Growin

Helena Maria Viramontes

Growing

  The two walked down First Street hand in reluctant hand. The smaller one wore a thick, red sweater which had a desperately loose button that swung like a pendulum. She carried her crayons, humming “Jesus loves little boys and girls” to the speeding echo of the Saturday morning traffic, and was totally oblivious to her older sister’s wrath.

  “My eye!” Naomi ground out the words from between her teeth. She turned to her youngest sister who seemed unconcerned and quite delighted at the prospect of another adventure. “Chaperone,” she said with great disdain. “My EYE!” Lucía was chosen by Apá to be Naomi’s chaperone. Infuriated, Naomi dragged her along impatiently, pulling and jerking at almost every step. She was 14, almost 15, the idea of having to be watched by a young snot like Lucía was insulting to her maturity. She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Goddammit,” she murmured, making sure that the words were soft enough so that both God and Lucía could not hear them.

  There seemed to be no way out of the custom. Her arguments were always the same and always turned into pleas. This morning was no different. Amá, Naomi said, exasperated but determined not to cower out of this one, Amá, the United States is different. Here girls don’t need chaperones. Parents trust their daughters. As usual Amá turned to the kitchen sink or the ice box, shrugged her shoulders and said: “You have to ask your father.” Naomi’s nostrils flexed i

n fury as she pleaded. “But, Amá, it’s embarrassing. I’m too old for that. I am an adult.” And as usual, Apá felt different, and in his house she had absolutely no other choice but to drag Lucía to a sock hop or church carnival or anywhere Apá was sure a social interaction was inevitable. And Lucía came along as a spy, a gnat, a pain in the neck.

  Well, Naomi debated with herself, it wasn’t Lucía’s fault, really. She suddenly felt sympathy for the humming little girl who scrambled to keep up with her as they crossed the freeway overpass. She stopped and tugged Lucía’s shorts up, and although her shoelaces were tied, Naomi retied them. No, it wasn’t her fault after all, Naomi thought, and she patted her sister’s soft light brown almost blondish hair; it was Apá’s. She slowed her pace as they continued their journey to Jorge’s house. It was Apá who refused to trust her, and she could not understand what she had done to make him so distrustful. TÚ ERES MUJER, he thundered like a great voice above the heavens, and that was the end of any argument, any question, because he said those words not as a truth, but as a verdict, and she could almost see the clouds parting, the thunderbolts breaking the tranquility of her sex. Naomi tightened her grasp with the thought, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “So what’s wrong with being a mujer,” she asked herself out loud.

  “Wait up. Wait,” Lucía said, rushing behind her.

  “Well, would you hurry? Would you?” Naomi reconsidered: Lucía did have some fault in the matter after all, and she became irritated at once at Lucía’s smile and the way her chaperone had of taking and holding her hand. As they passed El Gallo, Lucía began fussing, hanging on to her older sister’s waist for reassurance.

  “Stop it. Would you stop it?” She unglued her sister’s grasp and continued pulling her along. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked Lucía. I’ll tell you what’s wrong with you, she thought, as they waited at the corner of an intersection for the light to change: You have a big mouth. That’s it. If it wasn’t for Lucía’s willingness to tattle, she would not have been grounded for three months. Three months, twelve Saturday nights and two church bazaars later, Naomi still hadn’t forgiven her youngest sister. When they crossed the street, a homely young man with a face full of acne honked at her tight purple pedal pushers. The two were startled by the honk.

  “Go to hell,” she yelled at the man in the blue and white Chevy. She indignantly continued her walk.

  “Don’t be mad, my little baby,” he said, his car crawling across the street, then speeding off leaving tracks on the pavement. “You make me ache,” he yelled, and he was gone.

  “GO TO HELL, goddamn you!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, forgetting for a moment that Lucía told everything to Apá. What a big mouth her youngest sister had, for chrissakes. Three months.

  Naomi stewed in anger when she thought of the Salesian Carnival and how she first met a Letterman Senior whose eyes, she remembered with a soft smile, sparkled like crystals of brown sugar. She sighed deeply as she recalled the excitement she experienced when she first became aware that he was following them from booth to booth. Joe’s hair was greased back and his dimples were deep. When he finally handed her a stuffed rabbit he had won pitching dimes, she knew she wanted him.

  As they continued walking, Lucía waved to the Fruit Man. He slipped off his teeth and, again, she was bewildered.

  “Would you hurry up!” Naomi told Lucía as she had told her that same night at the carnival. Joe walked beside them and took out a whole roll of tickets, trying to convince her to leave her youngest sister on the ferris wheel. “You could watch her from behind the gym,” he had told her, and his eyes smiled pleasure. “Come on,” he said, “have a little fun.” They waited in the ferris-wheel line of people.

  “Stay on the ride,” she finally instructed Lucía, making sure her sweater was buttoned. “And when it stops again, just give the man another ticket, okay?” Lucía said okay, excited at the prospect of heights and dips and her stomach wheezing in between. After Naomi saw her go up for the first time, she waved to her, then slipped away into the darkness and joined the other hungry couples behind the gym. Occasionally, she would open her eyes to see the lights of the ferris wheel spinning in the air with dizzy speed.

