Gabi, a Girl in Pieces

July 24

My mother named me Gabriela after my grandmother who- coincidentally-didn’t want to meet me when I was born because my mother was not married and was therefore living in sin. My mom has told me the story many, many, MANY times of how, when she confessed to my grandmother that she was pregnant with me, her mother beat her. BEAT HER! She was twenty-five.

That story forms the basis of my sexual education.

Every time I go out with a guy, my mom says, “Ojos abiertos, piernas cerradas.” Eyes open, legs closed. That’s as far as the birds and the bees talk has gone. And I don’t mind it. I don’t necessarily agree with that whole wait-until-you’re-married crap though. I mean, this is America and the twenty-first century, not Mexico one hundred years ago. But, of course, I can’t tell my mom that because she’ll think I’m bad.

Or worse: trying to be White.

July 25

Less than a month before school starts again. Ugh. It’s not like I don’t want to go back to school (because I do), but I also want to lie around and do nothing for a little bit longer. Eat some tacos. Eat a few more Rocky Road ice cream cones from Rite-Aid so I have an excuse to talk to the really cute guy there who has a full sleeve but has to cover it up because apparently Rite-Aid keeps it classy. Not like he’s asked me for my number but, hey, at least I can say he’s given me something sweet.

What I really want to do before summer vacation is over is try the new super-hot wings from Pepe’s House of Wings, located-conveniently- down the street. The wings are rumored to be so hot that you have to sign a waiver before you put one little drumstick in your mouth. Which makes me wonder, what horrible thing happens when you eat them? Could you possibly have a heart attack from ingesting so much capsaicin? (I like that word. It makes me feel scientific.) DEATH BY DIGESTING FIERY WING. Sounds borderline mythical. Maybe you stop breathing but are on such a spicy-wing high that it doesn’t matter because it’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten and it’s like there are angels lifting you into heaven while your mouth burns away here on earth.

But, with my luck, I’d probably just get the runs.

Right now though, I seriously have to get up and clean my room before my mom sees the little treasures under my pillow. That woman is always finding my stash.

July 25

Later the same afternoon….

Okay. So I met up with Cindy and Sebastian and we had the wings at Pepe’s House of Wings. But my best friends are weaklings when it comes to spicy food and only ate barbecue and lemon pepper wings. Chickens. I, however, ate the super spicy (aka Caliente Caliente) wings. It felt so good signing that waiver, like I was about to do something so epic, so courageous, so dangerous, and so for the benefit of all human kind that I would be willing to sign my life away to do it. Of course it would be just like me that the most dangerous thing I have done up to this moment would be food related. Ugh.

Note to self: lose some weight. It is senior year, after all.

July 25

Later…

I was right. I got the runs.

July 28

What the fuck just happened? Long day. Have to sleep.

July 29

Yesterday was unreal. Cindy called me and told me that she needed me to come over because she had to tell me something. Last time one of my friends said they had to tell me something was when Sebastian told me he was gay. He called me and said he had “something” to tell me. Not that I didn’t know. I mean, I’ve known him since the third grade and he’s always been gay. But I was happy that he finally came out, to me at least. It was funny too. He took me to Denny’s and said, “Gabi, I have something to tell you.” And I was like, Oh my God, he’s gonna tell me he’s gay. And he was like, “Ugh, I can’t say it.” So he wrote, “I’m gay” on a napkin and passed it to me. I looked at it and couldn’t help whispering, “I know.” We both kind of laughed and were relieved.

Now he just has to tell his parents.

But when Cindy said she had something to tell me, I was wondering how I would react if she told me she was a lesbian. It would be super weird, wouldn’t it? I mean, we’ve gotten dressed in front of each other, gone skinny dipping in her pool. Should I be concerned about that? I doubt it. Not that I thought she would be checking me out (a lot) because, really, who checks out the fat girl?

Cindy didn’t tell me she was a lesbian though-which really would have been easier to handle after I found out what the “something” was.

The something was that she might be pregnant.

PREGNANT? Really? What the hell?! I mean I didn’t even know she had had sex. Or that she had a boyfriend. What kind of best friends for life are we? The kind that don’t share such intimacies, I guess. (I hope I used the word intimacies correctly. I need to get back into school mode.) Anyway, I was so pissed at the situation. Pissed and disappointed. Not at the fact that she had sex, but that she hadn’t been careful. That she had just become another statistic: Hispanic Teen Mom #3,789,258. Or some ridiculous actual number that we had been lectured about last year and had sworn we would never become. We had even criticized the girls who showed and called them stupid. “When we have sex, we’ll use a condom.” We had been so sure about it.

