Hee Hee Hee
Papí is laughing like a hyena I saw in a
cartoon. He looks at
Mamí. Hee hee-hee. Then he slaps his thigh, ¡Alabalsa Dios!
He
looks at Marí. Hee hee hee. He’s all red.
Mamí’s sitting on the sofa with Papi’s
belt on her lap. It’s
folded, so the hurt will last a long time. Every once in
a while
she lifts the belt, like she’s thinking about it. That’s why Papi
thinks she’s so funny.
This time I’m going to be smarter. My bag
is still packed. Mari’s
is, too, but she didn’t put any clothes in it. Just her
baby doll.
When Mamí stops watching me
the way she is, I’m going to tell
Mari she’s got to sneak some clothes into her
bag before
tonight.
Maybe I better do it for her. The bags
are by the side of the
door. Right where Mamí can see them. I have to sneak my
roller
skates in there, too. I can’t leave without them. I can wait
Mamí out. She’ll have to go to the
kitchen sometime.
I’m going to Abuelita’s house. Mari might
slow me down but it’s
better if she comes. Plus, she will be lonely without me
in the
house. She said to Mamí, wherever Araceli goes, I’m going too.
¡Me voy
también!
I’m pretty sure I know how to get to
Abuelita’s house. I go
down the block, then up Hansberry on the other sidewalk.
When I turn the corner, I’ll see her apartment. It’s the one with
the bush.
It’ll be good that Mari’s with me. Abuelita will be so
surprised. She’ll stoop
down and scrunch her eyes at us. Like
she wants to make sure it’s us. Then
she’ll squash us into her
body. Her body that’s like no one else’s.
Lumpy-feeling and
crinkly-looking. Smelling like Fruity Pebbles gone wrong
somehow. Ay, mi vida, she’ll say to me. Mi amor, she’ll say to
Mari.
Mamí wants me to give the roller skates
back. But there’s no
way. I won’t do it. I won’t give them back to Kimberly.
They’re
mine now.
I’ve never seen Mamí this mad. Usually
it’s Papí. But today he’s
a bee we can’t swat away.
El cómico, Mamí said, all show. Papí went outside. Right under
my drawing
of Kimberly with her swirly curls and her triangle
dress, Papí drew a picture
of Mamí on the sidewalk. Big. He
laughed himself silly when he drew her square
face, her nose
and her mouth close together. “¡Mira! ¡Mira! ¡Tu Mamá!”
Tonight, Mari and me, we’ll be on our
way.
I tried to leave earlier. Right after
Mari and me were drawing
on the sidewalk. is when Mamí saw the skates. Her face
all dark
clouds, she pointed to my skate sticking out from under my
skirt, ¿qué’s
esto? Mi patín, I said real quiet, as I
tried to tuck
my foot back in. ¿Tu patín? Sparks crackled in her voice. I knew
it was going to be bad then, even before I told her that
Kimberly gave them to
me.. ¡Y su puta madre! Mamí spit. Her
face all thunder and lightning she told
me to take my culo right
over there and leave the skates on their porch.
Without--Mamí
shook her finger so that it made me cross-eyed--putting one
dedo
inside that house.
I packed my bag right away. When Mari saw
me packing, she
started to cry. Hard. She’s littler than me. What can you do?
But
what happened is she let Mamí and Papí know. So when we got
downstairs we
found that the door had been locked. I couldn’t
reach the highest lock. Even
when I jumped. Papí
laughed and laughed.
So I stood and stood and stood there. I
would have kept
standing there except that Mari had to pee so bad. It was an
emergency. I had to pee, too.
Upstairs, Papí told us that we’d better
go and do what Mamí
wants or we’re in big trouble. Big.
Mamí doesn’t understand. These skates are
mine now. Why
should I give them back to Kimberly? Why does she say I can’t I
keep anything from esa gente, those people?
Kimberly showed me how to adjust them.
There’s a screw-
thing so you can change the size for your shoe. I’ll even share
them with Mari. First I have to learn to roller-skate.
Mamí should know this is a goodbye
present. Who ever heard
of giving a goodbye present back? Kimberly’s my best
friend
and she’s leaving. She’s going to
Chicago. These were her
favorite. Her favorite!
I don’t have much time. Papí said we all
needed to calm down
but he was looking at me. Then he said he knew I would do
the
right thing.
Well, the right thing is to keep the
skates. Before I go to
Abuelita’s, I’m going to Kimberly’s house. But not to
give the
skates back. Maybe Kimberly’ll teach me how to skate and, you
know
what, I’ll give her something of mine. My best doll, Lolita.
That’s what I’ll
do. She gave me something of hers to remember
her so I’ll give her something
from me.
What will second grade be like without
Kimberly?
Mamí is always mad at someone. She
doesn’t get mad like Papí.
She gets quiet. If she gets mad at him on a Monday
or Tuesday
she won’t talk to him the rest of the week. If she gets mad at
him
on a Saturday then she’s back talking to him by Monday,
maybe. And when Mamí is
mad at Papí, she’s mad at everyone.
Mari gets really upset when Mamí’s this
way. She tries to hide
she’s crying but I know. Any time that Mari has her head
down
with her braids hanging like sticks by her eyes, she’s crying or
she was
crying. It makes me mad. Why should Mari have to cry
so much?
Mamí pushes her aside when Mari tries to
get close. I take Mari
to my special place then. It’s under the bed. I have a
nightlight
that’s pretty. It makes an orange glow under the mattress. I
keep
candy there and the ring Abuelita gave me that sparkles
into my hand. It always
cheers Mari up.
We haven’t seen Abuelita in a long time.
That’s why I’m not
so sure how to get to her house now. Mamí got mad at her,
too.
This time it was because Abuelita wasn’t giving back the
Tupperware she’d
borrowed. Mamí says she asked for it three
times. Tres veces. Three is el
máximo for Mamí. She says that
Abuelita wants to keep it. She says Abuelita
doesn’t want to
spend her own money to buy her own things. Papí says
Abuelita
doesn’t have any money.
Papí says Abuelita forgets a lot of
things. Maybe we could just
give her the Tupperware and get another. But Mamí
says that
we already spent the money on one, why should we give it
away?
With Kimberly it’s not about Tupperware.
Mamí sizzles when
she says, esa mujer, and she seems to be talking about
Kimberly’s mom. Papí doesn’t say anything. He just walks
away. I know he thinks
Kimberly’s mom is nice. When he
smiles at her, it’s like he’s really looking at
her. He doesn’t do
this with me or Mari or Mamí.
No matter what, when Mom stops staring
and Dad stops
laughing and Mari stops crying, I’ll run away. First, I’m going
to
go to Kimberly’s house. Kimberly’s house with her nice soft
mama who never
pushes anyone away. Kimberly with her
Bambi eyes and her bucky beaver teeth.
Kimberly who gives
me hugs and her roller skates. Kimberly, my best friend,
who’s
about to be rained off the sidewalk, all the colors and lines of
her
gone.
But my Mamí stays watching, her belt in
the air. Mari’s still
crying tears that fall in tiny drops, one by one. My Papí
laughs,
as if the joke’s on me. Hee hee
hee.
BIO
Adriana Lecuona is honored to contribute to The Acentos Review. An emerging writer, Ms. Lecuona’s work has
recently appeared in S/tick, John King’s The Drunken Odyssey podcast
and The Pennsylvania Gazette. She received her MFA in Film &
Media Arts from Temple University and her BA from the University of
Pennsylvania. Ms. Lecuona lives with her husband and son in
Wallingford, Pennsylvania, where she is currently working on a memoir
about her experience with Hodgkins Lymphoma and its aftermath.