Read Online Monstress by Lysley Tenorio - Free Book Online

favorite cousin, a new life. He was vacationing in California before returning to the Philippines to join the seminary when he met and fell in love with an amateur Mexican boxer. His parents disowned him, his brothers, too, so he and the boxer sought help from Flora Ramirez. Six months later, they were living in what TonyBoy called a Mediterranean-style apartment complex in Las Vegas, earning good money dealing blackjack. So when Papa Felix began planning our trip to America, I knew this would be my chance: I made contact with Flora Ramirez and started a yearlong correspondence of coded e-mails and text messages, coordinating cash amounts and payment dates and when, where, and how we would meet. These were risky, secret dealings, but in times of doubt Charma would tell me, “If my homosexual priest cousin and his Mexican boxer boyfriend can make it in America, why can’t we?” We were no different from them, she said, or any other person in search of a good and honest life.
    Flora Ramirez tapped her fingernail twice on the receipt. I unzipped my backpack, took out the envelope of cash, handed it to her. She slipped it underneath the register drawer, then tied a black ribbon around the bouquet of roses. “Better selection tomorrow,” she said, “you come back then. Same price.” She nodded toward the door.
    I left the store and walked to the corner to hail a taxicab. My heart was pounding; people on the street stared at me, as if they knew who I was and what I’d done. But it was merely the roses in my hands that caught their attention. They were lovely and bright; I could imagine pressing them between the pages of a heavy book, a souvenir that would inspire me to look back on this day, the first of my new life. But for now they would only make Papa Felix suspicious, so I left them on top of a trash can for someone else to take.
    W henever I called Charma, I’d stare at postcards of famous San Francisco landmarks, images of which she would download online—the Golden Gate Bridge, Coit Tower, the famous crooked street. It was like taking in the same view together, despite the distance between us, and she’d say the pictures were glimpses of our future. But now, I was calling from the backseat of a dented, lime-green cab, staring at a lightning-shaped crack in the window.
    She picked up on the fourth ring. “I bought roses,” I said.
    First she giggled, then she gasped. “You really did it? Truly?”
    â€œFirst payment was today. Second tomorrow. And then—”
    â€œPay it all now!” she said. “Pay it all now and send me a plane ticket tomorrow and let’s be together forever.”
    â€œThat’s not how it works. Flora Ramirez has a process.” I reminded Charma that it might be months, maybe longer, until I could send for her; though Flora Ramirez had connections with people who could help find me work and a place to sleep, it would take time to begin a life. “Have faith,” I said.
    â€œAlways. What about the old man?”
    â€œHe doesn’t know anything. And once I get my papers, there’s nothing he can do.”
    Then she said, “How will you go?”
    There was static, silence, then an awkward moment when I caught the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He seemed dubious, though I was speaking Tagalog. “Are you there?” Charma said, but I had no answer, not yet, despite the exit scenarios playing in my head: I imagined going to the airport with Papa Felix, then backing away into the crowds as soon as he crossed through security. Or I would take my seat on our return flight and then, minutes before takeoff, tell Papa Felix I’d forgotten something in the terminal bathroom, and make my escape from there. Sometimes I didn’t even imagine the airport; I simply left in the middle of the night.
    â€œHow will you go?” Charma repeated.
    â€œI’ll leave a note,” I finally said, a