When I Was Puerto Rican - Esmeralda Santiago [58]
Mami hugged me, and Nicasia hugged me, and Doña Cony hugged me. I was cold and moved toward the door, where a rectangle of sunshine called me.
“I want to go home,” I said to Mami. My throat hurt.
“Okay, okay. In a minute.” She and Nicasia talked quietly. Doña Cony pulled the mosquito net over the baby.
“I want to go home.” My head was heavy with muttering voices. My tongue was large and thirsty.
“Just a minute!” Nicasia handed Mami a small bottle. Mami thanked her and backed toward me, still talking.
“Please, Mami.”
She frowned. The air was stiff. Outside, a breeze rippled water against the pilings. A seagull landed on the dock and stepped toward the door.
“Get out of there,” it told me.
Doña Cony hugged Mami and shook her hand as if checking to see if it was still attached. I backed out of the house and down the steps. The seagull flew to the end of the walkway, to the pier that led to my house.
“Stay right there,” Mami warned. “Wait for me.”
The sunlight was yellow. Sweat soaked my scalp and dripped down my forehead, into my ears. It tickled, but the voices went away. My head felt light, my tongue its normal size. The seagull stepped along the pier, looked at me, then flew toward the mountains. Mami came out of Doña Cony’s house.
“It’s very rude to leave without saying good-bye,” she said, shoving me ahead of her.
We walked quickly down the pier. The old man no longer sat in front of his house. The woman who hung out laundry was now sweeping the dust from her house out the door. When we reached the bridge by our house, I ran as fast as I could and took the steps in one leap.
I ripped the white ribbons out of my hair and threw them out the window. I clawed at the dress, trying to get it off as fast as I could. Mami yelled because I was not careful and the dress tore. But I wanted to get out of it. I stepped out of my panties, socks, and patent-leather shoes and ran into the shower. The cold water gave me shivery goose bumps. I rubbed castile soap into my hair, under my arms, between my toes. But most of all, I scrubbed the two fingers that had touched the baby. No matter how much soap I put on them, they felt cold and oily, and I didn’t know if I’d ever get the feeling of death off them.
I’d never hated going to school before. But I couldn’t stand Sra. Leona, and even though this was the nicest school I’d ever seen, I didn’t want to go there.
Sra. Leona didn’t like me either. She called on me when she thought I didn’t know the answer. It irritated her that most of the time I did. I read ahead in my books, so she couldn’t catch me, so she could ask all she wanted. I refused to give her the chance to make fun of me.
My favorite classes were geography and social studies. I had a different teacher for them. Her name was Srta. Juárez. She was surprised when I drew a map of the continents with the countries, the major rivers, and the mountain ranges all in the right places.
When he lived with us, Papi sometimes helped me with homework, and when he saw how good I was with maps, he said I would grow up to be a cartographer. When I had told Miss Jiménez, my teacher in Macún, she had said I was more of a topographer, because cartographers’ maps were flat, while mine had the bumps and dips of mountain ranges and valleys.
“Today,” Sra. Leona said, “we will write a composition using the words you were assigned.”
She wrote the words on the blackboard. Someone asked if we were supposed to use all ten words, and she laughed and said that would be impossible.
“Use as many as you can, but not less than five.”
It was a stupid assignment. I hated her.
I wrote the words at the top of the page. Sra. Leona walked up and down the aisles between our seats, and stopped and hovered over me.
“Esmeralda,