The Moon Within Read online

  but Mima sees me yank out

  my hand.

  Mima barks,

  Are you sneaking the tablet again, Celi?

  Mija, I have to trust that you are going

  to make good choices!

  No I wasn’t—my lies choke my last word.

  You know you’re limited

  to using it only once a week.

  AND not on a school night

  especially when I’ve taken it from you!

  Her temper rises to the stratosphere

  when she feels disrespected.

  Her alarm for broken rules

  turns my warm pozole mama

  into a witch as mean as mud.

  Especially when I lie some more,

  I’m just checking the weather!

  She goes to get the tablet

  from under my pillow

  but I block her hand

  and this makes her frown

  in a growing anger.

  She fishes furiously and

  when she gets it she

  scans it to see that

  I’ve actually been texting Iván.

  With a quick turn of her body

  she ruins me again.

  I’ll take this. Thank you.

  There’s no telling when she’ll give it back.

  At school, when I tell Magda that I got caught

  she chuckles but taps my back,

  It’s okay … we knew it was risky.

  I quietly beam; I’ve accomplished my mission.

  Mima’s been silent about the texts

  and hasn’t told Papi either.

  Did you tell Iván that we would

  meet him afterward, to hang out?

  Yup, he’ll be expecting to hang out with m—with us.

  I turn away so Magda can’t see me

  bite my lip in a serious uh-oh.

  I did not mention Magda at all.

  Papi often reminds me to think of others

  especially with family, like Juju

  but I have a hard time with that one

  because I don’t want to share

  everything with my brother

  despite his heart condition

  and the trouble I get into over that

  somehow makes me wish I didn’t

  have a little brother at all.

  I never meant to not think of Magda.

  Mima cried the news

  in her older sister’s ear

  when she started.

  She was scared.

  No one had prepared her.

  Not her mother, not her sisters.

  It came as a stain of blood

  so dark she thought

  she was sick.

  Her sister led her to the bathroom

  showed her how to apply a pad

  on clean underwear

  and said little else.

  Mima was ashamed for bleeding

  hid in her bed all night.

  She tells me this story over and over

  because she doesn’t want me

  to know her shame

  she doesn’t want me

  to be surprised or have questions.

  Though I do, I don’t ask her.

  Into my locket they go

  because my locket doesn’t lecture.

  She tells me that

  our indigenous ancestors

  were in tune with natural cycles

  held our bleeding to be powerful.

  And that during our moon time

  women gathered in special huts

  to nurture, create, and be in

  sacred space with their cycle.

  It is my birthright, she insists

  to honor my cycle in this same way

  so that when my moon comes

  I will be ready and proud

  to share it with our community.

  But I argue,

  I am not purely Mexican

  Papi’s dark skin and Caribbean sway

  dance inside me too.

  Even though much of our knowledge

  was taken away from us

  many cultures honored

  women’s moons across the millennia, Celi.

  Both of your lineages grant you that gift.

  She points to the sky,

  The moon belongs to all women, hija.

  When it comes, I don’t

  want a hut

  or a ceremony.

  I will hide it from Mima

  for as long as I can.

  I hope it never comes

  because I don’t know

  how to hide the moon.

  I’ve been dancing bomba

  since I was two

  or so I’m told.

  Our family went to see

  master drummers and dancers

  from the island visiting Oakland.

  During the batey, the native Taíno word

  for gathering in a circle

  to openly jam,

  I watched with Mima from the sidelines

  while Papi was invited to drum.

  Ms. Susana saw me holding the

  bottom tips of my white ruffled dress

  imitating the dancers who went

  into the circle, one after the other,

  to have a single dancing conversation

  with the lead drummer.

  Ms. Susana took me by the hand

  and led me into the batey

  for me to try.

  I looked back at Mima, unsure,

  but her big eyes urged me.

  Once inside, I did not copy

  what Ms. Susana asked me to

  as she danced next to me.

  I held the tips of my little dress

  and pretended I was catching

  butterflies in the air.

  That is what the music told me to do

  and the lead drummer responded to me

  like a reflection in a mirror.

  My tiny-footed sandals made

  a slight shuffle on the ground

  my brow crinkled

  my arms and skirt spoke

  my first piquetes ever.

  It was only for a minute at most

  but the entire batey

  clapped with joy

  as I thanked the lead

  drummer with a nod

  and left the circle

  initiated

  and in love.

  It turns out that what

  moves a wave is the

  moon.

