Barely Floating, page 2
“Enter,” I say.
“Reina, breakfast is about to be served.” Dad always calls the women in our house queens. He’s really into compliments and positive reinforcement. He wears an East Los Angeles College T-shirt. He owns way too many of them. My guess is they’ve given him one every year he’s taught there.
I sit at the dining room table while Dad serves me French toast with a huge glob of melting butter in the center. Saturday is the only day Mom sleeps in, which means Dad is in the kitchen doing what he loves to do: cooking. Breakfast is his specialty, so weekends are the days he goes all out. How lucky am I to wake up to bacon sizzling and extra-syrupy French toast?
Ramón saunters in with his usual explosion of curly hair. When we walked back from the pool yesterday, I wouldn’t let up about his friend Beto owing me money, to the point where Ramón handed me five dollars to shut up. I reminded him the bet was for ten, but at least I got paid something.
“Good morning,” he mumbles, and joins me at the table.
I live for mornings like this one. I love knowing Mom is sleeping in her bedroom, not stressing about the next important meeting she has to attend or the pile of work she has to tackle. I like how Ramón has a sleepy face and electric hair. And I like how happy Dad gets eating his French toast.
Joanne’s family is not like this. Her father has been in and out of their lives ever since she was a baby. Her mother works at a factory in Vernon. There’s never enough money. That’s why I always bring a little extra with me whenever we meet at the pool, just in case Joanne wants to eat a bag of potato chips.
It’s not like my family is rolling in dough. We’re not, although my parents make sure we get to do the things we like.
“Joy is revolutionary.” Another one of Mom’s favorite lines.
While we talk about our plans for the rest of the day, we hear the bathroom door shut. Dad heads to the kitchen and soon returns with glasses of orange juice for Ramón and me and a large mug of black coffee for Mom.
Mom.
She’s wearing an ELAC T-shirt, too. It’s so oversized, it’s a minidress on her. Even though she just woke up, she radiates. Her long wavy hair is up in a messy bun. Her glasses are nestled atop her head. Her complexion is only slightly sun-kissed. I think my favorite Mom is this Mom. The one in a tee and not in a suit. The one who doesn’t have her cell phone stuck to her hand. The one who isn’t in front of a microphone about to give an angry speech.
Mom ruffles my hair and gives Ramón a kiss on the forehead.
“Good morning, my loves,” she says. “I feel like I haven’t seen you both in forever.”
Mom works as an administrator at ELAC. She’s also involved in what seems to be a part of every single community-run organization. There’s always a meeting or an action. A local newspaper ran a feature on her. They called her the Energizer Bunny of East L.A. Mom complained to the newspaper about them equating her to a bunny, but I think she secretly liked it.
“Mom, I beat Beto in a race yesterday. The full length of the pool,” I say. “It was easy.”
“She also tried to extort money from him,” Ramón says.
Dad hands Mom a plate of scrambled egg whites with a slice of avocado. She gives me a disapproving look, the one I always seem to get. “Nat, we talked about this. No gambling.”
“I’m not gambling. I’m betting them that I can beat—”
“Same difference,” Ramón interrupts.
“No, it’s not.”
Why is Ramón defending his dumb friend instead of praising me for outswimming him? Why does he always do that?
“Enough, please,” Mom says. “First, I’m glad you were able to teach Beto a lesson on gender roles. However, there is no need for you to do so for money.”
“Yes, there is,” I mumble.
“Excuse me?” she says.
“Mom. I consider his payment to be a contribution to my, um, like a scholarship to those who can’t afford to attend cons.”
I’m almost certain she loves my answer, because she’s trying really hard to hide her smile behind the coffee mug. Ramón shakes his head.
“No more gambling.”
“Yes, Mom,” I reluctantly say. I wish she would understand my point of view. It’s not gambling. I’m getting paid for educating Beto. It’s services rendered.
“Besides that, what is going on?” Mom says. “Ramón?”