Our conversation was something like this:

ME: (sitting comfortably and spinning around in her desk chair) Hola muchacha! What is so urgent I had to leave a pack of half-eaten Oreos behind hidden in my underwear drawer?

CINDY: I saw…IT.

ME: It? That stupid movie about the clown who’s really a spider? I know. We watched it together.

CINDY: No. It. It. You know, a boy’s It?

ME: (no longer spinning around in Cindy’s desk chair) Wha…? What do you mean? Please tell me you mean a boy’s clown movie? Because you can’t mean penis. You can’t mean THAT. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, threw herself on the bed and started crying. I was in shock.

ME: (In my best I-am-here-for-you-best-friend-even-though-you-
just-did-something-really-stupid voice) It’s okay. It’s okay. Please stop
crying. Just tell me what happened.

CINDY: I went to a party with German a few weeks after we got out of school and I got drunk and then we did it in his car and I haven’t gotten my period! What am I going to do?

ME: What?

CINDY: Oh my God! Aren’t you listening?

ME: Yes. I almost wish I wasn’t, to tell you the truth. You went to a party, got drunk, and fucked German. I was listening. But you never told me any of this. Ever.

Now I started to cry. Not only because I was hurt about her not telling
me, but because I knew that she had just fucked up her future in a major fucked-up way.

CINDY: I didn’t tell you because I knew you would be mad. Would be like, “Why are you going out with that idiot? Why are you going to a party at Sandra’s? Why are you drinking?” And you know what? You’re right! I shouldn’t have gone but I did. I did! What do I do? What if I’m pregnant? I can’t have a baby! I don’t want to change diapers! My mom is going to kick my ass! Seriously, she’ll kill me!

ME: Okay well…(I felt bad for her because her mom probably would kick her ass). You’re not even sure if there’s a bun in the oven. Maybe you haven’t gotten your period because you’re stressed? I read somewhere that that can happen.

CINDY: Really? Are you sure? That’s probably it then. (She sounded too relieved, so I had to bring her back to reality.)

ME: I didn’t say I was sure. I said maybe. But to make sure, why don’t we go to Stuffix Pharmacy after the SATs on Saturday and get one. of those pregnancy tests?

She agreed. After we settled down, got some ice cream and Hot Cheetos, we watched Juno and thought about how much Sunny Delight we would have to buy.

July 30

I lay in bed for a long time this morning, thinking about Cindy and the fact that she could be pregnant. I don’t like German, she was right about that. He’s an idiot. German is one of those guys who knows he’s super hot and assumes that girls HAVE to like him. Like, if he asks a girl out and she says no, he’s one of those guys who will say stupid things such as, “Well, fuck you, stupid bitch-I was trying to do you a favor.” One of those gems. What he doesn’t understand is that we don’t have to like him. It doesn’t matter if you’re a beauty queen like Cindy (tall, thin, beautiful olive skin and curly brown hair) or if you’re me (short, plump, long straight hair, and super light-skinned), if we don’t like you, well, we don’t like you.

I don’t know how Cindy could’ve been so stupid as to have sex with him. Anyone but German would have (probably) been better.

The rest of the day I spent arguing with Beto about how loud his music was and that-although I appreciated his love of the Notorious B.I.G.-Rosemary, the little old lady next door (who I love to visit), did not. It didn’t matter though, because all I got was a lot of door slamming, volume raising, and “You’re not my mom.” He’s right. I’m just his older sister-but only by two years.

August 1

Saturday. SATS. I woke up late this morning. I had set my alarm for 7:00 a.m., but didn’t get up until 7:27. I didn’t have time for the bacon and eggs my mom had made, only enough time to kill my dragon-breath with some toothpaste and change into the freshly worn clothes from yesterday. Even then, I barely made it to school in time for the test. Thank God, I can drive now. Otherwise I would have been screwed.

I waited for Cindy after the test and we drove to the pharmacy to face the moment of truth. On the way there, we went through all the possible scenarios. What if she is pregnant? I suggested she tell her mom that an angel had come to her in a dream and told her not to be scared but that she was carrying the son of God. If her mother was as Catholic as she says she is, then she has to believe her. Cindy didn’t think it was that funny, but I laughed my ass off!

