Juanita
The next morning, I feel someone pulling at my hair. It’s my baby brother Markey. He’s the youngest of the three little ones. I ask him what he wants and he tells me, pipí. I call him a brat and get out of bed quickly so that I can take him to the bathroom before he wets his pants. He’s only three so he still has accidents.
When Markey is finished using the bathroom, I chase him back downstairs. I start to get dressed, remembering that it’s Saturday and I don’t have to hurry. I can smell ’Amá’s tortillas, and suddenly I feel hungry. Celia is still sleeping. The phone rings and ’Amá hollers at me in Spanish that it is Maya. I hurry downstairs to the telephone. The three little ones are sitting down watching cartoons.
“Hi, Maya.”
“Hi, Johnny. Listen, my mom is going downtown, and she said she would drop me off at your house, if it’s okay with you. And I’ve got good news. Last night she called Mrs. Martínez, I mean Ms. Martínez, that’s what she likes to be called. Well, my mom told her about what happened to you, and Ms. Martínez was real nice. She said she would call you. We gave her your phone number.”
My stomach is starting to hurt again. “Híjole, so soon? Well, I guess that’s good, but I haven’t told my ’Amá and ’Apá yet. A letter came for them, but they don’t read English.”
“Well, don’t worry. Ms. Martínez is gonna help. Anyway, I’ll be by around noon, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll see you then. Bye.” I hang up the phone, feeling a sense of relief. Maya and her mom sure work fast. I hear my mother calling me to come and eat, so I go into the kitchen and make myself a taco. I ask where Carlos is, and she tells me that he has gone to work with my ’Apá. Good, I think to myself. Now Maya and I can talk without him hearing us. Carlos can be such a pain. Just because he’s the oldest, he thinks he can boss me around. And he loves to show off in front of Maya.
When I finish my taco, ’Amá reminds me that it’s time to do the housework. I can see Celia coming down the stairs, and I holler at her to hurry and eat so that she can help me clean. She gives me a dirty look.
It’s difficult being the oldest daughter. ’Amá expects so much from me. But Maya says I’m lucky. She doesn’t have any brothers and sisters; it’s just her and her mom and dad. She can’t understand what a pain brothers and sisters can be—always following you around, always needing help with something. Sometimes I just wish they’d all disappear, especially Celia. She never wants to do her share of the housework. ’Amá always has to yell at her.
By noon I have vacuumed, dusted, and given Markey a bath. Celia is angry at me because she got stuck with the kitchen and the bathrooms. That’s what she gets for getting up so late. When she gives me a dirty look again, I remind her that we take turns, and that last week I did the toilets.
I decide to take a shower since Maya is not here yet. I turn the water on as hot as I can stand it. I’m beginning to feel nervous again, and a hot shower always relaxes me. What will ’Apá do when I tell him about getting kicked out? How embarrassing! I never imagined this would happen to me. I sure hope Ms. Martínez can help. Maybe she can explain it to my ’Apá, and then he won’t be so mad. I step out of the shower and get dressed in a pair of shorts and an old T-shirt. I start to blow-dry my wavy hair. I hate my hair so much. I wish it were long and straight like Maya’s. I’m putting on some makeup when Celia knocks on the door.
“Maya is here. Hurry up!” she yells at me.
As I start downstairs, I can hear Maya’s voice. She loves to practice her Spanish with ’Amá. I smile as I listen to ’Amá invite Maya to sit down and eat. ’Amá thinks Maya is too skinny. She wants to fatten her up, but it doesn’t seem to bother Maya. She always tells me how much she loves ’Amá’s cooking.
When Maya finishes eating the taco ’Amá made her, we go upstairs to my room. I have to bribe Celia with my new lipstick so that she will leave us alone. Celia’s too nosy, always wanting to spy on us. She’s worse than Carlos. Maya kicks off her sandals and we sit on the bed.
“Your mom makes the best tortillas. You know that?” Maya tells me.
