Juliet Takes a Breath (6 page)

Before I could think of anything to say, she left. I looked at the box and reached for my inhaler. Panic always started in my lungs first and then spread to nervous fingers, knuckles that had to be cracked, and a heartbeat that wouldn't rest. During these moments of panic at home, I'd find Mom's lap and rest my head in it. She'd run her fingers through my hair and calm down all the internal noise. It was noise that told me I wasn't good enough or I wouldn't have enough time to finish whatever I was working on. Here in Harlowe's attic, the noise was still the same but I was on my own.

The box full of unorganized notes and the unstructured independent research time were a surprise. The logical part of my brain knew it'd be okay but that wasn't the part in charge. I was all Virgo and no clarity. I needed some control over my environment or a good head rub. Maybe a file cabinet with items listed in alphabetical order.

I was laid back on the outside but a nervous, asthmatic, panic-baby on the inside. This wasn't how I'd imagined our working relationship. I thought that I'd be at her side and we'd fight patriarchal crime together, like some type of intergenerational, interracial Cagney and Lacey. But this busted-up cardboard box full of women-centric raffle tickets and some heartfelt words about having faith in me doing this on my own? That was my internship? How were we going to be the greatest writing and research team the world had ever known?

Why hadn't she prepared something solid for me to do? Wasn't this important to her? My mind raced with questions. Perhaps I could work around this. Witches and warriors and faeries were fun things, right? It's not like I was hanging out with bourgie young Democrats all summer. I didn't know how Lainie was able to make that commitment. It seemed like a slow boring death to me. This thing with Harlowe could be great. Maybe. I took a pull off my inhaler and still couldn't relax. My lungs widened and the wheeze lifted, but my hands twitched. I opened one of the windows and I crawled out of the attic onto a small ledge. The warm gray Portland sunlight washed over my skin.

I dialed Titi Wepa. Her ringback tone was that Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam song “Can You Feel the Beat.”

“Juliet,” Titi Wepa answered, coughing and shouting into the phone, “How the fuck are you?” Freestyle music blasted in the background over honks and sirens. Titi Wepa was always driving. The world needed her to be in constant motion, for there was always someone in distress, someone that needed a little “Wepa.”

“I'm good, Titi. Just chillin' in Harlowe's attic,” I answered making no attempts to hide my melancholy.

“That woman has you in her attic? Has it been checked for rats?” Titi Wepa asked with her “Seven on Your Side” wannabe news anchor eye. “I mean, because you know if anything happens to you up there, I swear to God, my lawyer will be calling that lady up so quick her fucking head will spin. You know me, J. I don't play.” The sounds of traffic in the Bronx filtered through her end of the phone and into my ears.

“No, Titi, her attic is mad cool. It's filled with candles, and books and really dope ass shit. Mad comfortable,” I assured her, smiling a little. “That's not what's bothering me.”

“Talk to me, J. What's going on?” Titi Wepa lowered her music and told some other driver to “stuff it out his ass.”

“Harlowe told me what exactly she needs me to do and it's impossible,” I said, “This morning, she pulled out this box with all these little papers about women and I gotta document who they are and that's like my whole internship. And yo, I mean these are scraps and random pictures of women that no one's ever heard of and I'm magically supposed to find them,” I whined into the phone.

Titi Wepa coughed again hard. It turned into a coughing fit. She'd been coughing like that after she spent a few months as a first-responder at Ground Zero. I didn't say anything. She hated the attention her cough generated.

Titi Wepa caught her breath and said, “So this lady, Harlowe, breaks down what you gotta do and now you don't wanna do it?” Wepa asked with a mix of attitude and incredulity.

“Titi, Harlowe's asking me to work with scraps and faeries and weird shit… C'mon,” I pleaded, trying to put her back on my side where she belonged.

“No, no, you said your piece,” Titi Wepa said, stopping me, “J, you're the one who flew all the way over to wherever the fuck you are without having discussed this with her beforehand.”

“Portland. I'm in Portland, Oregon,” I muttered. Thick grey clouds rolled across the sky.

