Speaking to people comes easily for others, especially Penelope. She went to modeling school. They taught her how to be poised and how to walk into a room wearing heels. The summer after she graduated from the Mirror Mirror Modeling Agency, she spent hours on FaceTime trying to teach me how to do the same. Penelope can talk to anyone. I, on the other hand, can’t figure out what to say to Pheus without uttering Ato’s name. I’m so careless. Listening to him sing “Adore” in Spanish made me forget what I’m meant to do. I have to stay vigilant.
I tuck the shell into my borrowed shorts.
“Where does your name come from?” I ask as we walk back to the others.
“It’s my stage name. My real name is Orpheus,” he says. “Moms wanted to call me something kingly like David or Rion. Pops had other ideas. He said I was born to be a poet. I don’t know about that.”
“Pheus.” I repeat his name and suddenly feel foolish doing so. He smiles warmly at me. I walk a little faster.
Penelope warned me to steer away from Pheus and Jaysen. Jaysen because he is a firecracker, popping off here and there. He’s unable to focus or be contained. Pheus because everyone is in love with him, especially Melaina, who is not so much in love with as in possession of.
Melaina plants a long kiss on Pheus. When she’s done, she makes sure I witnessed the display. Her arms stay interlocked around his neck. Pheus seems bothered by the gesture. Perhaps he doesn’t want to be the sole focus of her attention.
I lie down on the blanket. Penelope joins me.
“Sorry about the drama,” Penelope says quietly. “It takes a while for Melaina to warm up to new people.”
“Or maybe she’ll never warm up to me,” I say.
“Ha ha ha. No!” A nervous laugh. Penelope’s embarrassed by Melaina’s attitude. These are her friends and it must be uncomfortable to see the way they act toward a stranger.
“He can really sing,” I say.
“Aww, don’t fall for that old trick. Besides, I thought you only had ears for Prince,” Penelope says. “Did you see my boo? Aaron’s not the smartest, but he is the finest.”
Aaron laughs out loud while Jaysen tells him a story having to do with a mean bodega cat. I haven’t really spoken to Aaron, but I’ve seen the way he looks at Penelope. He caters to her, always making sure she’s taken care of, offering her water or something to eat. Part of me is happy for Penelope. The other part wants to warn her to be wary of kindness from anyone.
I look in Pheus’s direction, and he returns my stare. What does this action mean when Melaina is right beside him? It means nothing.
When Pheus sang the words to “Adore,” I felt such a heaviness in my chest. I didn’t expect to be moved so deeply by his voice. The first time I heard Prince, Mami was in the kitchen singing quietly to the song “Kiss.” This was before Papi left us. They were still arguing, but not that day. It was such a rare treat to see Mami enjoy anything, let alone a song. Whenever I could, I would ask her to play “Kiss” for me. As I got older, I eventually discovered all of Prince’s songs.
My love for Prince stems not only from how talented a musician he was, there’s no argument there, but Prince was also very spiritual. In the interviews I read, he was always so forthcoming with that. After being such a sexual person, Prince found religion, and this blessing came through in his songs. Prince was telling the world you can be both: passionate and a believer.
Pheus doesn’t sound anything like Prince. He doesn’t even sound like Romeo Santos, although I can see why the comparisons are being made. The talent to move a person simply with a guitar and a voice. Does Pheus understand how few people have this ability? I can’t stop glancing over to him.
“Who’s bringing the congas?” Jaysen asks.
More and more people come to the beach. Large families and couples. The circle of friends expands. Penelope doesn’t push me to join. Conversations continue without me. In between the groups of people finding space on the beach, I search for signs of Ato. My sneakers still on even as I lie on the blanket.
A tiny sparrow with speckled gray and brown feathers tears into a piece of bread, making a quaint peeping sound. This bird looks nothing like las llorosas de Puerto Rico, who are slightly bigger and darker, but I can’t help thinking of them. When the llorosas are afraid, they make a screeching, crying sound, hence their name.
A young girl and boy, about six years old, give chase to the bird that flies away. The girl holds a bucket while the boy starts digging into the sand using a plastic shovel. The sun already lightening the ends of his curls to a honey color.
“Yo te enseño,” he says. The girl listens and plops down beside him. The boy takes hold of the bucket and places both his hands in it. He lifts his cupped hands and sprinkles water on the little girl. She lifts her face up as if she’s being blessed.
A vision of me as young as this girl comes to me. Like her, there was a time when I, too, was anointed.
Raindrops lightly tap my forehead. I lift my face and close my eyes to let the water cool my hot skin. Although I try to enjoy this, I can’t stop thinking of him.