Before I have time to answer, Maya says, “Ms. Martínez is going to call you tonight. Okay?”
“¡Híjole!” I answer.
“Don’t sweat it, Johnny. She’s cool. You’ll like her. Doesn’t get on your nerves like my mom. Have you told your mom and dad yet?”
“Not yet. ’Apá left real early for work this morning.”
“Well, Ms. Martínez said she would tell them if you wanted her to.”
“’Apá is going to kill me. He thinks I’m doing good in school.”
“Well, relax. Ms. Martínez said she would help, and she will. But you should try talking to your mom first. Didn’t you say she always sticks up for you?”
“Yeah, that’s true,” I answer, knowing that Maya is right. I can always count on ’Amá’s help. She always sticks up for me and Celia when ’Apá is mad. I remember the first time I wore makeup, how mad ’Apá got, telling me to go to the bathroom and wash my face; that no daughter of his would go around like a slut. But ’Amá had talked with him until she convinced him that it was all right to wear a little makeup. So ’Apá had agreed to let me wear a little eye-shadow and lipstick.
’Amá says ’Apá is old-fashioned and that that’s the way the people from Mexico are. I’m sure glad I wasn’t born there. ’Amá always tells me and Celia how strict her father was, never letting her go by herself anywhere, not even to the store. She talks about how she had to sneak out the window to go meet my ’Apá. Maya has it all wrong. She’s the lucky one. Her mom and dad aren’t so strict. They let her go everywhere she wants by herself.
“Come on, let’s do our nails,” Maya says, interrupting my thoughts.
We spend the next hour doing each other’s nails and trying on my new makeup. Then Celia comes into the room to tell me that I have to take the three little ones to the playground while she and ’Amá go to the store.
Downstairs, Maya picks up Markey while I get my two little sisters, Lupita and Rosario, by the hand. We walk across the street to the small playground that faces the apartment complex. I hate going to the playground, but Maya doesn’t seem to mind. She says it’s fun watching all the people go in and out of their apartments, especially the cute guys.
I guess you can say we live in the barrio, as Maya calls it. It’s the poorest neighborhood in the whole town—mostly blacks, Mexicans, and a few white people live here ’cause the rent is the cheapest. I used to get embarrassed when I told people where I live, but now I’m used to it. I can’t understand why Maya likes it here. She lives in such a big pretty house, a whole bedroom to herself. Mostly rich people live where she lives. Maya says she hates it, that it’s a boring place. I think she’s crazy.
Maya pokes me on the side. “Look, there’s Tyrone. I think he’s so cute.”
“He’s staring at us. I think he likes you, Maya,” I tell her.
“My mom and dad said they might let me start dating real soon. Maybe Tyrone will ask me out.”
“Flirt!” I answer.
After about half an hour, Markey says he has to go pipí, so we go back to the apartment. I take him upstairs to the bathroom while Maya turns on the T.V. When I come back downstairs, Markey is sleepy, so I lay him on the couch. I chase my sisters into the other room. We are laughing and giggling about the weird bras the dancers are wearing on the music video when we hear a car honking. It’s Maya’s mother.
“Guess it’s time to go,” Maya says getting up from the couch. “Don’t forget, Ms. Martínez is calling you tonight.” As she opens the door, she adds, “Call me later. Bye.”
That evening, I’m sitting in the living room watching Sábado Gigante with ’Amá and ’Apá. They always watch this show on Saturday nights. I can’t stand Sábado Gigante. Don Francisco is so stupid. They do the dumbest things on that show. The three little ones love to watch it. They think it’s funny. The phone rings, and I race to get it. It’s Ms. Martínez. She tells me that she is coming over tomorrow at two o’clock to talk to my parents. I try to tell her that my father always goes to his compadre’s house on Sundays, but she says it’s all right. When I hang up, my stomach is in knots. Celia asks me who it was and I lie. I tell her it was Maya. In the morning when ’Apá has left, I’ll tell ’Amá about Ms. Martínez.