  Madga and I find out about that

  while sifting through library books

  and putting together our wave display board

  on my living room floor.

  I could have told you that!

  fact-crazed Juju interrupts,

  The gravitational pull of the moon’s orbit

  moves all bodies of water on our planet.

  Magda throws a piece of crumpled paper at him.

  Okay, Señor Cerebro, she teases.

  He flinches but then

  storms off yelling,

  Fine! I’m just saying!

  This is exciting, Magda!

  Our project is going to be the best

  now that we’ve got Luna involved.

  It’ll be better than Aurora’s boring

  presentation on black holes.

  Yup! Maybe we can make a papier-mâché moon

  put it on a stand somehow.

  Maybe build a lever that’ll

  make the kiddy pool move?

  While Magda conjures details

  my locket spins.

  Am I made of water waves

  that twirl

  and

  crash

  and

  foam?

  Is it Luna that

  pulls me

  to

  keep secrets

  to

  heart Iván

  to

  scowl at Aurora

  to

  groove with Magda
<
br />   to

  dance?

  The kids swarm like wasps

  around each of their projects.

  Magda and I know that ours

  is going to rock!

  Maybe come in first place?

  Her clever lever idea works

  like a mechanical charm

  and my papier-mâché moon

  glows with iridescent paint

  the prettiest Luna you ever saw.

  Our fact board was checked and approved

  by Teresa and Señor Cerebro himself.

  Curious to see our friends’ work

  Magda and I take a walk and visit

  - a tightrope project about balance

  - the five-pound vat of homemade slime

  - Juju’s paper airplane launchers that had

  all the elementary kids going wild

  but still, we think we’re golden

  and then

  we get to Aurora’s.

  Wow! says Magda with an extra long o

  when she sees the biggest display

  in the multipurpose room.

  A dome covered with black curtains

  welcomes you with a red sign that reads:

  “Black Hole Ahead—Enter at Your Own Risk.”

  Magda rushes to get in line to enter

  and drags me with her.

  I only wait in line because

  I want to see firsthand

  Aurora’s flaming fail.

  Inside, a gazillion neon drawn-on stars

  and glowing ping-pong balls float above us.

  Everything is lit by black light

  as if we are in space.

  At the far end of the dome

  a luminescent ring outlines

  a big dark cave.

  From a speaker, a dull white noise

  beeps with random spaceship sounds.

  Then Aurora’s screechy voice comes on:

  A black hole is formed with the death

  of a massive star. The collapse creates

  a point in space so dense

  it begins to suck things into it

  by gravity.

  If something falls into one

  it cannot get out.

  Even light can’t escape

  its gigantic pull!

  And BOOM!

  A switch is turned on

  that sounds like a vacuum.

  We watch

  as

  ping-pong ball

  after

  ping-pong ball

  gets

  sucked into

  the great

  black hole.

  It’s brilliant and

  I. Can’t. Stand it.

  I push my way through a crowd of kids.

  Magda swings the curtains open

  behind me shaking her head

  and smiling brightly

  ’cause we just got

  burned

  by Aurora.

  At the end of the science fair

  Aurora semiskips over to us

  petting her

  first-place ribbon

  in her hand

  like a rat.

  From her smirk fall

  her condolences.

  Sorry that your wimpy moon waves

  didn’t move the judges.

  And too bad that Iván wasn’t here

  to see my winning display.

  Congrats! Magda taps Aurora on the shoulder.

  Your black hole project was hecka amazing.

  At the same time

  she holds me by the arm.

  She knows

  I want to charge.

  I bite my nails to stop me from speaking.

  I grin growl behind my fingers

  and wish that Aurora

  would

  fall

  into

  a black hole

  to

  never

  escape.

  For the next week

  Magda and I up our

  game for the performance

  like two athletes training for a win.

  Iván’s coming to see us!

  We beg Ms. Susana to let us be

  lead dancer and drummer for a seis corrido.

  It’s the fastest bomba rhythm

  and the one that lets me

  dance without a skirt

  move my shoulders and hips the most

  unlike the other rhythms that rely on

  skirt technique and shoulders mostly.

  In a seis corrido

  Magda’s echo is precise

  she doesn’t delay

  to beat the drum at every

  shake and strut of my hips

  or in the up-and-down bounce

  of my shoulders

  making our communication

  shine above the other drummers,

  stick players, maraca players, and singers

  in what Papi calls

  beautiful Afro-Puerto Rican syncopation.

  Iván’s not going to know what hit him.