“Don’t be sad.” Ato appears as soon as I think of Papi. It is as if he can sense when my mind fills with heartbreak again. Papi has been gone for close to three years, but I still think of him every day. Still wish for him to return.
“Do you want to play?” Ato asks.
“Okay,” I say.
“Here.” He hands me a bright red trompo. Ato wraps the long string around the top’s body before letting it spin on the ground. The trompo twirls so fast. It’s mesmerizing to watch.
When Papi left us, Mami spent her days crying. I didn’t know what to do. There was barely food in the house, but at least I had Ato. He stayed by my side, making sure I found things to eat. We picked mangos and ate them, leaving the pits on the ground. The neighbors eventually forced Mami out of bed to find a job. While Mami works, I stay with our neighbor Blanca. But I don’t really need any looking after, not when I have Ato.
“Come from out of the rain,” Blanca says.
We are by el Río Cibuco. Blanca said it would do me good to be outside. She planned this excursion to the river but didn’t expect the change in weather. I ignore her request to take shelter. I’m too busy concentrating on the trompo spinning and on Ato.
“Do you ever miss your home?” I ask. I’m worried Ato will stop visiting me, that I will step outside my house and he will no longer be there to greet me.
Ato hums a song by Prince, the one we both love so much. “Diamonds and Pearls.”
“I only think of us when we are together. I don’t think of the things I miss,” he says. “I can create new memories to remind me of home.”
With a slight flourish of his hand, the trompo lifts up into the air. The toy turns and twists with the help of the wind and Ato’s motions.
“It will be different when we are there together,” he says. “El Inframundo isn’t just for anyone. You have to be selected. Chosen. Do you know why I chose you?”
“No, Ato,” I say. “Why?”
Ato sings the words to “Diamonds and Pearls.” He sings of never running away, that love is meant for us. It’s nice to be loved, to be wanted. Ato chose me.
“But what about Mami? I don’t want to leave her.”
He pauses. “Don’t you think she might be able to take care of herself better? Then you wouldn’t have to go to the neighbor’s house.”
I think of all those times I tried to get Mami’s attention and she would just stare at the bedroom ceiling, like I wasn’t even there. Even now there are times when I feel invisible around her. I learned how to conceal my tears so she wouldn’t notice. I don’t want to add to her grief.
“I don’t know,” I say. “She would miss me.”
“Like your Papi misses you?”
Ato makes the top drop to the ground. I am once again filled with sadness.
“Don’t worry, Eury. I won’t leave you,” Ato says. “I will never treat you like your father.”
And I believe him.
The little girl and boy run past me toward the ocean. Their tiny feet kick up sand.
“Right, um, Eury? Florida is basically Puerto Rico now,” a boy with neon green hair says. “Everyone who left the island lives there.”
“Dizque Puerto Rico isn’t Puerto Rico if everyone is abandoning it,” Jaysen says as if I’m to blame. “Am I right? How is the island supposed to get its act together when everyone is bailing?”
“Leave it for the next guy to fix,” a girl says.
They continue to talk about my home as if they can clearly see the solution. My family’s failure to stay on the island is written off as abandonment.
The hurricanes will return later this summer. Fear will march alongside and blanket the island. Hurricanes have always been part of our fabric. My mother and I have each gone through so many. We always knew how to handle the situation. It wasn’t as if we weren’t prepared for Hurricane María. We were. That day was different. What began as a slow build—some rain, some tossed palm trees—transformed into an unnatural predator.
They talk of my home as if they would have made better decisions if they’d been there. They have no idea what my family faced. What I faced.
“You think you are safe here,” I say. “Florida isn’t a sanctuary. Neither is New York.”
“I’m confused,” Melaina says, her body pressed firmly against Pheus like he’s a wall. “Why are you here, then?”
It’s an innocent enough question even if Melaina’s intentions are to malign. She sees me as a threat. Melaina and her layers of insecurity.
“Category four. Category five. What does it even mean? We thought the hurricane would pass us by as so many did before. A bit of damage. Nothing we couldn’t overcome.” I don’t look at them. I tell this story to the ocean. “The full impact of the storm hit us at 10 a.m. All I can remember is the noise. The rain and the wind sounded like the roar of waves crashing on the roof of our house. Things smashed against our walls. We thought for certain a car would be lifted up and land in our living room.
“Mami and I hid in the bathroom and prayed. Have you ever prayed against nature, against wind and rain? The roof of our house was pulled away as if it were made of feathers. In the blink of an eye, a wall disappeared. We huddled in the bathtub for hours until our neighbors found us.”
