It’s too early for me to be out. Darker even than when Heavenly dragged me to school that other morning. But Destiny wakes painful early. She can’t see me sleeping on the floor. Five-year-olds can’t keep secrets.
I huddle inside a blue puff coat that’s zipped all the way up. Carlos’s coat. I lifted it from his locker when I left the library that day I found out I was expelled. Pariguayo. He shouldn’t have threatened me. His locker wasn’t even locked. Dipshit. Why does he think they call it a locker?
My shoes mark the snow dust on the sidewalks. My breath is a white cloud. But I’m warm. In this coat. Plus I’ve got a heater on the inside.
Some days, I walk for a few hours. Sit in Dunkin’ Donuts and drink ten-cent cups of hot water with milk. Walk some more ’til the library opens up. The one on St. Nicholas closes late Monday and Wednesday, so I hang out there. On days when Heavenly doesn’t need her unlimited, I ride the buses or the subways. It gives me a place to sit out of the cold. I like the bus. I look out the windows, watch folks hurry by, bags loaded up, heads ducked. Watch dogs sniff each other and piss on steps and hydrants and trees. Feel neon signs blink words like PIZZA and BAR and COFFEE into the back of my brain. Watch mamas with strollers pull bundled-up children like balloons behind them on the sidewalk. But Angelo, he likes the subway best. He gets all quiet, listening to the rumble-jumble of the wheels on the tracks, the shouts of the riders. “Move in!” “Hold that door!” The rhythm and the swaying, the jerks and screeching stops? He loves all that. Puts him to sleep like nothing else can.
Today, I’m thinking the library. But it don’t open ’til ten. Never thought I’d spend so much time with so many books. I’ve even started reading some. Mostly to Angelo. He likes picture books best. Our favorite is that one about the baby bird who falls from the nest and goes around thinking everything it sees is its mama. And they all say, no, we’re not your mama, and it’s kinda sad, but then, finally, the real mama comes back.
The sun hits the buildings. Yellow-gold light reflects off hundreds of windows. The sidewalks lighten enough for me to go in the park. Won’t do that when it’s pitch out. I’m not that crazy.
I take hold of the staircase railing. Cold metal bites through the holes in my gloves. I slip on the bottom step. Frost on stone is like butter in a baking pan. But I don’t fall ’cause I’m holding on real good.
The trees look cold without their leaves. But they don’t complain. They watch over the asphalt pathways that fork and weave and twist like their own bare branches.
Feet pound behind me. Guys in sweats and cleats swarm, talking, joking in Spanish. Mexicans. I can tell from their accents. Soccer. They’re going to play soccer. They head for the field. But one, then two more, stop. They turn to me.
“Órale, ¿qué haces aquí? What are you doing here, pretty thing?”
I shove my hands in my pockets, lift my chin. “None of your business.” I sass it back.
The two who didn't speak laugh and punch the one who did in the arm. “Eh, Ernesto, que pegue tienes con las mujeres. You’re such a ladies’ man.”
Ernesto grins a mouth full of gold teeth. He’s new to New York. Or hasn’t made enough yet to replace them.
“Una mujer tan guapa no debe estar aquí tan sola. A good looking girl like you shouldn’t be here all alone.”
I yell at him,“¡Vete pa’l carajo!”
One whistles. “¿La blanquita habla español? ¿Dominicana, eh?” I’m used to this. Unless I’m standing with my girls, folks don’t assume I know Spanish.
I turn and walk away.
“¿Mande? ¿Qué me dijiste? What did you say?” Swear words are different in each country, but he knows what I meant. Even if he pretends he doesn’t.
Gold Teeth takes my sleeve.
The wind whistles at us. The giant trees bend and hiss.
My pulse is singing in my ear. He is not allowed to touch me.
I shrug him off. I whirl around, fist high. I get him in the chest. His coat is thick. The punch barely reaches him.
He laughs. He takes my arm again. His friend takes my other arm. They back me up against the stone wall.
No.
I twist around. Curse at them. ¡Chopos! I kick. My shoe lands between Gold Teeth’s thighs. He groans, drops my arm. Another one grabs me, hard. It hurts.
Gold Teeth straightens up. He undoes his pants.
My heart claws at my throat. No. No! This is NOT going to happen. Angelo. I have to keep Angelo safe. I kick out again, swearing louder.
He takes out his güebo. He starts to pee. In the snow by my feet. Drops of yellow hit my shoes.