  When Naomi returned to the ferris wheel, her hair undone, her lips still tingling from his newly stubbled cheeks, Lucía walked off and vomited. She vomited the popcorn, a hot dog, some chocolate raisins, and a candied apple. And all Naomi knew was that she was definitely in trouble.

  “It was the ferris wheel,” Lucía said to Apá. “The wheel going like this over and over again.” She circled her arms in the air and vomited again at the thought of it.

  “Where was your sister?” Apá had asked, his voice raising.

  “I don’t know,” Lucía replied, and Naomi knew she had just committed a major offense, and Joe would never wait until her prison sentence was completed.

  “Owwww,” Lucía said. “You’re pulling too hard.”

  “You’re a slowpoke, that’s why,” Naomi snarled back. They crossed the street and passed the rows of junk yards and the shells of cars, which looked like abandoned skull heads. They passed Señora Núñez’s neat, wooden house, and Naomi saw her peeking through the curtains of her window. They passed the Tú y Yo, the one-room dirt pit of a liquor store where the men bought their beers and sat outside on the curb drinking quietly. When they reached Fourth Street, Naomi spotted the neighborhood kids playing stickball with a broomstick and a ball. Naomi recognized them right away, and Tina waved to her from the pitcher’s mound.

  “Wanna play?” Lourdes yelled from center field. “Come on, have some fun.”

  “Can’t,” Naomi replied. “I can’t.” Kids, kids, she thought. My, my. It wasn’t more than a few years ago that she played baseball with Eloy and the rest of them. But she was in high school now, too old now, and it was unbecoming of her. She was an adult.

  “I’m tired,” Lucía said. “I wanna ice cream.”

  “You got money?”

  “No.”

  “Then shut up.” Lucía sat on the curb, hot and tired, and began removing her sweater. Naomi decided to sit down next to her for a few minutes and watch the game. Anyway, she wasn’t really that much in a hurry to get to Jorge’s. A few minutes wouldn’t make much difference to someone who spent most of his time listening to the radio.

  She counted them by names. They were all there. Fifteen of them, and their ages varied just as much as their clothes. They dressed in an assortment of colors, and looked like confetti thrown out in the street. Pants, skirts, shorts were always too big and had to be tugged up constantly, and shirt sleeves rolled and unrolled, and socks colorfully mismatched with shoes that did not fit. But the way they dressed presented no obstacle for scoring or yelling foul, and she enjoyed the abandonment with which they played. She knew that the only decision these kids made was what to play next, and for a moment she wished to return to those days.

  Chano’s team was up. The teams were oddly numbered. Chano had nine on his team because everybody wanted to be on a winning team. It was an unwritten law of stickball that anyone who wanted to play joined in on whatever team they preferred. Tina’s team had the family faithful 6. Of course, numbers determined nothing. Naomi remembered once playing with Eloy and three of her cousins against ten players, and still winning by three points.

  Chano was at bat and everybody fanned out far and wide. He was a power hitter and Tina’s team prepared for him. They could not afford a home run now because Piri was on second, legs apart, waiting to rush home and score. And Piri wanted to score at all costs. It was important for him because his father sat watching the game outside the liquor store with a couple of his uncles and a couple of malt liquors.

  “Steal the base,” his father yelled. “Run, menso.” But Piri hesitated. He was too afraid to take the risk. Tina pitched and Chano swung, missed, strike one.

  “Batter, batter, swing,” Naomi yelled from the curb. She stood to watch the action bet

ter.

  “I wanna ice cream,” Lucía said.

  “Come on, Chano,” Piri yelled, bending his knees and resting his hands on them like a true baseball player. He spat, clapped his hands. “Come on.”

  “Ah, shut up, sissy.” This came from Lourdes, Tina’s younger sister. Naomi smiled at the rivals. “Can’t you see you’re making the pitcher nervous?” She pushed him hard between the shoulder blades, then returned to her position in the outfield, holding her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun. “Strike the batter out,” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Come on, strike the menso out!” Tina delivered another pitch, but not before going through the motions of a professional preparing for the perfect pitch. Naomi knew she was a much better pitcher than Tina. Strike two. Maybe not. Lourdes let out such a cry of joy that Piri’s father called her a dog.

  Chano was angry now, nervous and upset. He put his bat down, spat in his hands and rubbed them together, wiped the sides of his jeans, kicked the dirt for perfect footing.

  “Get on with the game,” Naomi shouted impatiently. Chano tested his swing. He swung so hard that he caused Juan, Tina’s brother and devoted catcher, to jump back.

  “Hey, baboso, watch out,” Juan said. “You almost hit my coco.” And he pointed to his forehead.

  “Well, don’t be so stupid,” Chano replied, positioning himself once again. “Next time, back off when I come to bat.”

  “Baboso,” Juan repeated.

  “Say it to my face,” Chano said, breaking his stance and turning to Juan. Say it again so I can break this bat over your head.”

  “Ah, come on,” Kiki, the shortstop, yelled. “I gotta go home pretty soon.”

  “Let up,” Tina demanded.

