Read Online Almost a Woman : A Memoir (9780306821110) by Esmeralda Santiago - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Esmeralda Santiago
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of the item we held in hand, glowered if we put it back because we had no money. âGet out of here,â he snarled, but we knew he was letting us know the coast was clear.
After Mr. Barone made his announcement about my acceptance to Performing Arts, Luluâs insults and threats became more frequent. Now that Natalia was gone and I walked alone, I left as soon as the bell rang, aware that Lulu and her gang were too cool to run out as if someone had chased them. But one afternoon after I crossed the street, relieved that once more Iâd avoided her, Lulu stepped from the door of one of the abandoned buildings down the block from the candy store. Behind her were LuzMari and Denise. They surrounded me and pushed me into the cold, dark hallway, which smelled of urine and rotting wood. They punched and kicked me, their shrill voices a chorus of obscenities, their fists sharp and accurate, beating into my chest, my belly, my lower back. I fought back with kicks, scratches, and punches like the ones I used against my sisters and brothers whenever we tussled, only harder. The girls dug their nails into my arms and face, the back of my neck. I flailed against the six fists that pounded my ribs, the six legs that kicked my shins and crotch, the three toothy mouths that snarled and shrieked and spit, the six eyes that glinted in the musty darkness with fierce green hatred. I defended myself but, outnumbered, came out the loser, clothes torn and dirty, arms scratched, legs bruised, chest and back throbbing. As we fought, they screamed in English and I responded in Spanish, the obscenities I wasnât allowed to speak at home spewing from me like acid.
They left me sprawled against a pile of damp cardboard, screeched what must have been more threats, although I wasnât sure. I didnât know what they wanted from me, what I could do to make them ignore me as they used to. I didnât linger in the dark, smelly hallway. Creatures scurried in the depths of the abandoned building, I could hear them. I dusted myself off, found my belongings. When I stepped into the street, the candy store man stood on the sidewalk. He beckoned me in, handed me a frosty Yoo-hoo. From the back, his wife appeared with a damp rag and, mumbling
in a language that was neither English nor Spanish, wiped the grime and tears from my face, her rheumy eyes searching for open wounds on the inside of my arms and on my cheeks.
âThose girls,â the old man said, and slapped his swollen hands against the counter. He didnât look at me as his wife wiped alcohol on my bruises, making the welts and scratches on my arms and legs sting and burn. He stared through the window at the street in front of the school, his shoulders slumped, a sad expression on his face.
âGo home, tell mama,â his wife said, guiding me out of the store. I thanked them, tried to make eye contact with both, but they looked past me and waved me out, unwilling to accept my gratitude. I dragged myself home, each step like needles into my ribs and hips. Mami was in the bathroom when I came in, so I slouched into the front room, changed into clothes that hid the bruises on my arms and legs, spent the rest of the night bent over a book so that she wouldnât see the scratches on my cheeks, the swollen lip. After dinner I took a long, hot bath, covered my sobs by splashing water and belting out Mexican corridos about traitorous lovers and revolution. If Mami noticed, she didnât say a thing, and neither did my sisters and brothers, whose own struggles with bullies had similar outcomes.
For the rest of the year I avoided the candy store, ashamed but not knowing why, the nameless ownersâ kindness like a weight, unrelieved by the fact that Lulu never bothered me again.
One day I came home from school and Mamiâs hair was in curlers.
âDo you have much homework?â Mami asked as she set a cup of coffee in front of me.
âI have to study for
After Mr. Barone made his announcement about my acceptance to Performing Arts, Luluâs insults and threats became more frequent. Now that Natalia was gone and I walked alone, I left as soon as the bell rang, aware that Lulu and her gang were too cool to run out as if someone had chased them. But one afternoon after I crossed the street, relieved that once more Iâd avoided her, Lulu stepped from the door of one of the abandoned buildings down the block from the candy store. Behind her were LuzMari and Denise. They surrounded me and pushed me into the cold, dark hallway, which smelled of urine and rotting wood. They punched and kicked me, their shrill voices a chorus of obscenities, their fists sharp and accurate, beating into my chest, my belly, my lower back. I fought back with kicks, scratches, and punches like the ones I used against my sisters and brothers whenever we tussled, only harder. The girls dug their nails into my arms and face, the back of my neck. I flailed against the six fists that pounded my ribs, the six legs that kicked my shins and crotch, the three toothy mouths that snarled and shrieked and spit, the six eyes that glinted in the musty darkness with fierce green hatred. I defended myself but, outnumbered, came out the loser, clothes torn and dirty, arms scratched, legs bruised, chest and back throbbing. As we fought, they screamed in English and I responded in Spanish, the obscenities I wasnât allowed to speak at home spewing from me like acid.
They left me sprawled against a pile of damp cardboard, screeched what must have been more threats, although I wasnât sure. I didnât know what they wanted from me, what I could do to make them ignore me as they used to. I didnât linger in the dark, smelly hallway. Creatures scurried in the depths of the abandoned building, I could hear them. I dusted myself off, found my belongings. When I stepped into the street, the candy store man stood on the sidewalk. He beckoned me in, handed me a frosty Yoo-hoo. From the back, his wife appeared with a damp rag and, mumbling
in a language that was neither English nor Spanish, wiped the grime and tears from my face, her rheumy eyes searching for open wounds on the inside of my arms and on my cheeks.
âThose girls,â the old man said, and slapped his swollen hands against the counter. He didnât look at me as his wife wiped alcohol on my bruises, making the welts and scratches on my arms and legs sting and burn. He stared through the window at the street in front of the school, his shoulders slumped, a sad expression on his face.
âGo home, tell mama,â his wife said, guiding me out of the store. I thanked them, tried to make eye contact with both, but they looked past me and waved me out, unwilling to accept my gratitude. I dragged myself home, each step like needles into my ribs and hips. Mami was in the bathroom when I came in, so I slouched into the front room, changed into clothes that hid the bruises on my arms and legs, spent the rest of the night bent over a book so that she wouldnât see the scratches on my cheeks, the swollen lip. After dinner I took a long, hot bath, covered my sobs by splashing water and belting out Mexican corridos about traitorous lovers and revolution. If Mami noticed, she didnât say a thing, and neither did my sisters and brothers, whose own struggles with bullies had similar outcomes.
For the rest of the year I avoided the candy store, ashamed but not knowing why, the nameless ownersâ kindness like a weight, unrelieved by the fact that Lulu never bothered me again.
One day I came home from school and Mamiâs hair was in curlers.
âDo you have much homework?â Mami asked as she set a cup of coffee in front of me.
âI have to study for
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