Carmen Quiere Llorar

Chapter 1: Maricon

"Carmen, levantate."
"Carmen, wake up!"
I wondered if I kept my eyes closed long enough whether I'd wake up back in CDMX. "¿Carmen, para eso venimos a los Estados Unidos? ¿Para que tú te quedes dormido todo el dia mientras tu papa y yo nos chingamos?," my mom reproached.

"It's not like you guys gave me much of an option."

"Sabes tambien que me choca cuando hablas Ingles en la casa." I finally shift my body and stare up at the crumbling popcorn ceiling of our new "home" in San Diego. My uncle Victor, who had arrived in the States a couple years earlier, was letting us rent out a 2-bedroom condo he owned while we got on our feet. It was a bit cramped considering my Mom, Dad, older sister and little brother were also under the same roof. Raquel was still small enough he could sleep in my parents bed, and my parents decided Julia should get her own room for privacy. This left me on the dusty old couch my parents bought secondhand until we moved again.

The last couple months had been a haze since we crammed all we could into Dad's Tacoma and set off for "the land of the free". My parents kept me in the dark as to why exactly we had to move, just insisting "Acqui no tienes futuro, y alla si." I didn't even get a chance to say all my goodbyes to friends, let alone tell Nicole I was sorry for how we ended it. Jardin Balbuena seemed like a distant memory now, a daydream whisked away every time I opened my eyes.

"Ya me voy, hazle algo de desayunar a Raquel y asegurate de que llege a clasa a tiempo. Si me llaman de la escuela otra vez que estuvo tarde, te voy a agarrar de las pinches greñas."
"I know."
"No, di que sí."
"Sí Ama."

Mom and Dad always left early in the morning for work, so it was always my job to feed Raquel and take him to school. I'm in some classes at community college, but only to get my parents off my back. Back in Jardin Balbuena, I wasn't really worried about school all too much. I worked part-time, chambeando with Luis's dad as a contractor. I'd stay out late with friends and drink until the sun came up. Me and Nicole would use the money we made to go on dates and run away for the weekend. It was a charmed life all things considered. I could've gotten hired full-time to lay tile, and since Nicole was in school we could've saved up to get a little place down the street from my parents. Maybe I should've done that sooner. Maybe I should've gone to school with her like she asked after graduation. But I was too smart for any of that stuff anyhow. Degrees just get you in debt. Working with your hands makes you money, and it's not like my parents were in the situation to pay for an education. Maybe we could've tried long distance too, me and Nicole. That's just the thing about long-distance relationships, you think-

"Carmen, tengo hambre," Raquel yawned as he walked out of my parents room, still wrapped in a blanket that dragged across the floor.
"Preguntale a Julia que te haga algo."
"Ya se fue a trabajo tambien."
"No te puedes servir cereal o algo? Ya tienes 10 años."
"Pero Ama dijo que-"
"Me vale."

Raquel gave me this solemn sort of look, then trudged off to the kitchen to look for Fruit Loops. Moving here was one thing, but having to be Raquel's babysitter because I "didn't have a job" always ticked me off more. I tried explaining to my parents that I couldn't have a job without gettting my financial aid payments cut in half, but like clockwork they would just say I was lazy. As I grumbled to myself while getting dressed for the day, I saw Raquel staring from the kitchen table as milk dribbled from his chin.

"¿Que quieres?"
"¿Carmen, por que no te cortas el pelo?"
"¿Por que te importa si lo tengo largo?"
"Ama dice que te paraces maricon cuando lo tienes haci."
"Que bonitas cosas te enseña tu Ama a decir, ahora apurate y acaba tu cereal."

"Maricon" was one of my parents favorite words to use when describing me, and it's because they knew it made me mad. Nicole liked my hair long so I never cut it, and I had gotten earrings once my first school disbursement arrived to spite them. But if they really didn't wanna raise a "maricon", then why "Carmen" of all names? They had to have known a boy named Carmen was doomed from the start. I can still remember the first time a kid from my elementary perked up hearing my name on the roll call, and shouting "Like Carmen San Diego?", only for the whole class to burst out in laughter. It's fitting now but boy did it choke me up then, getting branded as a girl before I even had a chance. The other kids knew I was a crybaby too, so they'd gather at recess and chant it until the tears welled up. Then they'd follow with their second favorite chant:

"Carmen quiere llorar! Carmen quiere llorar! Carmen quiere llorar!"