“Whatever. Listen, you're the one who tracked her down and asked her for this opportunity and I know you get anxious and wheezy, you've been like that since you were a kid but you can't let that stop you. Juliet, it's just a puzzle and there are a million ways to solve it. So find your own and get it together. Call me if you need another kick in the
cajones
. I love you, Juliet,” said Titi Wepa. Our conversations always ended with Titi Wepa telling me she loved me in her tough, Bronx accent.

“Love you too, Titi,” I replied, trying to maintain some control over the emotions flooding my insides. Tears welled up in my eyes. The unconditional love in her voice leveled me.

Titi Wepa could always love-bully me into being calm. She and my Mom existed in this polar opposite energy field. Wepa was the fire-starter, the one who stood in your face and pounded her fists on the table until her truth was heard and her love was felt. Mom rubbed worried heads, found nervous hands under blankets, and held them while she cooked pots of rice and beans. I should have called Mom but I was afraid that her bedroom door would still be closed and that she wouldn't want to talk.

Titi Wepa was right. I crawled back into the attic. I opened the box and picked out a scrap with the name Lolita Lebrón on it. I had no idea who she was but I liked her name. I grabbed another name from the box. “Sophia/Wisdom” was written on green construction paper without a last name. Maybe it would all be okay? With Mom and Wepa in my heart, Lolita and Sophia in my hands, I decided to be brave and embrace what I came here to find, even though I had no idea what that was.

 

 

Sophia and Lolita were out there in the world somewhere. I wasn't convinced that I could find out who they were but I had to try. I had to do something that didn't involve thinking about the lack of phone calls from Mom or Lainie. I hoped that diving into this world of unknown women would help me forget the women in my life who were absent. I pressed the slips of paper with their names into my composition notebook, stuffed it into my book bag, and descended the attic steps.

In Harlowe's kitchen I was confronted by a naked Asian guy. He stood in the window frame, so tall that his spine bent like a crescent moon to fit. His presence startled me. Was I still in Harlowe's home, or had the dimensions switched on me? Wishbone thin, his arms and legs were long and poised to move. He turned and held my gaze from the windowsill. I'd never seen a flaccid penis before in real life. It reminded me of the fat slugs that would emerge after heavy rainfall and slide along our driveway at home. I wondered if they all looked like that. Were they supposed to be so thick and rubbery looking? I realized I was staring at him, right there. I blushed hard and turned my face away. I was caught between embarrassed laughter and nervousness.

“Phen, did you ask Juliet if she's okay with your nudity?” Harlowe called from somewhere.

Phen gazed down at me without altering his humorless expression. “Juliet, are you okay with my nudity?” he asked.

I blinked first and looked away.
Well, at least I was in the right dimension
. “I'm good, yo. Be as naked as you wanna be,” I said, walking around him to fill up my water bottle at the sink.

“You could be naked and free too, Juliet.” Phen offered, “You must first let go of your internalized fear of nudity and the societal pressures placed upon women to have perfect figures. The choice is yours,” Phen said as he grabbed an apple from the table and chomped into it.

“
My internalized fear of nudity?” I asked, “I didn't know that I had one. So you're the naked guy and the judgmental guy all in one guy?” I folded my arms and looked at him hard.

Footsteps padded into the kitchen where the naked Asian and the unimpressed Puerto Rican were having a stare down. Harlowe breezed in wearing a Big Bird yellow ultra fluffy robe. Her feet were bare and she carried a coffee mug that read
Praise Witches
. “Phen, I'm feeling the energy in this room and the goddesses are telling me that your naked phallus is disrupting our ovarian flow. Now if today was Wednesday, I'm sure your phallic energy would be in sync with our yonic organisms but it's Monday and that sure as hell ain't the case. Maybe cover up just a little.”

Phen shot me the deadliest look, biting deep into his apple.

“It's because of her, isn't it? You've never made me put on clothes before, Harlowe. I don't see why I have to get dressed because she's not enlightened enough to handle my nudity.”

I stiffened. Kids in the Bronx always told me I was too weird or white-acting to be Puerto Rican. Now this Phen dude was telling me that I was too indoctrinated by mainstream society to be down with nakedness. I didn't even know what to say. Can I live, yo? Harlowe took note of my anti-response and rallied to my defense.