Ramón is spending this summer taking an online course on creating video games. Plus, he’s in a band (he plays keyboard). Ramón is similar to Mom in that they are always working on five hundred things at once.
“Is it okay if Sheila takes Nat to the pool and back?” Ramón asks. “I was hoping to catch up on some of my work from the course.”
“Hmm, I don’t know how I feel about that,” says Mom. “We agreed you would earn money this summer by being in charge of Nat. Laying the burden on Sheila just because she’s family is not fair or what we discussed.”
Mom has her business voice on. She does this even with me. I think she doesn’t feel Sheila is a good influence on me. I like Sheila, though. I can talk to her about makeup, which is especially important when I’m not even allowed to wear lip gloss.
“It’s not for the whole summer—just when I’m behind,” Ramón says. “I will pay Sheila out of the money I get from you.”
Dad joins us at the table. “I’m okay with it.”
“Do I get a say in this?” I say, and Dad and Mom look over to me. Sometimes I feel as if I’m a small bullet point in their large schedule of life. Ramón hates me because he’s the last of the boys and stuck with me. I just want to be free to do whatever I want—earn money, look at my magazines, and talk to Joanne. And try to avoid getting into trouble. “Why can’t I go to the pool by myself? I know where it is. Joanne and I can walk there together.”
Mom and Dad smile.
“Nice try,” Dad says. “You’re too young.”
A ding goes off on Mom’s phone. That’s it for our family reunion. She has to get ready for a meeting about an upcoming rally. She gulps down her coffee and gives Dad a long kiss. Ramón makes a gross vomiting noise. I don’t. My parents are in love. I think it’s nice. After they kiss, I follow Mom to her bedroom.
“You okay, fierce one?” she asks as I plop myself on her bed.
Mom and I have very different shapes. She’s thin, while I’m a gorda. There are times when I feel people judge us, as if they think I should be as thin as Mom, as if my weight is some sort of failure on her part.
One time at a community action to save a park, I went up to the food vendor to order a second helping of tacos. They were delicious, and I wanted more. I had my money. The lady, for whatever reason, said this to me: “No tacos for your mom? You don’t have a problem eating. Ah! You’re eating more than enough for both of you.” Then she patted her belly while looking at my stomach.
She was joking, I guess. I’m fat and proud, but something about the way she talked to me made me doubt things. I was in such a good mood until her words started to poke at me. I sat down next to my mom and just stared at my plate. I didn’t feel like eating anymore. Mom knew something was wrong right away, but I didn’t want to tell on the lady. Why was I protecting her? I guess maybe I thought she was right, that I was eating too much.
“Fierce one, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Mom asked.
“No, just that . . . the taquera said something, you know, about me eating for both of us. She was trying to be funny,” I said, feeling shy and uncomfortable. “It’s okay. I’m not really hungry.”
“Oh? Come with me.” Mom took my hand and walked right up to the woman. “Don’t ever make my daughter or anyone else feel bad in regards to their eating. She’s her own person and she doesn’t have to look like me or anyone else.”
The taquera was insulted at first. “No pasa nada,” she said, not really looking at us. Mom stayed calm. She didn’t raise her voice once. Plus, she did it all in Spanish. “My daughter is beautiful,” Mom said. The taquera nodded. “Now, please apologize to her.” The woman was slightly annoyed, but she did say sorry. Mom is pretty badass.
“What do you think about synchronized swimming?” I ask now, from her bed.
Mom barely looks up from her phone.
“Do you mean synchronized swimming, like Esther Williams?”
“Esther Williams? Who is that? No, I mean like dancing in the water. Girls doing the same thing at the same time.”
She takes a sip from her favorite mug. The mug reads Greatest Chingona of All Time.
“In the fifties, Esther Williams popularized synchronized swimming in the movies,” she says. “It’s very beautiful and glossy, but I think the sport overlooks strength for stylized costumes and streamlined bodies. Go look at some videos and you’ll see what I mean.”