We walked into the pharmacy. Luckily no one was there. No one. except that nosy bitch Georgina. Ugh. And I knew she would have something stupid to say. We got what we needed and went to pay. As luck would have it, she was the only one with a register open. Georgina just smirked at us and said, “Well, Gabi, I know this isn’t for you. No one would be fucking your fat ass. So, I guess, the winner is…Cindy! Does German
know yet?” (She said this in the most annoying voice possible which- for Georgina-is pretty damn amazing because she already has the most annoying voice possible.)

I don’t know what made me say it but I grew some balls at that moment and said, “Your mom would be fucking my fat ass. So shut your trap and do your job, Kmart.”

Which, now that I think about it, was an absurd comeback. Why would her mom be fucking my fat ass? Just like me to be saying something dumb like that. Georgina just kept making that stupid face as we walked out of the store.

We went to my house and did the deed.

The stripes turned pink.

We hugged, threw ourselves on my Hello Kitty bedspread, and cried.

August 5

I was sitting at the back of the bus today, watching the old retarded couple making out (like usual), thinking about Cindy, when Georgina got on the bus. As soon as I saw her stupid clown face, I really wished I had begged my mom for at least another hour to let me borrow the car so I could visit Sebastian. I tried to act like I didn’t see her and pretended to text but, of course, she sat next to me.

“Hey, fat ass.”

“Hola, Little Payasa.” She really hates it when I call her that. So I do it as often as I can.

“Look at those two retards. How nasty. People like that should never ever make out. It’s so freaking gross!”

I told her she was an idiot and not to say things like that because that was mean, and how does two mentally challenged people loving each other affect her, but talking Georgina out of being an idiot is like making carnitas out of chicken-unnatural. Luckily my stop came by quick, and I was able to leave her behind just as she was beginning to ask about Cindy.

“So how is your prego…”

I made an unkind gesture with my middle finger and stood up.

When I got off the bus, Sebastian was already waiting. He had been gone for a few days with his family on a vacation to Mexico, Mazatlan or somewhere like that near the beach, so he was ultra tan. Right away I knew he was upset.

“Oh my God! I just talked to Cindy!”

“Did she tell you?”

“Yes!”

“Can you believe that shit?” He shook his head and I said, “Well, she’s gone and done it now, and it sucks big hairy ass. But-she wants to keep it. I was there the day she told her mom. For moral support, you know, but it went bad. Really bad. Her mom almost beat the shit out of her. Slapped her hard across the face and asked me to leave. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t want to leave her, but her mom went crazy and was yelling at me to go home, and I was afraid that she’d hit me too, so I booked it and left.”

We kept going on like that the whole two blocks to his house. When we got there, we locked ourselves in his room. We talked about Cindy forever, and then I finally asked him about his trip. He told me about all the cute boys he saw. His dad let him drink beer with him because apparently in Mexico there is no legal drinking age. Even embryos enjoy a beer with their tacos, he said. I wonder what that would look like? Hmmm. We kept on talking about Mexico and about his grandma who is hilarious and an awesome cook. Sebastian told me about how close he felt to his dad now and that he thought that he would tell him about being gay and that he was sure he would understand. I’m not too sure about that. His dad may be cool with him because they threw back a few beers, but his dad hates gays. I know. I’ve heard him say it. His exact words were, “I hate pinches jotos.” I didn’t tell Sebastian though, because I thought it would hurt his feelings. Even if I told him, he would say something like, “It’s different because it’s me. I’m his son.” Yeah, I don’t think that would be the case. We talked some more about school and how excited (and nervous) we are that this is our last year and our plans for the future and blah blah blah. It was getting late so I had to leave. He walked me to the bus and waited with me. We heard a car screech to a stop and turned to see what had happened. There was a homeless looking guy on his bike weaving across the street towards us. It was my dad. Luckily the bus showed up before he saw me.

August 7

Sebastian told his parents. He is sleeping on our couch until he finds a permanent home.