  La Peña is packed!

  Backstage, my head is wrapped tight in a headscarf and bun

  a big turquoise flower pinned to the left side of my headwrap

  to match my turquoise flowered ankle-length skirt

  that makes me feel like the ocean.

  I put a dash of lip gloss on my lips

  so they shimmer beneath the lights.

  Magda wears her deep blue guayabera,

  white jeans, sneakers, and a hat

  she borrowed from her dad.

  She tugs the Kangol down low

  an anchor on the short crop of her hair.

  We stand side by side in the big mirror

  Are you ready? she asks my reflection.

  I move to high-five her reflection

  then stop and turn to high-five the real her.

  We both giggle as we clasp hands

  snap our fingers and flutter them away like birds.

  I look for Iván in the audience

  before the MC announces the show.

  I don’t see his bright eyes and bushy eyebrows

  anywhere.

  Still, Magda and I lock in

  when our seis corrido is called.

  We enter the world of drums,

  song, and movement we all create

  and we’re on point

  just like we rehearsed.

  I am no longer Celi who bites

  her nails, has secrets to spare,

  and got blown away by Aurora.

  I am Celi waxing

  circling

  shaking my body

  making rhythms of my own

  a release of my heart

  my joy.

  Papi would say the ancestors are with me.

  I don’t doubt him because I feel their pride

  as I glide and turn and burn on the stage.

  The audience of our parents and friends

  roars in hoots and hollers when we are done!

  We can’t see them, the bright stage lights blind us

  but I know that Magda, like me

  wishes that Iván is in the audience too

  there to witness the best we’ve ever done.

  When the houselights come up

  we see Iván standing there with two other boys

  who look a klutzy twelve like him.

  He brought a crew!

  He sees me and signals to the café.

  I shoot him a thumbs-up and move

  to collect my things.

  We make our way over to the restaurant

  to find that he and his friends

  are sitting around a couch and coffee table

  their skateboards propped against the wall.

  All of our parents are milling about ordering wine, talking

  and I ask Mima for an agua fresca—guayaba, my favorite—

  and Magda asks her dad, Luis, for the same, her favorite too.

  We come to sit near the
boys and I swallow hard

  and suddenly I want to bite off a hangnail on my thumb.

  But I don’t, instead I introduce Magda to Iván

  which stirs him to introduce his friends to us.

  This is Pedro and Leandro.

  Iván looks a little nervous.

  His eyes shift from mine to Magda’s.

  What kind of dude name is Magda? he blurts.

  It’s short for Magdalena I defend.

  Magda holds my shoulder so she can speak.

  Everyone’s always called me Magda

  and the dude clothes is just who I am.

  So you’re a girl? You look straight-up like a boy!

  Iván covers his laugh with his fist

  and turns to his friends

  who are chuckling with disbelief.

  Like I said, I dress like who I am.

  Iván snorts and continues to snicker.

  Oh snap, I thought only men could drum in bomba!

  Well at least that’s what Aurora told me.

  That you’re just faking it.

  Magda takes a deep breath

  the hurt only showing itself in

  her trembling lower lip.

  FYI, women drum all the time in bomba.

  Besides, what does it matter, Iván? I get loud at him.

  Can we sit or what?

  I don’t know, we don’t usually hang with freakazoids.

  I don’t care how much you like my skateboarding.

  The dizzying feeling for him

  that was swooshing inside moments before

  sizzles in anger now, and for Aurora too.

  Now I know she shared our secrets.

  I shove him hard on his chest,

  tug my friend by the hand and say,

  C’mon Magda, who needs these jerks.

  Magda and I find shelter backstage

  now clear of all performers

  both of our hearts

  cracked and beginning to ooze.

  I feel I need to make excuses.

  Blame Aurora, the twerp.

  He’s never acted that way before.

  So cruel. So rude.

  I thought he knew I was hanging out too?

  I confess, I didn’t think to mention her.

  Magda frowns into a sadness

  I had never seen before

  and comes with tears

  that fall

  on her cheeks

  like slow

  drops

  of rain.

  I’m sorry, Magda, for not thinking of you.

  I’m so sorry, Magda, for what he said.

  He’s not the boy we thought he was.

  At home, Mima gives back the tablet

  as reward for the performance.

  Also gives me honey manzanilla tea.

  She can see I am quiet

  but doesn’t ask why.

  I don’t want to touch the tablet

  because I’d have to see his last text

  before I knew the kind of fool

  he really is or that I am.