No one says a word.
“Why am I here? I’m here because I am unmoored. I keep floating from one city to the next, hoping to find a sense of refuge—a lie I tell myself. My home no longer exists, and safety is a myth.”
I stop talking. If I continue to speak on the hurricane, will my sentences conjure up Ato? Am I inviting him to find me here with these people?
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Penelope says. She places herself smack-dab in the middle of the group so attention steers away from me. “My cousin Eury can live wherever she wants. And if you don’t like it, come catch these hands.”
Her friends laugh at her. The uneasiness shifts in the group. They move on to focus on something else.
Aaron turns the volume up on the radio to a reggaeton tune full of heat and lust. Melaina joins Penelope in the middle of the group. They both dance together. Their movements are innocent at first, then Melaina leads, grinding her hips into Penelope. Seductive moves meant to ensnare.
Penelope eventually sits down beside me, winded.
“I need to take a walk,” I say.
She nods.
“Water break! Who wants more water?” Penelope announces. No one pays attention. Their eyes are glued to Melaina’s curves, except for Pheus. He follows my moves.
“Do you want to leave? I can call us an Uber,” Penelope asks. “This isn’t your scene. I don’t want you to feel as if you have to stay.”
Penelope wants me to fit neatly within her circle. I wish I could. I want to shake this uneasiness. Even in my colorful shorts, I still bring gloom.
“Guess they were expecting a golden island girl and not this pesada from the mountains,” I say.
“Ay, Eury!” She hugs me.
“Yo, wait up.” Pheus and Aaron catch up to us. Aaron pairs up with Penelope. She giggles and teases. I walk ahead. I don’t want to continue being the downer of the party. Pheus walks behind me. I can tell by his posture that he wants to talk. His hands gesture to the bottles of water as he digs deep to find a cold one for me.
“I got you.” Pheus pulls out his wallet and hands the man at the kiosk money.
“Thank you.”
“Sorry to hear about Puerto Rico,” Pheus says. “I remember watching the videos and photos. It seemed unreal. I hope you can find peace in the Bronx with us.”
When he talks, there is a rhythm to his sentences like lyrics with a hint of a promise behind them. Pheus is not beautiful like Ato. He has brown eyes and bushy eyebrows. His hair is in a tight fade. When Pheus smiles his dimples pop, giving him a boyish quality. A sweetness.
“What are you guys doing tomorrow?” he asks.
“No plans that I know of,” I say.
“Well, if you’re up to it, I can take you around the city a bit. We can see other parts.”
I stop walking. Melaina still dances. Her booty shaking. Everyone cheers her on. Yet, the one person who should be her devoted admirer asks me out.
“How would Melaina feel about you playing tourist with me?”
Pheus takes a large sip from his bottle of water. Uses the coldness to cool down the base of his neck.
“Can’t speak for her,” he says. “The thing is, Melaina and I are only friends.”
I chuckle at this. “I don’t make out with my friends.”
“True. True,” he says. “I’m deadass serious, tho. We are not together.”
“Thank you,” I say. “But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I am not a fool. Pheus is playing a weird game I want no part of. Melaina is with him even if he wants to deny it. He’s heartless to think otherwise. If he so casually treats Melaina like that, how would he treat me?
When we return, there is a conguero playing. His face is rapturous as he stares at Melaina. His hard hands bang on the skin of the drum. Melaina controls his movements with a shake of her hip.
“Why don’t you sing my song?” Melaina yells to Pheus. “What’s the point of bringing your guitar if you are not going to use it?”
The others join in and beg Pheus to perform the song “Melina” by Joan Soriano. Although I don’t add my voice, I do want to hear him sing again.
“I perform when I want to perform,” he says. “Do you see any chains up in here?”
He raises his wrists.
“You’re trifling,” Melaina says. “Can’t you see we’re waiting?”
Pheus refuses to budge. Melaina shoots me an icy glare as if I am controlling his actions.
“I’m going to find another who actually has talent.”
Melaina gathers her two friends and walks away in search of better company.
Penelope nudges me.
“That’s never happened before,” she says. “What did Pheus say to you earlier?”
“Nothing,” I say.
When Melaina is far enough away, Pheus dusts his guitar case and opens it. He strums the guitar with familiar notes. This time, he doesn’t sing the words to “Adore.” Instead Pheus only plays the chords.
The melody drifts around me. What if I allow myself a little bit of this warmth? Is this even possible for a person like me? I lie back down on the blanket. If I strip the noise around me and concentrate only on Pheus, I am transported to another place where no one can hurt me.
I quietly hum the lyrics.