It got so bad my mother had to take me out of school for a year because I refused to be around other kids. I just didn't get then how they could be so mean.

Chapter 2: Pata Chueca

Raquel's school was only a five minute walk down the street, but boy did he make it feel like five hours with how much he could talk. He wasn't as good at English yet since it was his first year in American school, so he'd point at everything he saw to ask for the English word.

"¿Que es eso?"
"A sign,"
"¿Que es eso?"
"A stoplight."
"¿Y eso?"
"A leaf."
"Lee-fuh."
"No, di "leaf"."
"Leaf,"
"Mejor,"
"Y eso que- Ow! ¿Porque me pelliscas?"
"Porque te pasas, mira ya casi llegamos. Apurale."

"Carmen, tengo otra pregunta," his tone changing slightly. I cocked my head a little. "¿Que quieres?"
"¿Piensas que Ama y Apa se van a quedar juntos?," he asked quickly, kicking some dirt at his feet. I startled for a second, running through my mind what might have made him ask that. "¿Porque dices eso?"
"Oí Ama y Apa decir algo asi anoche."
Verga. What do I say?
"No te preocupes de eso, Ama y Apa se aman mucho y nomas estan estresados sobre moviendonos acqui. La familia nunca se separa. Ahora correle, ahi veo tu maestra esperandote."
It seemed to do the job, as his face did a 180 and he gave me a toothy grin.
"Okay, te veo alrato! Buena suerta en la escuela!"

I watched him run for a few seconds, his book-filled bag bouncing for dear life as he held both straps.
As I waited for the bus a few blocks from where I dropped him off, I found myself tearing up again. They're getting separated? On top of all this? Is this why we moved? Where would Dad go? Where would we go? Would I have to get a job, help Mom with rent?
My mind went to a million different places, and I couldn't help but feel that everything was about to get worse.

I took a seat on the back of the bus and stared out the window at the drab grey skyline of Downtown as we went. Winter had just started, and even though it didn't snow here, the cold and gloom blanketed my thoughts like sleet on a parked car. Every day felt more and more like a prison sentence than a better opportunity. And I went back to that notion, a better opportunity for who? If anything, school was more expensive here. I'd never find a good job from what I read online. All the big universities I looked to for transfer had a starting tuition of twenty-five thousand. I'd never even seen that much money in my life. Times that by two years, and I might as well have stayed in CDMX. At least there I didn't have to be someone. I could've just been me.

As the bus ambled along, I noticed a group of kids running on a soccer field as we passed an elementary. I never was good at soccer, where the color of my skin might deceive. My friends affectionately nicknamed me "Prieto" back then, as my skin was noticeably darker than half the people in my class. I didn't mind it much compared to "Carmen San Diego", but I came to resent that I got the short end of the stick compared to my siblings. Julia came out fair-skinned like my mother, and Raquel didn't look too much like one or the other. My dad ended up being the one I pointed the finger at, as the Cuban blood that ran through him manifested into my curly hair and too-tan complexion.

What was it with kids at my old school thinking everyone should be good at soccer anyways? The couple of times I got tagged in because they needed a player, I would never know what to do with my feet when I got the ball. I'd freeze up, and kick with the grace of a newborn foal. It didn't take long for everyone to start calling me "pata chueca" then too, or "crooked foot". If you were a pata chueca, your whole social status went down two notches from that day forward. It was devastating at the time for a 9 year-old Carmen, but I had bigger fish to fry like the multiplication table tests at the end of the week.

My stop was coming up soon, and I started to ponder a topic we covered in my English class last week while reading "The Great Gatsby". Professor Roundtree asked us to unpack how the protagonist, Jay Gatsby, might be considered a success or failure of "The American Dream." I remember raising my hand and asking "What is the American Dream exactly?" He smiled and considered my question for a second then replied "Well, let me ask you this, what do you dream to do in the U.S., Carmen?" I didn't have a good answer at the moment, so I mumbled something about being a computer scientist. Professor Roundtree nodded in approval, saying "There's one right there."