“Phen, if the goddesses tell me that the energy is off, then I must adjust to their will. No matter what other entities are in my presence,” Harlowe said, without malice. She picked up her copy of
The Mountain Astrologer
and continued, “Second, Juliet is my guest. It would be in the best interest of all our energies if you got to know her before passing any judgment.”

Harlowe turned back to her mountain astrology magazine. I poured myself a bowl of Granola O's with a heavy helping of Harlowe's fake milk and hoped for the best. I added Phen to the long list of jerks I navigated in high school. Harlowe hadn't mentioned anyone else living here or visiting. Perhaps Phen landed unannounced and would leave soon. I hoped that was true. My thoughts went back to Lolita, Sophia, and finding the nearest library. Did Portland have a subway system? Why hadn't I asked about that?

Phen grabbed a lilac sarong from behind Harlowe's chair and wrapped it around his waist. The outline of taut muscles along his stomach and hips made me wonder if he was a dancer. Phen was kind of beautiful, like, for a judgmental random naked guy.

I touched Harlowe's hand with my finger and said, “I've got two names in my book bag and I'm ready to do some work. Got any tips for navigating the transportation system and finding a library?”

“Juliet, you might want to wait for your aura to sync up with the city and with mine before you start. I gave you all the information today so that it could start to sink into your pores and your soul,” she said, rolling a cigarette, “Not so that you felt pressured to start. Give yourself time. You'll know when your aura is ready.”

Phen sucked his teeth. “What does she even know about auras?” he asked.

Harlowe whipped her head around. “Jealousy does not become you, Phen.” Harlowe once again sipped from her
Praise Witches
coffee mug. “I think it would be an exercise in patience and understanding if the two of you ventured out into Portland,” she said, as if pulling this idea from all the alleged energies swirling around the room.

Phen and I looked at each other. Neither of us said a word.

The absolute last thing I had any desire to do was spend the afternoon with Phen and all of his judgment. I wanted to wander alone or with Harlowe, not with him. What if he found out that I really didn't know anything at all about auras and that I was panicked about not knowing what a synced aura felt like? I didn't come to Portland to hang out with boys. There were enough boys in the Bronx and I didn't ever want to deal with them either. Well, except for Lil' Melvin, of course.

Harlowe pulled out a purple jar with a metal clasp and a soft velvet pouch from the cabinet above her stove. She flipped open the jar's lid to reveal a small mountain of bright green bud. This was not your typical dry ass bag of regs littered with seeds and stems that you got from so-and-so's cousin up the block. No, this was manna from the weed gods. These nugs glimmered in the light with shiny crystals and red fibers that crisscrossed their fatness like electrical wires. The smell alone got me geeked. Harlowe removed a glass pipe from the velvet pouch. It was clear along the mouth and turned blood orange the further it got to the bowl.

“These are my trees and my Saturn-ruled smoking pipe,” Harlowe said, voice melodic and calm. “Juliet, whenever you want to partake, feel free. Use as much as you want whenever you want. All I ask is that you use my instruments with care and return them to a safe place. Saturn doesn't always want to be kept in the cupboard. She will let you know her desired resting place.”

I felt honored, excited. It was nice to not be in some white boy's dorm room trying to clear a five-foot bong while listening to Dave Matthews with everyone chanting, “Toke! Toke! Toke!” The three of us took hits off of Saturn.

Phen blew out a slow spiral of smoke. “Harlowe,” he said, “maybe I should also take Juliet to Powell's so she can see where the reading is going to be.”

Harlowe slapped her hand on the table. “Yes, oh my goddess, how could I forget? Juliet, another part of your time here will be helping me prepare for this mega reading I have at Powell's for
Raging Flower
.” Her grin was wide, dimples flashing wild. Harlowe's face was open to the world; it pulled in all of the light from the room. Her excitement was infectious and brilliant. I breathed it in with the weed smoke.
The
Harlowe Brisbane needed my help with a reading at a fancy bookstore.

Phen brought up the first time he met Harlowe. It was at an open mic night in Olympia. Harlowe read excerpts of what would become
Raging Flower
. I watched them exchange easy remember-whens. I munched on my cereal and hoped I would know Harlowe like that one day.