The Poet X(18)



Twin has never kept secrets from me.

His thumbs go still on his phone.

And he gives me a long, long look.

“Xiomara, we don’t have to do this, right?

Maybe with everyone else we need to explain.

But we both know we’re messing around and that Mami and Papi will kill us if they find out.”

And I want to nod my head, and shake it no at the same time.

Our parents always say that as la ni?a de la casa expectations for me are different than for Twin.

If he brought a girl home they would probably applaud him.

I don’t know what they would do if the person he brought home was not a girl.





Hanging Over My Head


The next couple of days,

I wait for Aman

to bring up the Halloween party.

But he holds my hand in bio, walks me to the train in the afternoons, kisses me good-bye before I exit to the platform, and doesn’t mention the party again.

Maybe he doesn’t want me to go anymore?





Friday, October 26





Friday


Is usually my favorite day of the week.

But this morning I got a text from Aman that flavored my whole day sour: A: Got a doc appointment.

Not coming to school.

See ya at the party?

And I know it’s going to be a long two days between now and when I’ll see him again.

Unless I figure out a way . . .





Black & Blue


What kind of twin am I

who didn’t even notice

when my own brother

comes home with a black eye?

I mean I noticed, but not until I heard Mami yelling at him tonight while he was getting

something from the fridge.

“?Y eso, muchacho? ?Quién te pegó?

?No me digas que fue Xiomara?”

But I’m already halfway to the kitchen, then pulling his chin from her grip, inspecting his eye myself.

I don’t say a word to him and Twin’s face flinches in my hand.

“No es nada. It’s nothing.

It was just a misunderstanding.”

And although he’s answering her, his eyes are pleading with me.

“Yeah, looks like some asshole misunderstood your face

for a punching bag.”

Mami looks back and forth between us, probably only catching

every other word of the English, but even she knows when it’s a twin thing.





Tight


I’m so heated

with Twin

for not telling me someone at school was bothering him that I stop speaking.

It’s a silent Friday.

On Saturday

I wake up

with a different feeling tightening my belly.

I want to go to the party.

I want to see Aman.

The boys in my life will drive me crazy one way or another.





Saturday, October 27





Excuses


X: Hey, so, would you be really mad

if I didn’t go with you and Twin to the movies—

C: Is this about the boy?

X: Kinda . . . I’m telling my mother I’m hanging out with you.

I’ll be home at the same time as you both.

C: Is he making you lie to your mother?

X: He’s not making me do anything. Except meet him at a party.

C: Be safe, Xio. . . . Your brother’s been acting strange lately.

Are you sure he’s coming to the movies?

X: Yeah . . . he has a lot going on. Don’t ask about his black eye.

But he’ll be there.

C: Black eye? Did you hit him, Xiomara?

X: Why does everyone keep asking that? No!

But I’m going to hit the dude who did.

C: Don’t make it any worse.

You know your brother hates confrontation.

X: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks for not being mad at me.

C: Just don’t get pregnant. I’m too young to be a godmother.





Costume Ready


I leave with Twin to “the movies”

although we go in different directions once we get to the corner.

He walks toward Caridad’s house, and I walk to the train station

on my way up to the Heights.

A block away from Reuben’s house I sneak into a Starbucks bathroom and put on green eye shadow, fluff my curls.

Tug on the hem of Twin’s Green Lantern tee (it fits tight around my boobs and shows some midriff.

I’m glad Mami didn’t ask to see what I had on under my jacket.) and voilà—a half-assed superhero costume.





Reuben’s House Party


When I get to the address in Washington Heights I know I’m too early.

There are only a handful of people there, who, like me, made bootleg attempts at a costume.

I see a couple of people I know from school, but no one I would hang out with.

This is a party crowd: the loudest, the boldest, the ones who smoke during the school day, and drink their parents’ mamajuana on the weekend.

Someone hands me a cup of fruity drink

but I put it down on the TV stand, lean against the wall.

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