"I don't get it," I replied.
"There is no one definition to it, but the idea is that living in America allows you to pursue what your heart desires, may that dream be big or small; a job, a lifestyle, a nice house, you name it. Even if this nation wasn't made with you or me in mind, our forefathers envisioned a place that valued "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness"." I groaned a little under my breath, but kept quiet for the rest of class. Did I not get the memo? Why won't anyone shut up about how wonderful it can be here? Do they even believe it, or is this all some elaborate joke where I'm the punchline? As the class ended and I gathered my things, Professor Roundtree called me to his desk for a short word.

"How are you adjusting so far Carmen?"
"I'm okay, I like this class atleast."
"Did you study any English before you came here?"
"A little, my girl-my ex-girlfriend loved the Great American Classics."
"Ah, I see. Made any friends here yet?"
"Does the lady at the front office count?"
"Not exactly", he chuckled. "Have you read anything by Paulo Freire?"
"Never heard of him."
"I think you might like this one. It's called Pedagogy of The Opressed. It's my personal copy, but you can borrow it. Let me know what you think."
"Thanks Professor."
"Chin up Carmen, it gets easier with time."
"I know.,"

Chapter 3: Burro

Walking to the trolley station from class, I looked at my phone to see if I had gotten any texts. I told Nicole it'd be easier if we kept zero contact, to "rip off the bandage once and for all." I wondered what she was up to right now, if she had just woken up or was having breakfast with her parents. Maybe she wasn't even sad about it anymore. Maybe she had already started moving on and I was still moping. Why am I even the one who's sad? I called it off, not her. I just know how these things go. You want people to wait, you root for love and it all blows up in your face. You could have 3 kids together and it still wouldn't be enough. God, I hope Raquel misheard that conversation. I took a seat on the Orange Line and decided to flip through a few pages of that book to take my mind off things.
After flipping through some of the first Chapter, I arrived at a passage that struck a chord with me.

"This, then, is the great humanistic and historical task of the oppressed: to liberate themselves and their oppressors as well...
. Only power that springs from the weakness of the oppressed will be sufficiently strong to free both."

i sat there for a bit, reading and rereading what he was trying to convey, and Google-searched who exactly Paulo Freire was. An educator turned bureaucrat, Freire seemed like an alright guy to me. A man who wanted better for his countrymen, that's something I can get behind. Reading a little more of his biography, I started to feel worse about myself. Here's someone who wanted to make a difference, unlike you. He barely even had food on the table, what's your excuse? I looked up out the windows for a second and noticed a fog start to creep over from the bay. The thick, rolling kind that engulfs houses and trees, covered the streets so you couldn't see two feet ahead. Soon enough you couldn't see much from the trolley either.

I wanted to step outside and be draped in it. I'm sure if I stuck my hand out, my fingers would almost be silhouetted, transparent. If I thought hard enough, I could probably turn into vapor too. Maybe life would be easier lived as a fine mist, rather than feeling like you have to walk through one. Letting any passing gust take you where you need to go next. That could be nice.

Before I could continue this train of thought, the trolley made a stop to pick up more passengers, and a pair of metro officers came aboard. They usually just came to check whether everyone on board had a MTS card and weren't joyriding. I knew better than to, and my mom would kill me if caused her any more trouble. They went around asking passengers one by one, and as I reached into my coat pocket for mine, I fumbled for a second and felt my heart drop. Where the hell is my card? It's the same jacket as yesterday, I couldn't have moved it. I told myself I would put it back in my wallet. God, find it, find it. I started rummaging through my bag like a madman, emptying out everything and running my hands through every pocket until finally they arrived at me.

"Can I see you MTS card sir?"

I slowly looked up at the officers, two stocky White men who appeared to be in their 40's. One had a wiry little mustache (and what appeared to be a coffee stain on his shirt he didn't notice), and the one questioning me a set of steely blue eyes and a nametag that read "Wright, P.".

