The Moon Within Read online

  My comadre, Chuyina, had a similar but different experience.

  Her family in Mexico never understood

  her ways, that she would leave being a man

  to be herself, a woman.

  Her father threw her out of the house.

  So she had to come pa’l Norte

  where she thought no one would judge her

  but sometimes they still do.

  That’s so sad, Yeya. You wouldn’t know

  she’s been through so much

  because she’s always smiling.

  Si, well, whenever Chuyina feels like it’s too much

  she comes to me for a limpia.

  All I do is take this

  Palo Santo and light it

  and I fan the smoke onto her body

  so that it floats away her worries.

  It makes her feel lighter

  every time she is hurt.

  Here. I want you to

  take some to offer Marco.

  She puts two thick

  sweet-smelling sticks

  in my hand and wraps

  my fingers around them

  and blows into my fist.

  She looks at me with pride

  her two

  long gray braids

  sway like this hammock

  behind her back

  as she walks away.

  If Yeya knew what

  was hurting Marco

  right now

  she’d give

  me

  a limpia.

  With each passing day

  my locket feels weighted.

  It still has no echo.

  Finally, back in bomba class

  I listen for his drumming

  but he refuses to play when I come up.

  Each time, he has a bathroom emergency

  and lets the other drummers fill in for him

  and when Ms. Susana forces him to drum

  and I dance, he switches from lead drum

  to sticks or maracas.

  I no longer want to dance.

  He no longer wants to drum.

  A silent drum is the sound

  my heart makes when it is hurting.

  My locket is no use.

  His silence crushes me from the inside out.

  My locket rebels, I want my echo back!

  I’m not sure if I want

  Iván more

  anymore.

  I take to staring at the moon

  each night

  when I can find her.

  A big glowing circle in the sky

  beautiful

  alone

  sometimes a tiny sliver

  sometimes strong

  filled with pockmarks

  imperfect like me.

  I imagine I cling to stars

  to get there and sit and ask,

  Luna, what do I do?

  How do I make an

  echo without Marco?

  She only answers with

  her own loneliness and then

  she fades.

  If she is so powerful

  she pulls tides

  why can’t she pull some

  sense into me

  and make me apologize?

  I fear I’ve gone too far.

  Hurt too much.

  Luna is there despite

  how I have treated Marco.

  She is a true friend

  unlike me

  always there

  even when she

  is hidden to me

  and I am hidden too.

  Oakland’s summer days come down on us

  like sheets of gold so warm

  we don’t need blankets at night.

  The only chill I feel is from Marco’s freeze.

  Still, he hasn’t told on me.

  Mima, Papi, Juju, Teresa, and Luis don’t say a thing.

  The only one to notice is Ms. Susana

  who has given up on trying to pair

  her two best students.

  She doesn’t believe in forcing art

  and asks me to sing instead.

  Aurora’s all about it and snickers

  when Marco ignores me

  so proud that she had a hand in the silence

  but maybe more happy that now she gets

  to be lead dancer.

  I wish her boca would shrivel up

  like a chicharrón or that I could

  punch her in the chest so hard

  it would kick-start her cold heart.

  I stop myself because

  it wouldn’t bring Marco back.

  Ms. Susana announces that

  we have to come to a three-hour

  dress rehearsal on Friday

  for La Peña’s summer performance.

  She raises her voice

  over our chatter,

  Everyone must wear white pants and a white top.

  Girls, please wear your bomba skirts over your pants.

  I will have to wear my turquoise skirt

  even though I’m not dancing.

  At dress rehearsal

  while Ms. Susana is caught up

  in the office dealing with the show’s program

  all of the kids play a game of silent freeze tag

  so Ms. Susana doesn’t yell at us

  for being too loud when

  she comes back.

  Marco doesn’t play.

  He sits at the drum and waits

  for Ms. Susana to return.

  But I do.

  We are swift white shadows

  running and freezing, waiting and tagging

  our feet sliding on the slick wood studio floors.

  I’m not it and I feel like I have to pee

  but I hold it.

  I want to get through this round.

  I dash away, huffing.

  Suddenly, I feel Marco

  tug me off to the side

  then drag me backstage.

  Still panting from running

  my breath escapes between words.

  Now, Marco?

  You wanna talk now?

  Celi, your white pants, there is blood all over them.

  He points.

  Pity and concern

  painted across his face.

  I look down in shock.

  What?

  The inside of

  my pant legs

  and crotch

  are soaked

  bright

  red.

  I am bleeding but it doesn’t hurt.

