1950

"What happened, Camila?"

I wouldn't say, of course couldn't say, but my mind was blank, too.

Mama pressed me for answers anyway. The day was hot, and everyone seemed bothered, especially Luto. Mama had come home from the factory, sweaty but in a good mood, until she heard about us kids arguing from Titi Genea.

My older cousin, Luto, brooded in the corner of the living room, arms crossed, lip bruised and cut.

"I told you what happened, Titi Carmen," Luto said.

Somehow, with everything he didn't say, it was all my fault.

A fan droned on from the corner of the room, a pink sash affixed to the front, waving lackadaisically.

Mama tucked stringy hair behind her ears. Tiny creases had fanned out on the sides of her eyes the past few years. To me, she still looked beautiful, even in her coveralls.

"It's not like her to hurt people," Mama said, frowning. "I just want to know why she did it."

"Loca," Luto muttered. I shot him a cold look, one carefully honed from my entrance into teen-dom. At thirteen, I had grown past Luto, and he no longer intimidated me. Genea told me he would grow later. Boys are slower, Titi told me over morning coffee. This thought sustained my glare for minutes.

In response, Luto hissed, "Mira, Titi, es loca!"

Titi Genea clucked her tongue. "Camila, leave the poor boy alone." A smile lingered behind her words.

Luto glared. "Everyone baby's her, but she's a crazy puta."

Mama's hand connected with his face, the slap reverberating throughout the room. Immediately, tears streamed from Luto's eyes as he cupped his flaming cheek.

His anger, which had shone crimson in his thoughts, now roared forth in a white streak.

I mirrored his actions, cupping my cheek, feeling the heat from Mama's blow.

Like fire on my face.

Still crying, Luto shoved his way past Mama and Titi to hide in the next room. Mama knelt to inspect me, but found no bruises.

Did he hurt you?

I stood, not knowing what to relay to her. I was too embarrassed. It was my fault. At least, it seemed like it was.

Mama held me by the upper arms, trying again.

Tell me what happened.

My large eyes reflected as empty pools. I wasn't sharing any thoughts with her.

Mama's shoulders slumped, and she shuffled off to the bedroom to change out of her coveralls. I peered around the corner, watching my older sister, Alondra, rub Luto's back. His chest heaved from the force of his sobs.

Now that Mama wasn't trying to interrogate me, I couldn't stop a memory from rampaging through my mind:

I heard heavy breathing, and turned to see Luto. His hands ran over my long, thick hair.

I brushed his arm away. Suddenly, his hands were everywhere, especially in the places Mama had warned me were private.

I shook my head at him, but Luto continued pinching and prodding, his hot breath blowing in my face. Anger choked me, and I tried to force it back, but I couldn't. Mama had also warned me that the anger might take me over. Sometimes it burned slow, like with the Principal. He hadn't gotten sick until weeks later, like, some kind of terminal illness. . I had begged Pedro to fix Miller, and begrudgingly, he had. Then, I'd apologized to Mama, and things had been okay for a while.

Other times, the anger hit like a wave.

Currently, the wave crested, and Luto paid the price. Two shoes from the front door flew up, smacking him on the face, over and over. He stood in shock, allowing for an easy target. In seconds, his lip was bleeding. Then he ran, screaming for Titi Genea, the shoes following like bats.

Even in the bedroom, Mama saw everything. I could feel her annoyance, and amusement. After changing, she went to find Luto. He was still sniffling, with Alondra hugging him. Mama shooed away my sister, and nudged his head, hard. He emerged from his cocoon of tears to stare up at her.

"You know I'm the mother and father in this household." Luto said nothing. "Right?"

Still, Luto remained silent.

"Right?" Mama's tone suggested he had better answer.

Slowly, Luto nodded.

"Don't forget it. And if you ever touch Camila again..." Mama leaned down to whisper, but I caught the rest in my head:

...I'll cut your balls off.

~*~