August 10

Sebastian hasn’t really said anything since his parents dropped him off. They didn’t even come in, just dropped him off and threw his stuff on the sidewalk. Cindy came over that night, we watched Pride and Prejudice, and my mom ordered us some pizza. She wasn’t too happy that Cindy came over though, but she let her stay because she knew that Sebastian needed his friends. Earlier today she had gone on this whole spiel about Cindy’s pobrecita madre and the pain that she was going through because of her bad, bad daughter. It was really long. It was something like-

“You can’t hang out with her anymore. She is a bad influence. She’s a bad, bad girl. I knew that she would come to this. Always so desperate and siempre de ofrecida, no se daba a respetar. No respect for herself at all. What’s she gonna do? Quit school? Probably. She can’t do both. Maybe she should give up the baby. I don’t want you to talk to her anymore. She’ll give you bad advice and convince you to do the same thing she did, and then you’ll go and open your legs for everybody. You know who I feel sorry for? Her mom. How is Linda going to show her face at parties and church now? Didn’t that mensa think about what she would do to her madre? Claro que no! No mas abrio las piernas y ya. Que bonito! Of course not, how nice. But now that she opened her legs and had a good time, the one who is going to have to deal with everything is her mom. Que selfish. Don’t even think about calling her or going over there. Her mom is probably feeling really depressed and probably wants to be alone. I’ll have to call her and tell her I’m sorry to hear about what happened. Pobrecita Linda, I wonder what she did to deserve such a bad girl? Thank God, you’re not like that.”

She really has no idea what Cindy is going through. I would have thought that because I was born a bastard child, she would show more sympathy-that she would know how it feels to have your parents react so irrationally. But I guess as you grow older, you forget that you were ever young and that you may have been in love and may have forgotten (or didn’t think about) condoms and made mistakes. At least my mom has forgotten. And besides, it’s not like Cindy said, “I’m going to sleep with an asshole and get pregnant, just so that my mom can’t show her face at parties and my dad won’t talk to me. Why? Because I want to be seen as a horrible daughter! Ha, ha, ha!” It was something that happened. I told her that Cindy was not a bad influence, she just made a mistake and that she was my friend, and we had to be there for Sebastian. I argued and begged and she finally said, “Esta bien.”

I was surprised that she let Sebastian stay, surprised that she actually felt bad for him. She said that even though she hoped that her own son wouldn’t be gay, if he was she would still love him. And that only bad mothers abandon their children. Knowing that made me kind of proud of my mom.

August 15

So we finally found out what happened on the day that Sebastian’s parents kicked him out. Apparently his dad said something like, “Odio a los jotos! I hate fags!” (Which must’ve sounded weird because his dad has a super thick Mexican accent.) “The two worst things that could happen to a man are that his wife sleeps with another man and that his son is gay. And since tu madre querida, ya se habia revolcado with that guy from the laundrymat and is obviously a whore, there was only one more thing left! You ruined my life. Chingado! Hijo de puta! Get out of my house! I don’t want to see you ever again. You are no son of mine.”

So, yeah, it didn’t go as planned. His mom took a telenovela approach to the situation and told him that she would rather be dead than have a gay son and tried to slit her wrists. Obviously she didn’t really mean to die or else she would have made sure to pick up a real knife and not a butter knife. I had to hold in a laugh at that. A butter knife, really? Who does that? That very night they told Sebastian that he had to leave, and that’s when he called me crying. I woke up my mom and she said it was fine. Even Beto was okay with it. And my brother is not known for his compassion. The only one we didn’t tell was my dad but he probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway.

Sebastian also told me some other things that made me sad. He told me how he had always known he was gay, but how he had tried to be straight. How he stared at boobs and tried to feel something. How he even pretended. to have a crush on Sandra. How he prayed every night, pleading, “Make me love girls, make me love girls,” but God didn’t listen. I try to imagine Sebastian on his knees, crying and praying and nobody answering.

I wonder how it must feel to have disappointed your mother so much she would rather kill herself than look at you. Never mind-I don’t want to know.

August 18

My mom is at it (again), which means my dad finally came back home (and looked like hell). Whenever he comes home after being gone for weeks, with a beard and smelling like he’s never heard of a shower, she tries to make our lives seem as normal (whatever that is) as possible. And since Sebastian is here, she’s trying as hard as ever. However, all of her attempts make us seem more dysfunctional than before. She came into my room (un-freaking- announced!) and saw me in my underwear! I got super mad and told her to please get out. She was all like, “Ay, I’ve seen you naked, I’m your mom.” But she waited on the other side of my door anyway. When she came in, she had this pink sparkly thing hanging on her arm. I cringed, guessing at what it was. It was a dress. A freakin dress! Ugh! Why does she do that?!?! She knows I hate dresses! How am I going to look in a dress? Ridiculous! Like an overstuffed carne asada burrito, that’s how! Beans spilling out the top, tortilla squished together at the bottom. Horrible. Just horrible.