I took so much time studying their faces that the officer asked again more firmly, "Son, your MTS card, You can't ride without one."
I stammered to get the words out, like there was clamp placed on my throat, and finally managed a "I- I think I forgot it at home. I swear I have one, I can pay the fare at the next stop if anything." The officers took a look at each other, then back at me. The one called Wright wrinkled his nose a little, and stated "I'm gonna need you to get off at the next stop with me."

"But Officer, I swear I'm good for the money. Isn't there some app or something I can show you to verify? This is my first time offense I really am not trolley hopp-"
"Just get off at the next station with us, we're gonna need to get down some information."

~

"Carmen, ya casi llegamos a el checkpoint. ¿Adonde dejastes los papeles que te dije que cuidaras en Mexicali?"
"¿Qué?"
"¿Como que qué? Te di un sobre que tenia tu pasaporte y identification. ¿Adonde madres lo dejaste?"
"No me diste nada Ama."
"No jueges conmigo ahorita, te di un sobre que tenia tu papeleo. Buscalo ahorita antes que me empute."

I was trying to puzzle what envelope my mother could possibly be talking about, and searching frantically on the backseats and floor of the car. There were two cars ahead of us getting reviewed for entry, and I started panicking. Did I leave it on the table at that restaurant? In the bathroom maybe at that rest stop? The first car moved up.

"Carmen, apurate."

I racked my brain for anywhere I could have put a large manila envelope but I was coming up blank. What's gonna happen if I don't have my papers? Am I gonna be kept here? Is my family gonna be detained? God please, where is this envelope?

"¿Carmen, adonde lo dejaste?

Why would she even give it to me to keep safe? She knows I'm forgetful. Why does she always do this? It's like she wants to torture me. Come on, think Carmen, THINK. I looked up and my dad was moving the car forward to greet the border patrol officers. I sat back down and put my hands in my lap, and started quietly praying under my breath.

Angel de la guardia, my dulce compañia
No me dejes solo, ni de noche ni de dia

I didn't really believe in God either, but I needed to believe in something in that moment.

"Good afternoon, where are y'all coming from?"

I could see my mom staring at me with eyes that could kill in the rearview mirror.

"De Mexicali, en ruta a San Diego."
"How many in the car?"
"Cinco."
"Got anything in the trunk?"
"¿Que dijo?," my dad turned to ask me.
"Si tienes algo atras en el carro."
"Nomas ropa y unas cosas."
"Can we see some paperwork?"

My dad reached in the glove compartment for my family's things, and handed them to the officer. After leafing through it, he then peered through the car again, and asked "¿Y el niño?" We all stayed dead silent for a second. You could hear a pin drop at that exact moment. As I went to open my mouth, Julia noticed something peeking from under the seat and hastily reached for it. The manila envelope. She handed it to my father, and I quietly breathed a sigh of relief. The officer seemed unconvinced at first, but checked one more time and waved us on through. As we drove off from Tijuana, I can still remember the way mom screamed at me for what seemed like an eternity.

"Pinche chamaco burro."

~

"You can either pay the $150. or show up in court to contest the ticket. Next time, make sure you have your card."

In that moment, I had never considered death as such an appealing option.

Chapter 4: Bebe

I read somewhere online once about a certain "coatlicue state" when researching my mental heath issues. It wasn't some scientific diagnosis or condition you could catch. It was used to describe the affliction of a Serpent goddess, a dark and deep paralysis or depression that forces us to either reconcile our differences, or stoop lower. This snake had devoured me once and for all. All the way home, I could feel myself falling. Starting from outer orbit. careening down to the surface. I would pick up speed. catch on fire and eventually come crashing down. But I wouldn't stop there. What husk remained burned a hole through the Earth, went through all 9 circles of Hell, and came back out the other side. Chamaco burro. Maricon. Pata chueca. Chamaco burro. Maricon. Prieto. Pata chueca. Maricon. Maricon.

Was this all I could ever be?