  “Shut up, marrana,” Piri said, turning to his father to make sure he heard. “Tinasana, cola de marrana. Tinasana, cola de marrana.” Tina became so infuriated that she threw the ball directly at his stomach. Piri folded over in pain.

  “No! No!” Sylvia yelled. “Don’t get off the base or she’ll tag you out.”

  “It’s a trick,” Miguel yelled from behind home plate.

  “That’s what you get!” This came from Lourdes. Piri did not move, and although Naomi felt sorry for him, she giggled at the scene just the same.

  “I heard the ice-cream man,”

  Lucía said. “You’re all right, Tina,” Naomi yelled, laughing. “You’re A-O-K.” And with that compliment, Tina took a bow for her performance until everyone began shouting and booing. Tina was prepared. She pitched and Chano made the connection quick, hard, the ball rising high and flying over Piri’s, Lourdes’, Naomi’s and Lucía’s heads and landing inside the Chinese Cemetery.

  “DON’T JUST STAND THERE!!” Tina screamed to Lourdes. “Go get it, stupid.” After Lourdes broke out of her trance, she ran to the tall chain-link fence which surrounded the cemetery, jumped on it with great urgency and crawled up like a scrambling spider. When she jumped over the top of the fence, her dress tore with a rip-roar.

  “We saw your calzones, we saw your calzones,” Lucía sang.

  “Go! Lourdes, go!” Naomi jumped up and down in excitement, feeling like a player who so much wanted to help her team win, but was benched on the sidelines for good. The kids blended into one huge noise, like an untuned orchestra, screaming and shouting, Get the Ball, Run in, Piri, Go Lourdes, Go, Throw the ball, Chano pick up your feetthrowtheballrunrunrunthrow the ball. “THROW the ball to me!!” Naomi waved and waved her arms. She was no longer concerned with her age, her menstruations, her breasts that bounced with every jump. All she wanted was an out at home plate. To hell with being benched. “Throw it to me,” she yelled.

  In the meantime, Lourdes searched frantically for the ball, tip-toeing across the graves saying, excuse me, please excuse me, excuse me, until she found the ball peacefully buried behind a huge gray marble stone, and she yelled to no one in particular, CATCH IT, SOMEONE CATCH IT. She threw the ball up and over the fence and it landed near Lucía. Lucía was about to reach for it when Naomi picked it off the ground and threw it straight to Tina. Tina caught the ball, dropped it, picked it up, and was about to throw it to Juan at home plate when she realized that Juan had picked up home plate and run, zig-zagging across the street while Piri and Chano ran after him. Chano was a much faster runner, but Piri insisted that he be the first to touch the base.

  “I gotta touch it first,” he kept repeating between pants. “I gotta.” The kids on both teams grew wild with anger and encouragement. Seeing an opportunity, Tina ran as fast as her stocky legs could take her. Because Chano slowed down to let Piri touch the base first, Tina was able to reach him, and with one quick blow, she thundered OUT! She made one last desperate throw to Juan so that he could tag Piri out, but she threw it so hard that it struck Piri right in the back of his head, and the blow forced him to stumble just within reach of Juan and home plate.

  “You’re out!!” Tina said, out of breath. “O-U-T, out.”

  “No fair!” Piri immediately screamed. “NO FAIR!!” He stomped his feet in rage. “You marrana, you marrana.”

  “Don’t be such a baby. Take it like a man,” Piri’s father said as he opened another malt liquor with a can opener. But Piri continued stomping and screaming until his shouts were buried by the honk of an oncoming car and the kids obediently opened up like a zipper to let the car pass.

  Naomi felt like a victor. She had helped once again. Delighted, she giggled, laughed, laughed harder, suppressed her laughter into chuckles, then laughed again. Lucía sat quietly, to her surprise, and her eyes were heavy with sleep. She wiped them, looked at Naomi. “Vamos,” Naomi said, offering her hand. By the end of the block, she lifted Lucía and laid her head on her shoulder. As Lucía fell asleep, Naomi wondered why things were always so complicated once you became older. Funny how the old want to be young and the young want to be old. She was guilty of that. Now that she was older, her obligations became heavier both at home and at school. There were too many expectations, and no one instructed her on how to fulfill them, and wasn’t it crazy? She cradled Lucía gently, kissed her cheek. They were almost at Jorge’s now, and reading to him was just one more thing she dreaded, and one more thing she had no control over: it was another one of Apá’s thunderous commands.

  When she was Lucía’s age, she hunted for lizards and played stickball with her cousins. When her body began to bleed at twelve, Eloy saw her in a different light. Under the house, he sucked her swelling nipples and became jealous when she spoke to other boys. He no longer wanted to throw rocks at the cars on the freeway with her and she began to act differently because everyone began treating her differently and wasn’t it crazy? She could no longer be herself, and her father could no longer trust her because she was a woman. Jorge’s gate hung on a hinge and she was almost afraid it would fall off when she opened it. She felt Lucía’s warm, deep breath on her neck and it tickled her.

  “Tomorrow,” she whispered lovingly to her sister as she entered the yard. “Tomorrow I’ll buy you all the ice creams you want.”