I spit at him, hurl curses at his face.
His friends press me into the huge stone bricks. He steps forward. It’s still in his hand.
“Are you too much of a coward to do it like a man?” I scream. “You need yo homies to hold me down?”
He stops. He grins and gestures to his friends to release me.
I duck and run, hands up under my belly.
My hood snaps back, choking me. He pulls me against him, presses himself into me. I can feel him, through the coat. I gag and stab him with my elbow. He grunts, releases my hood. I double over, stomp his foot on the bones. He yells and pushes me. I stumble. I fall forward. I cry out, thinking only about the baby. I wrench myself sideways, land on my hip. Hands pull me up, turn me around. Gold Teeth’s face is in my face. His hand gropes for the bottom of my coat.
“¿Te gusta peliar? You like to fight?” He finds the coat zipper, tugs it up. My coat opens like a Ziploc bag.
“No!” I scream. He slaps the side of my mouth.
Bodies come between us.
“What the hell, man?”
Gold Teeth is pulled away from me. Someone punches his face. He lets me go. I fall. On my butt. I’m shivering. My hands find my stomach, press into it. The baby, the baby. Is he ok? I can’t feel him move.
Soccer guys surround me. They push the two that held me down against the wall, hands on their necks, holding them. Someone is punching Gold Teeth again. And again. Until he doesn’t get up.
Punching Man turns, shoulders slumped, fists bloody. Sweat drips from his low hairline. “Mari?” he says. “Oh my god, it is you.”
Toto. It’s Toto. He steps toward me. “Are you okay?” He stops. “You pregnant? But I thought . . .”
Abuela didn’t tell him.
He heaves a breath in. He’s staring at the ground, blinking hard. He’s holding out his arm, as if he’s thinking of punching Gold Teeth again. He looks back up at me. “Why did you leave?” he asks.
I shake my head. My face is wet and numb. “Because she didn’t want him. Because he’s not perfect.” Because she didn’t want me. Because I’m not perfect.
My hands slide across my belly feeling for the baby. I don’t feel anything.
I close my eyes. I’m still shivering. Maybe I’m sobbing.
I feel a little kick against my finger.
Toto rubs a hand over his face. “She said you left. I figured you upset. Because of el aborto. I figured you with Bertie. He said he’d take care of you.” His hair sticks up like clumps of wet fur. “I didn’t know you still with the baby.” He turns to Gold Teeth, sinks his cleat in his side. “¡Culero! She’s fuckin’ pregnant!”
Hands help me up, hold me, testing to see if I can stand. I can stand. I’m standing real strong now.
“So he’s your friend, huh? Nice friends, Toto. Real nice. I hope he’s legal, because if he’s not, he’s going right back to where he came from after I tell the cops all about how he tried to RAPE A PREGNANT LADY!”
“He no do that. He just trying to scare you,” one of the other guys says.
“You need a doctor.” Toto’s standing real close. He doesn’t let me get near Gold Teeth. I’m ready to punch and smash and bite and spit all over again. Angelo’s moving now, kicking away as if he’s trying to get at Gold Teeth, too.
“Forget this guy. No more fighting, Mari. You need to go to the hospital.” Toto reaches for my face. I jerk back.
“No.” I shrug off the hands on my arms even though it hurts. “Baby’s fine. He’s kicking like crazy.” Toto watches my hand as I circle my belly.
“I can go with you,” he says.
I step away from him, from them, from this stupid park and their stupid soccer game. My right hip hurts like hell and my knee’s all banged up. “I’ll go. By myself.”
I head up the ramp, trying not to hobble like an injured person. Don’t really care anymore if I look like a pregnant person.
The trees are all quiet again. The wind’s gone flat. I press my palm into the iron rail, squeeze my fingers around its coldness. I will not let myself fall.
“Mari?” Toto calls after me. “You gonna go to the cops?”
I eye him, look at the rest of the guys. Some of them look worried. I bet a lot aren’t legal. Gold Teeth is still down. His head is back, eyes closed, mouth bloody.
“You gonna tell Carmen?” I ask. I don’t want Abuela to know about this. I’m already a disgrace. No need to hammer it in.
Toto looks surprised. Before he can say what I’m afraid he’s gonna, I add, “I’m fine where I’m staying. I’m not coming back. I won’t tell la hada about your friends if you don’t tell Carmen.”
I turn my back on them and head to the street. The guys are murmuring. I don’t want to know what they’re murmuring about.