With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo
The First Night
Señorita Mariana is younger than ’Buela, but I don’t think it’s by much, and unlike the other housemothers, she is slim and trim. She immediately grabs my book bag and is reaching for one of Pretty Leslie’s rollies, but Pretty Leslie swerves away.
“No, it’s okay. I got it.” She pulls all her bags protectively to her.
I smile at Señorita Mariana. “You don’t have to carry my bag,” I say in English. I hope she understands because I am not looking forward to breaking out my Spanish! I only speak that with ’Buela.
Señorita Mariana cocks her head to the side. “Está bien. I can help. You just got off a bus.” She holds my bag and begins walking. I look over at Pretty Leslie, who shrugs. We both follow. It’s a winding hill downward, and I struggle to keep my bag from rolling away from me. When Mariana turns into a storefront and opens the door I see that it’s an old-school music store.
She turns on the light and motions for us to follow her. “The apartment is upstairs. My kids marry and leave. Follow me.” She hustles up the stairs in her long purple skirt, still carrying my suitcase. Pretty Leslie follows behind us, all red and out of breath, hauling up her bags as best she can.
“Girl, stop trying to prove something,” I say, and grab a bag from her. She must be really winded because she doesn’t even protest.
The upstairs is nice and airy with a small kitchen and living room. Mariana points to the back.
“Bathroom that way. Bedroom this way.” She walks through a small hallway and turns on the light to a room on the left. Inside are two twin beds, a dresser, and a large wooden crucifix over the mirror. “I will let you get settled. If you need something, I will be in the kitchen warming up dinner. You come ask.” She smiles and pushes her hair away from her face, looking expectant as if we might already have questions for her. I smile back and shrug. Pretty Leslie shakes her head. When Mariana leaves she pounces on the bed farthest from the doorway.
“If that lady is crazy and tries to kill us in the middle of the night I’m not going to be the one to die first.”
I roll my eyes. “We’re in another country and you’re acting like a brat,” I say, and take out my clothes, folding them into smaller squares to fit into the dresser’s drawers.
“Whatever. I’m not acting like anything. You just love being liked so much with your smiley-smiley self.”
She pulls out a pair of sweats from her smaller suitcase, pushes the two suitcases into a corner and her third bag under her bed, and leaves the room.
Ms. Mariana, Pretty Leslie, and I eat a dinner of oily rice and steak in absolute silence, the dwindling daylight finally giving all of us an excuse to go to bed early.
In our room, I notice that the air here smells different. Like oranges. I turn on the small night lamp, quickly throw on sweats and a T-shirt, and pull off my bra through my sleeve. I crawl into bed.
Although I would never let Babygirl skip brushing her teeth, I want to be asleep too badly to worry about my oral hygiene tonight. I can brush my teeth in the morning. When Pretty Leslie comes into the room, I turn the light off and stare at the ceiling. I wonder what ’Buela and Emma are up to. It’s still afternoon there. My eyes adjust to the darkness and I look at Pretty Leslie’s dark form huddled in her bed.
“Do you think you’ll get homesick?” I ask.
“Girl, don’t try to talk to me like we’re cool,” she says through her teeth, and rolls over on the bed so her back is to me.
“I know it’s only a week but I haven’t ever been away from home this long. It all looks so different than Philly.”
I can imagine her rolling her eyes at me. “Like you told me earlier, it’s only seven days. You’ll be okay. Plus, isn’t one of your parents some kind of Spanish? Haven’t you ever been to the Dominican or whatever?”
“I’m half Puerto Rican. And no, I’ve never been anywhere outside of Philly.”
Pretty Leslie’s only response is a loud snore.