Dresses and I don’t get along. The way I see it, a dress is restricting. It’s a trap.

Let’s say, for example, you are with your friend Cindy at the local elementary school a few blocks from your house and suddenly these really cute boys and one not so cute boy pass by on their bikes. This is just hypothetical, but your friend Cindy thinks it would be funny to flash the boys. Because, you know, she has big boobs, double D’s, not like you because not even four of your boobs would equal one of hers and she can do tricks too, she can make them move up and down without even touching them. They have a life of their own, her boobs do.

So, she does it. She really does it! (Even though you thought she was just shitting you!) Shirt goes up and “Hello, boys!” You laugh but since you are laughing so hard you’re about to piss your pants, you realize too late that the boys are pedaling back and have decided to do a little flashing of their own. They are coming at you quick with their hands on their zippers! And in an instant, you’re in OH-SHIT mode. So now you have to run because maybe you have seen a penis in a picture, or you imagine what it looks like, or they showed a movie once in class about the Holocaust and you were like, “Wow. That’s what it looks like. It’s uglier than I imagined.” But to be confronted with the real thing was not in your plans for a sunny Saturday afternoon.

How does this relate to a dress? Well, hypothetically, you decided to wear a dress and suddenly you have to run home before José whips It out, and the shortest route home is to jump Mrs. Sanchez’ fence and then jump the other fence to your backyard, and you realize much too late that you are wearing a flouncy brown dress, and you say fuck it and jump the fence anyway, but much to your chagrin only you and half a dress would make the journey. You sneak into your room bare-assed and sweaty-and laugh until your side hurts.

Or if that is not enough reason for hating dresses, what about that time…

…when I was in eighth grade and was walking home and heard a group of boys whistling and laughing. The blonde one shouted, “I can see your underwear!” But I didn’t get it. See, I was wearing clothes, so he was probably just being an asshole, and I kept walking, but then I felt a breeze on my butt, a breeze that was just a little too cold. He was right. Blonde Boy could see my underwear and so could all of Sixth Street. I realized that when I put my backpack on at school (about twenty minutes before), my dress had gotten caught and up it went, and everyone could see my old beige underwear, those big old granny underwear that I used to wear because my mom didn’t let me buy thongs even though I was almost in ninth grade (or at least bikini underwear like the other girls in my class), and I thought, Trágame tierra! I wanted to be a worm or a mole or a gopher or any type of insect or vermin that lives underground where no one could see me or my calzones de abuelita.

But my mom doesn’t understand this. She never does. I don’t get it. I guess it’s because we have a lightswitch relationship. Sometimes she’s wonderful. Sometimes not so much. When she says, “No comas tanto. You’re getting fatter than a pregnant woman,” she’s not so wonderful. But when she says, “She loves to read. She has a 3.75. Mira, le dieron otro certificado,” like she knew it all along (that I’m smart and not as bad as she thought), she’s the best. On and off. Like light itself-bright and dark. Mother and daughter. That’s us. I wish it were different. I wish she would be more understanding, but that’s not who she is, I guess.

The pink sparkly dress draped on her arm is for my senior picture. So I will look pretty. Now I’m going to have to wear it, otherwise it would hurt her feelings. Oh well. Asi es la vida. That’s my life at least.

August 25

Senior year starts tomorrow! I am sooo not going to be able to sleep. Even Sebastian (who is having one of the saddest summers ever) is looking forward to it. We couldn’t stop talking about school but finally just went to bed.

August 26

It was a crazy first day! Luckily I can drive to school now, and that is awesome-even if I have to bring Beto with me. We agreed that we would switch off on radio stations. Otherwise I would have to listen to him bitch about only listening to “main stream” rock. The one bad thing is that Cindy, Sebastian, and I don’t have any classes together. I had to change my schedule around to fit my poetry class. Sebastian is in Calculus while I am in Algebra II…again. I only failed because it was boring the way Mrs. Black taught it, and (because the math gods hate me) I have her again this year. I’m so gonna tear my hair out. Four years in a row with the same math teacher? That has to be illegal. On the plus side, Joshua Moore, the super hot White boy I’ve had a crush on since freshman year, is in my class! Ahhhhhh! I need to relax. Gabi, get a grip!