I ended up taking the long way home. and stopping by a pier not too far from home. I stared out at the boats docking and leaving port, and wondered where they were all headed. Maybe if I ask nicely, they'll take me aboard as a castaway somewhere far from here. Somewhere where I don't have to be Carmen or pay the city of San Diego $150. I reached into my other coat pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes I managed to sneak from all that time ago. I fumbled for my lighter and took a few drags after. Even this kind of relief was short-lived, as I could hear my mom nagging in my head "Ah, pero eso si no te olvidas." I grinded my teeth and tossed the half-smoked stick into the water. I watched it float across the surface for a bit. and for no particular reason, felt the corners of my eyes start to crease. Hard, stinging tears warmed my cold face as I slammed my fist on the rails.

Por que, por que. Por que no puedo hacer nada correcto. Odio esta pinche vida; odio mi Mama, odio San Diego, odio Paulo Freire.

As I went to reach for another cigarette, a memory came back to me of one of the last times me and Nicole spent together. We were sitting on the beach around midnight, staring quietly at the water as either of us was too afraid to say anything about the move. I grabbed my Marlboros from her bag and before I could find a light, she stopped my hand.

"Bebe, sabes que no me gusta que fumes."
"Disculpe. Estoy nervioso."
"De que, mi amor?"
"De todo."
"¿Como?"

I turned away for a little and dragged my hands through the cool sand. I knew I had to say something, but I just couldn't find the words.

"Carmen, hablame. No puedo hacer nada si no me hablas."
"Pues, es que tengo miedo. No se cuando voy a regresar, no se cuanto te vas a tener que esperar, y ni sé porque me tengo que ir."
"Eso no importa bebe. A mi no me importa, a lo menos. Es mas grande que nosotros. Y to acqui te espero, aunque sea meses, o años. Yo te espero acqui."
"Nomas dices eso. Ni tu te lo crees,"
"¿Pero por que hablas asi?"
"Por que es la realidad. Tu te vas a olvidar de mi. o vas a encontrar a alguien mas cuando me vaya. Soy tu primer novio y esto estuvo bueno, pero tu no tienes que esperarte. No pa alguien como yo."
"Pero quiero esperar. No quiero a alguien mas."
"Mentirosa."
"Carmen, mirame. Carmen."
"Que quieres."
"Quiero que nomas me oigas. Aunque quebremos ahora o un mez de hoy. no voy a parar de querer ser tuya. Te voy a esperar. Puedes ser terco todo lo que quieras, pero no cambiara como me siento. Tu vas a ir a las Estados y te vas a hacer un dineral, y despues puedes regresar a mi. Cuando quieras intentar otra vez, no importa cuando, acqui voy a estar con brazos abiertos. No es mala suerte o el fin del mundo. Es un empiezo, si tu lo quieres ver asi. Te amo, hasta luna y alrevez."

"Por lo menos, prometeme que le vas a dar una chanca."

"¿Para mi?"

The tears turned into sobbing. Wailing, like my insides were being wrenched from my body through my esophagus. I cried until my lungs hurt, and my throat burned. Gasping for air at that point, I started walking away to go pick Raquel from school.

Wiping my face with my sleeves, my eyes burned and I squinted to see the path ahead. All the while, I had failed to notice that the sun was creeping out from behind thick clouds. Slowly but surely, as I walked head down I noticed the sidewalk grow brighter. I took a glance up and stood still for a minute, watching the winds carry stormy skies away like movers to furniture. Every couple seconds, you could feel the heat start to lick your skin a little more. Dancing on your face, drying the leaves and waking the birds. A few minutes more, and it finally came to greet me. Shining through every window, reflecting off the puddles in the street. It bore a resemblance to some merciful god, delivering a new life and wakefulness to the air around me.

And for some reason, I started laughing. I don't know what it was, but I grinned ear to ear thinking this star would still rise and fall no matter how bad life got. I hadn't even noticed I managed to walk all the way to Raquel's school, and as I stood there stupefied by this glimmer of hope, I heard a faint "Carmeeen!"

I swerved around to see Raquel running towards me, a gold star on his shirt and a bigger smile plastered on his face.

And I whispered to myself "Te lo prometo."