Mom always talks to me like an adult. Class. Body positivity. These are important topics in this house. What she doesn’t know is that I spent last night looking up synchronized swimming videos, and I couldn’t stop playing them over and over. The sequins. The wild makeup. The expressions. It was awesome. I guess I should have known Mom would think there was something demeaning about dancing in the water in public. I still like it, though. Does it make me less of a feminist if I like something so pretty?
Mom continues to get ready for her meeting.
“Anything else you want to tell me?” she asks.
“Nope. Just that it was fun beating Beto, that’s all.”
She laughs, shaking her head a bit.
“My rebel,” she says, hugging me. “Have a good day. Make good choices.”
I head back to my room.
Now to find out who Esther Williams is.
CHAPTER 3
I’m on my third viewing of the old movie Million Dollar Mermaid. Now I understand what people mean when they say a movie was made in Technicolor. The colors are so intense, it’s as if the movie people decided to use a special filter to make them super vivid. As for the costumes, I’ve never seen anything like them. It’s all so extra. Extra extra. I love it.
Esther Williams is the star, and she’s wow. It’s exactly like what those synchronized swimmers did in the pool the other day, but way more intricate. The swimmers look like a gang, a gang of girls ready to out-flip whoever dares approach them. Imagine being in the middle of those girls. Me, in the center of a circle of swimmers.
I stand in front of my full-length mirror. It’s been a while, but I think I can still do a split. I do a couple of quick stretches and then start to slowly lower my body.
When I was in third grade, I bet this girl Rosa her school snacks for a week if I could do a complete split. She said my stomach was too big, there was no way I could be so flexible. She said girls like me couldn’t even touch their toes. I didn’t even hesitate. I dropped right down on the cafeteria floor. For a whole week, Rosa forked over a bag of chocolate chip cookies every day, just for me.
“What are you doing?” Ramón asks. He entered my room without knocking, which is a huge violation.
“Get out!”
“Sorry. We need to go. Please, Nat, for once, will you work with me?”
Because he apologizes, I let the trespassing infraction pass. I dust myself off and gather my things. I really need to work on my split. I’m too rusty. Ramón waits by the door.
“What’s the big rush?” I ask.
“Band practice and homework. Sheila is going to look after you.”
My brother’s band is called the Boyle Heights Brothers. I’ve heard them play before. They aren’t very good. I think they’re going for an old-school vibe like Chicano Batman minus the matching suits. Dad thinks they have talent. Then again, Dad wants Ramón to live out his own rock-and-roll dreams.
“Hey, did you know Esther Williams was from Inglewood?”
Ramón has extra-long legs. It’s hard to catch up to him while he walks. We first have to head over to Sheila’s house. We’ll pick up Joanne on the way to the pool.
“Who?”
“Esther Williams, the synchronized swimmer. She was big in the fifties.” I pull up an image I saved on my phone. Ramón takes a quick look.
“She’s pretty,” he says. “Why Esther Williams?”
The cool thing about Ramón is even when he’s slightly annoyed about being stuck with me, he doesn’t always treat me like the plague. Sure, he didn’t stick up for me with Beto, but that’s not always the case. There was that time I almost came to blows with my next-door neighbor. The boy insisted on calling me Natalia instead of Nat, even after I corrected him multiple times. I guess one day I wasn’t having it and I lost my cool, but before I did something I would really regret, Ramón took the boy aside and explained the importance of names and naming. The boy shrugged and apologized. Ramón is pretty calm, like my dad. I could use some of that. I need to learn how to be a bit more diplomatic.
“No reason. I just think it’s cool. Kicks and jumps in the water,” I say. “Mom thinks it’s too belittling to women. Synchronized swimming, that is.”
Ramón chuckles.
