Three hours of chemistry with Bashir in the morning. Then seven hours of scalding water, scraping slop, and stacking dishes.
My mom is waiting for me in the Vince’s parking lot. In the morning, we made a plan to hear Xochitl sing at Vera Project at Seattle Center. She’s in a new band, Ray Is a Girl. It’s her first gig as their lead singer.
We stand in the tiny crowd as the opening act exits the stage. Indie folk rock plays softly on the speakers. Mami says she went to a rehearsal. She says Ray Is a Girl is the best band Xochitl’s ever been in.
I tell her they can’t be better than Flywheel. Flywheel combined a funk bounce with punk nastiness. And they kicked ass because Xochitl can front punk like nobody else.
The PA music fades and everything gets pitch-black. A spotlight comes up on Xochitl at the mic. She sings a capella:
I’m coming back to you for good this time
I promise it’ll be real soon
I’ll chip away at these walls till I’m free once again
Then run miles by the light of the moon
The way Xochitl sings, you believe she’s locked up, fighting for her freedom. And you wanna know the rest of her story. And you wanna tell her everything’s going to be okay.
The spotlight spreads wider as Xochitl repeats the verse, this time backed by piano. She repeats it again and the guitar joins in. Next time through, the bass thumps to life. Xochitl’s voice grows more and more intense and the lights are pushed brighter and brighter. Finally, the drummer pounds his tom, kicks his bass, blasting his crash cymbal as the lights fill the stage and Xochitl’s belting it out and the crowd—we’re swept away in the swell, blissed-out and thrilled, amazed we’re being taken along on this ride.
Ray Is a Girl gets what we’ve always known: My sister has a voice that plunges into your guts and mixes ’em up like a blender. Her voice is a hand wrapping its fingers around your pulsing heart. So even though Ray has a bunch of kick-ass musicians, they dial it back and let Xochitl’s voice do its thing.
Mami looks at me with the biggest smile I’ve seen in a long time. And she dances like I haven’t seen her dance since Manny left us.
I used to think she was the prettiest mom in the world.
Then she got angry at Papi and blamed him for losing Manny … for losing our old life.
Mami takes my hands in hers. Twirls me around. Dips me. We both laugh and dance and let Xochitl’s voice take us away, to a place where we can be great again.
It feels like the show is about to end, when they drop the spot on Xochitl one more time. She’s sitting at a stool. Someone brings her a guitar. She strums real quiet. “They made me do this,” she says. Then her eyes drop and she watches her fingers dance on the strings.
I heard your voice, on the telephone
Brother … brother of mine
It’s country or folk. A song about talking to Manny.
Clear as a bell, from so far away
Brother … brother of mine
I look at the crowd as Xochitl sings. People are swaying. Hanging on every word.
Just Xochitl’s words. Just her voice. Just enough guitar.
And it hits me like crazy.
This song never existed. Then Xochitl put it into the world. And this room of people—we feel different than we did before. We feel better than we did before. And we’ll walk out this door and into the world with that feeling. And who knows where it will take us?
I cannot sing.
I have no idea what I can do. But I wanna do something. I wanna make something.
I want to feel what Xochitl’s feeling right now as she sings:
No more telephones, no more hopes you’ll come home
Brother … brother of mine
I wanna feel what she’s feeling when she lifts her eyes, looks out at us, slows the words down even more, and nods at us as she sings—
I wanna hold you now …
—knowing we’re gonna finish the song. And she’s right. Xochitl cups her ear with a hand as we sing it with all our hearts.…
Brother, brother of mine
She leans into the microphone and says, “You sang that beautiful. Thank you.”
Mami and me got wide eyes and we’re shaking our heads. We knew Xochitl was amazing. Finally, everyone else is gonna know.
We don’t talk much on the drive home. Just stuff about how great Xochitl was.
Then I say it. “I wish Papi could have come.”
“Me too,” she says. “I’m sorry. I know it’s been hard—”
“It’s okay,” I say. “Things are better.”
“That’s true. But I know what it’s done to you, us being like—”
“Mami, no. You don’t have to—”
“We can’t change the past, but—”
“It’s all right, Mami. It’s all okay.”
* * *
I can’t sleep. So I wait up in bed. And when the front door opens, I head out to catch Xochitl.
“That was awesome, Xoch.”
“The band is amazing,” she says.
“You aren’t up there acting like a big deal. You’re up there sounding like a big deal.”
“I can’t believe it’s happening, T.”
“Believe it, Xoch. And as awesome as Ray is, your song was even better.”
My rocker-chick sister does not turn red often. She’s turning red now.
“You have any more songs, Xoch?”
She shakes her head.
I tell her she has to write more.
“I don’t know if I have any more in me. And it didn’t feel right being up there alone.”
“Felt right from where I was standing.”
“That’s sweet.”
“That’s not why said it.”
“Okay, T. I get it.”
“Good.”