  If this is my power, why is it such a mess?

  Am I a woman now?

  I want to play freeze tag.

  I want unstained pants.

  I’m not ready.

  I burst like

  a swollen fruit

  and cry.

  Marco moves quickly.

  Here, go into the bathroom stall.

  I’ve got some coins … I’ll get you a pad.

  Marco, can you also go get my backpack, please?

  I can change into my street clothes.

  Hand me your pants and I’ll soak them in the sink.

  I worry that Ms. Susana will probably

  be mad at me for not wearing white pants anymore.

  Please don’t tell Ms. Susana that it came

  and that I’ve made a mess of myself.

  Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.

  Celi, our moms told us this would happen.

  I know but why now? It’s just so embarrassing.

  You don’t have to tell me about embarrassing.

  Imagine what it’s going to be like for me to buy pads at the store.

  Besides, I don’t think anyone saw it but me.

  Thank you, Marco, I whimper.

  I want to apologize but my soggy tears

  clog my voice and it sounds muddy.

  I’m so sorry, Marco.

  Don’t cry, Celi. It’ll all work out.

  His words wash over me as
if all is forgiven

  even though his forgiveness

  is something I haven’t earned.

  Soon though

  I will have to tell him the truth

  about all I’ve done—the movies, the texting, the park.

  How could I have ever turned my back on him?

  There is no more hiding

  when Mima sees that I’m

  not wearing white pants

  like the rest of the kids in class.

  I can’t hide the big wad

  of paper towels wrapped

  around my soiled white

  pants I carry in my hands.

  I’ll need them washed

  for tomorrow.

  Mostly, she sees the currents

  of disbelief, fear, and newness

  moving across the river of my

  reddened face

  my defeated face

  my uncertain face.

  Mima hugs me tightly and kisses me.

  Her tenderness and love forces

  my locket’s clasp wide open

  and I don’t cry anymore.

  The moon is yours now too, mija.

  When we get home, Mima runs a hot bath for me.

  She gathers fresh herbs from her summer garden

  manzanilla, ruda, flores de romero, albahaca

  and from her herbal medicine pantry

  dried calendula, tila, lavender flowers, and arnica

  puts them all in a cheesecloth pouch

  in what looks like a giant tea bag

  to steep in my bath.

  I can hear her hum softly as I slide into the water.

  These herbs will usher in the calm, she almost sings.

  She celebrates while my world falls away.

  This blood. My lies.

  Two hummingbirds danced around me

  outside just now as I picked these herbs for you.

  It means the hummingbird spirits blessed them

  and the beginning of your journey

  that we will soon announce at your moon ceremony.

  I had forgotten the ceremony!

  Stop, Mima! I shout in desperation.

  Why does everyone have to know?

  Celi! Don’t you raise your voice at me!

  Take a deep breath. Let the herbs soothe you.

  An angry defiance continues to rise within me,

  No, Mima! Don’t you know anything about me?

  Don’t you know that I’d rather crawl into a cave

  than have a stupid moon ceremony!

  Celi, your moon will not be like mine.

  You will not begin womanhood in doubt

  in shame

  but surrounded by the strength

  of women in your community.

  That is our way.

  No it isn’t. It is a way you’ve made up!

  It is a way that we have to reclaim

  so that we are not erased.

  No!

  It WILL happen whether you like it or not!

  Mima leaves me to cry

  sitting in a soup

  of hummingbird herbs and rage.

  Mima walks back into the bathroom

  holding a cup of tea, a pair of

  clean underwear, and an assortment of

  organic cotton pads and tampons.

  I’ve cried so much my lungs

  gasp uncontrollably for dashes of air

  like extended hiccups.

  I climb out of the tub

  she wraps me in a large towel, mummy tight

  like she did after the bath when I was a baby

  and hugs me.

  Celi, mi vida.

  Mima’s tone is sweet again.

  We don’t know if it hurts a butterfly

  as it hatches from its chrysalis.

  We see it struggle yes, but we know

  that it will have a great reward.

  In the end, it becomes a winged creature

  more magical than when it started.

  I press my head into her shoulder

  and think about butterflies

  I manage to grimace out a whimpy,

  Perdón, Mima.

  My apology snuffed by the wet hair in my mouth.

  I know, mija, I am sorry that we don’t agree

  but your body has come into the moon now

  and we have to honor it.

  She says as she brushes strands away,

  How about we begin to prepare for it

  and then see how you feel after?

  I lay my forehead on her lips

  with the littlest nod.