“Yeah, well, Mom thinks everything is questionable. Remember when she wouldn’t let me take you to watch the movie Coco because she thought the afterlife shouldn’t have any borders or border patrol?”
It took a while for Mom to give in, but eventually she let us watch Coco. I liked the film, but it’s hard to completely fall in love with something when someone points out a wrong in it.
I keep sharing Esther Williams trivia and Ramón doesn’t seem to mind.
Sheila wears the reddest lipstick ever. It makes her lips look like stop signs. Her tank top is blue and her cutoff jeans barely cover her nalgas. I’m kind of in awe. Ramón’s friends always follow Sheila around like puppies.
“What’s the name of your lipstick?” I ask her.
“It’s called Stunna.”
Stunna. Imagine having a job where you come up with names for lipsticks. I would be so good at that.
Ramón hands money to Sheila, and we head on our way to pick Joanne up. Adventures at the pool. I only hope there are new victims I can take on. There’s money to be made today. I feel lucky. I can feel it in the air.
“Ever heard of Esther Williams?”
Sheila shakes her head. “No, who is Esther Williams?”
I go on about Esther Williams and how she couldn’t make it to the Olympics. Instead, she ended up training alongside the guy who played Tarzan on television. Someone noticed her swimming skills, and she joined the Aquacade, a synchronized swimming team.
“Then a movie guy discovered her and put her in films. Pretty cool, huh?”
Sheila eyes the picture on my phone. I can tell she likes it just like me. Sheila and I are alike. I need someone on my side who loves fashion and beauty as much as I do. She knows about my stash of magazines. To avoid getting busted by Mom, I hand them over to her when I’m done. Sheila’s mom is not like my mom. She allows Sheila to wear pretty much whatever she wants. Sheila has kissed boys before. She’s cool.
“For today, do not get into any fights,” Sheila says.
“I can’t promise anything.”
She shakes her head. “There’s going to be a time when you will no longer feel the need to fight.”
I can’t stop laughing. Mom says we are in a constant struggle, and I’m born to be a warrior. A WARRIOR. Also, I don’t view my confrontations as fights. I view them as misunderstandings and teachable moments.
“You ever been in a fight?”
Sheila flips her hair. She spends a lot of time making sure her hair is blow-dried straight. It would be a dream to be able to commit to beauty every morning like her, but Mom would never allow it. If Mom would let me, I would spend so many hours figuring out what to wear and doing my makeup. If only.
“Yeah,” she says. “Her name was Brenda. She kept talking about me at school, so I had to put her in her place.”
See. Even Sheila can’t deny that teachable moments have to be forced.
“I ended up suspended from school and punished at home.”
“But it was worth it,” I say.
“No, it wasn’t it. Brenda still talks about me behind my back. It didn’t stop her. Haters will continue to hate,” Sheila says. “If they’re talking about you, it only means they’re jealous. Don’t forget it.”
I guess she’s right. Sometimes I don’t like it when kids call me names. The only thing that stops their dumb mouths from going on is a fist. My skin isn’t thick enough. Words hurt.
“Hi, Nat!” Joanne says.
Only Joanne would bring a heavy bag filled with books to the pool. She’s gearing up for the con, reading up on everything, including everyone who will be attending. She also studies which booths will be giving out freebies so we can scope them out first. Today we’re deciding which panels will be worth attending. The conference is not until October, four months from now, but it never hurts to be prepared. Besides, I have to figure out what I’m going to wear. The costumes take time to create.
“I feel lucky today,” I whisper to her. Joanne never joins me in my bets. She’s way too shy for any of my business propositions. She’s good for advice, though, and I go to her for everything.
“I have to tell you something,” Joanne says. This doesn’t sound good. I feel my nerves tighten.
“What’s going on?”
“Mom was let go from her job.”
Man. The worst news ever. Joanne doesn’t cry, but it looks like she’s about to. I place my arm around her shoulders. Her bag is so heavy. I take it from her and carry it.
