologize too? Or was it my turn to offer words of acceptance and make it all better? I looked away from Harlowe. I didn't know how else to hide how crushed I felt. It was all over me. We sat in silence for a while. The heat of the day hung in the air like fog. Harlowe dug through her bag and pulled out a small glass bottle. She shook it up and looked at me.

“I can dab a little bit of this on you, it could calm down the tightness in your chest. It's just a little eucalyptus and almond oil. But it's soothing,” she said.

“Okay,” I agreed, moving closer to her.

She rubbed some on my wrists and on my neck. It reminded me of Vick's VapoRub. Whatever she rubbed on me started to work and the tension in my chest eased slightly.

“I just ran off,” I confided, “I didn't stick up for myself.”

“You shouldn't have had to,” she said. Harlowe dabbed some of her oil behind my ears.

We both smelled like funk and eucalyptus oil. Harlowe rested her hand on my shoulder. I looked at her.

“I appreciate everything you said,” I replied, slowly and took a deep breath, “ It's not even really about you, at this point. Not like that, not in the way where I need you to help me find myself. I gotta put that work in and shout when I need to and ask more questions. I just needed a push and I got one from
Raging Flower
, and from the Bronx, and Ava and my mom and now it's on me.”

We stood up. She dusted the dirt and bugs off my body. We nodded, smiling at each other. And then, I turned around, and hugged the tree. And it was good, like the world went silent for a minute good.

 

* * *

 

Harlowe and I continued to hike up through the forest. I breathed much better with her oils on me. After another 15 minutes, we made it to the edge of the small cliff. The Sandy River roared below waiting for us. Maxine and Zaira were a few feet away from the bottom. Ginger Raine and Lupe had set out blankets and lounged by the river at our camp. Harlowe and I descended the ridge and made it to the river's edge.

But it wasn't over. The main point of the entire excursion was to climb the river and ride it down. Yes, climb the river. I didn't know people could even climb rivers. One by one, everyone except Ginger Raine and Lupe, who lounged on the dock, walked into the water, stopped at a certain spot in the middle and waded upstream. Maxine and Zaira held hands until they reached that middle point and then they moved at their own pace. Harlowe followed. And then there was me. I watched. I had no intention of following. I'd never been to a river before, it was like bearing witness to the spirit of Mother Earth. I was no match.

Ginger Raine reached for my hand and placed it on her swollen belly. The baby kicked against my hand.

“Never thought I'd have a baby,” she said “Then one day, I realized that I'd accomplished everything I set out to do. And I thought why not elevate my existence and create life. So I did and it's so fucking rad, Juliet. Baby's due any day now.”

I rubbed my hands along her belly and felt the tiny human inside of her as it reached out for me.

“Fucking rad, indeed,” I replied.

We sat there and watched the group move against the current. The water was smooth. It wasn't like grand rapids or anything, but still, the current was real. It was cool to watch three badass dykes on a mission. They waited for each other at a point parallel to one of the tallest trees along the bank. They each made it to the breakpoint and then one at a time, they flattened their bodies and rode the current back down. The water carried their bodies swiftly, churned them from side to side. They laughed, and yelped when they could, until they made it back to our camp. Maxine and Zaira emerged from the water, holding hands, droplets glistened on their skin.

I sat in between Lupe and Ginger Raine and their soon-to-be-born baby, I realized that not having my inhaler wasn't a good enough reason to sit on the sidelines and watch. Because it wasn't the inhaler that held me back, right? It was fear.

Fuck fear.

I got up as Harlowe made it to shore, the last of the group. I walked past her to the middle point and did exactly as I had seen them do. In certain spots the water was only about six inches deep. It splashed over my knuckles and into my face. The sun's glorious heat warmed my back. It urged me onwards. My body felt unusually strong. Muscles in my arms and thighs flexed and released as I crawled against the current. One step at a time.

I made it to the stop point, looked to my left, and saw the tree. I stopped, nervous but ready. Now all I had to do was ride the river back down. I turned onto my back, rested my head on the water and unstuck my heels from the riverbed. In an instant, I was off.

My body rocketed down the river like lightning through the clouds.

Glory. Glory. Hallelujah.

Weightless. Fearless. The water rippled under me like a heartbeat. My lungs expanded and the wheeze died down. Faster, and faster the current moved me, and for a second I grew afraid. I popped my head up a little too high. My foot caught against some small rocks in the riverbed. I slipped under the water, the hazy sun blurred above me. I opened my mouth, water flooded in and out of my nostrils. My body flipped over and I was done.