  Then suddenly, Marco’s on my mind

  and my sloppy secrets finally rush out …

  I’ve been a creep to Marco.

  I went behind Marco’s back

  and agreed to go to the movies with Iván

  after Iván made fun of Marco

  for being a xochihuah.

  Surprised that I change the conversation

  from me to Marco

  and that I’ve sunk so low perhaps

  Mima shakes her head and says,

  I can’t make that one better for you, mija.

  As I dress into my pajamas

  Juju walks into our room

  begins his banter of facts.

  You know, you can’t fold

  a square in half more than seven times?

  I’ve tried it with origami; it’s impossible.

  He’s still a child and I envy what he doesn’t know.

  I can hear

  the raindrop conga sound

  of Papi’s drums

  coming from his studio.

  Calling …

  Juju’s talking melts away.

  I walk past him

  out the door

  toward the garage.

  Papi is playing

  a rumba guaguancó

  I don’t say a word

  let my body begin to

  answer the sounds of his drumming.

  Papi welcomes me with a nod

  turns up his playing

  makes brighter sounds

  round sounds

  colored sounds

  a timeless talking unlike

  Mima’s or Juju’s.

  I just dance.

  Suddenly he switches rhythms

  to a samba

  and I fall deep in feet movement

  a conga

  and I climb spirit high from side to side

  a bomba

  and I twirl and mark my

  beat with my arms

  that Papi catches

  effortlessly, in sync.

  I don’t see that

  Mima and Juju

  are both standing

  at the door witnessing

  with Papi

  the closest I have ever

  come to clarity

  lighter and

  as unstuck

  as I could ever be.

  Until I stop

  too out of breath

  to dance

  anymore.

  Marco called me later

  that evening on video chat.

  The first time in so long.

  He was worried about me.

  Luckily, I’ve got the tablet again.

  Marco, I’m sorry, I say again, slowly.

  I went to the movies with Iván

  and his friends after he was mean to you.

  I know. Juju told me.

  You knew?

  Yeah, and I also know about

  the solstice at the park. Aurora told me.

  I ain’t gonna lie. That hurt, Celi.

  It’s why I was so mad at you for so long.

  I was a real bum. I’m so sorry.

  I reach out to the screen.

  We try to simulate our handshake.

  Thanks for not hating me.

  You’re a way better friend than I am.

  Guess what? My mom wasn’t all talk

  she’s really making me

>   have a moon ceremony, I surrender.

  Whoa.

  Mima says that I can invite a few friends

  as a chance to learn about ceremonia

  but I only want you to be there.

  Will you come?

  I don’t know. It’s for women only right?

  She said it was okay because you’re

  a xochihuah with boy and girl energies

  it’s more sacred and stuff.

  I guess she’s right. You know what my dad told me?

  He said that some Mexica priests

  were xochihuah too

  and were revered for it.

  That shreds, que no?

  See! It’s perfect.

  My dad also said that if I wanted to

  we could do a Temazcal ceremonia for me.

  You mean, like do a sweat lodge and pray all night kinda thing.

  Yeah, but for xochihuah. ‘Cept we haven’t figured out how it will work.

  That’s hecka cool.

  Marco shyly asks,

  How’s it feel to bleed?

  I try to describe the wetness

  the feeling like you are peeing but not

  how the cotton pad that just sits there

  collecting blood is really the strangest part.

  It sort of trips me out

  to think about when I’ll get my moon.

  It’s not as bad as it sounds. Don’t get me wrong.

  Not because of what you said, but because

  for me, it’ll be like going back

  against what I’ve gained.

  It will take me back to being

  only the girl I used to be.

  What if it erases my boyness?

  I just want to continue to be me,

  the Marco and Magda me, I mean.

  I hear ya.

  I nod but I feel the opposite

  about myself.

  I don’t say it out loud.

  I’m done hurting his feelings.

  I do want to go back to the girl

  I used to be.

  I wear an extra-absorbent pad

  the next day for our recital.

  Mima drops me off

  one full block away from La Peña!

  I can feel the bulk of the cotton

  as I walk into the center

  alone.

  I see Iván come in early

  even though I never invited him.

  I march over without thinking

  I smack him with words.

  I want you to know something.

  Marco is my friend.

  MY BEST FRIEND since we were babies

  and no one is going to make fun of him.

  I don’t care how smart or funny you think you are!

  Hi, Celi, nice to see you too.

  His sarcasm stirs me for a second

  with that crushy feeling again

  but I shake it off quickly

  because he makes me boil

  and I keep going,