I was somewhere else. Like, floated off in my head, the entire internship flashed through my brain. Harlowe taught me how to envision my body as an entity controlled by my mind and my heart. Lupe made me believe that Lil' Melvin and maybe all of us could control fire with our spirits. Zaira set my words free with Octavia Butler. Maxine pushed me to question myself and my actions. They showed me the power of choice. And that was just Portland. In Miami, I'd connected to my ancestors, to the glorious Titi Penny and Ava, my radical, gorgeous cousin who loved people something fierce. My love for Ava
, mi prima
, burned deep and she in turn showed me an infinite number of ways to love and be loved, to be queer and brown and give not one singular fuck about what anyone thinks. And then there was my Mom, who reminded me of my power through her love and protection and she reminded me that I could live forever, if I just let go of my fear and lived my truth.

The river spun my body over and around. My lungs wheezed. I couldn't stop the current. I couldn't stop my body. I thought I was going to die. Fear had fucked up my flow. It had flipped me over. I let go of everything I was afraid of and concentrated on my body. I spun myself over, spit out the water in my mouth. Used my heels to steady myself and flew right on down with the current until it spit me out at its edge.

I lay there alone.

And in that moment, I finally knew what it was to just breathe.  

 

 

After the cleansing, we shared a big meal at Ginger Raine and Lupe's house. I showed Zaira
Starlight Mamitas: Three Chords of Rebellion
and asked if she thought it was good enough to submit to her anthology. She made me type it up and hand it to her before I left. Zaira told me to keep adding to it, that it would grow and evolve into something incredible. Maxine wanted me to keep in touch and to investigate myself and my intentions as thoroughly as I would anyone else's. Lupe told me to come back for acupuncture any time. And Ginger Raine didn't have time to tell me anything because as we were leaving, she went into labor.

Harlowe drove to the airport. We listened to the feminist power lesbian mix tape one last time. She hugged me and cried all over my neck. She would always be
The
Harlowe Brisbane to me. My copy of
Raging Flower
was safe in my backpack but with it was the list of all the other books Ava insisted I read next.

 

* * *

 

At JFK, the entire Palante clan met me at the airport. I hugged my mom so tight, tighter than ever while she criticized and complimented my undercut. We were going to be okay. I was going to write it all down like I promised. At home, alone in my room, with the sounds of #2 and #5 trains rumbling in the distance, I started with a letter to myself.

 

Dear Juliet,

Repeat after me:

You are a bruja.

You are a warrior.

You are a feminist.

You are a beautiful brown babe.

 

Surround yourself with other beautiful brown and black and indigenous and morena and Chicana, native, Indian, mixed race, Asian, gringa, boriqua babes.

Let them uplift you.

 

Rage against the motherfucking machine.

 

Question everything anyone ever says to you or forces down your throat or makes you write a hundred times on the blackboard.

Question every man that opens his mouth and spews out a law over your body and spirit.

Question every single thing until you find the answer in a daydream.

Don't question yourself unless you hurt someone else.

When you hurt someone else, sit down, and think, and think, and think, and then make it right.

Apologize when you fuck up.

Live forever.

Consult the ancestors while counting stars in the galaxy.

Hold wisdom under tongue until it's absorbed into the bloodstream.

Do not be afraid.

Do not doubt yourself.

Do not hide

Be proud of your inhaler, your cane, your back brace, your acne.

Be proud of the things that the world uses to make you feel different.

Love your fat fucking glorious body.

Love your breasts, hips, and wide-ass if you have them and if you don't, love the body you do have or the one you create for yourself.

Love the fact that you have ingrown hairs on the back of your thighs and your grandma's mustache on your lips.

Read all the books that make you whole.

Read all the books that pull you out of the present and into the future.

Read all the books about women who get tattoos, and break hearts, and rob banks, and start heavy metal bands.

Read every single one of them.

Kiss everyone.

Ask first.

Always ask first and then kiss the way stars burn in the sky.

Trust your lungs.

Trust the Universe.

Trust your damn self.

Love hard, deep, without restraint or doubt

Love everything that brushes past your skin and live
s inside your soul.

Love yourself.

In La Virgen's name and in the name of Selena,

Adiosa.

 

 

 

 

First and forever, I must thank my parents, Martha and Charles Rivera. They're Puerto Ricans who grew up in the South Bronx, blocks apart from each other. My parents saw what it was like to watch their neighborhood burn and see it be reclaimed by the glory of salsa and hip-hop. They instilled in me compassion, a solid work ethic, and the belief that I was capable of achieving all things. They are my joy.

To my brother Philip, I love you like the drag queens love the stage. Thank you for always telling me to keep going and for being a place for me to rest my tears and bathroom humor. The force has always been strong with you, dear brother princess.

Sol, your courage and bravery during 9/11 and while working for months at Ground Zero left an impression on me that will last a lifetime. For that and much more, I thank you.

Thank you to Inga Muscio for taking a chance on a persistent, young Latina from the Bronx who wanted to learn everything about feminism. Thank you for sitting with me in your attic and talking to me about the mysteries of the universe and the power I held within my body.