“It’s okay, Yami, just go. I’ll be fine,” Cesar says, but I don’t think he convinced either of us.
“Go home. I’ll handle it.” Mom hands me her keys. We’re both crying. But I can’t stay here forever, and I can’t go to Horizon with Cesar. So I go home.
23
In Lak’ech Ala K’in
The cracked mirror in my room mocks me. It zooms in on my runny nose and wet eyelashes. I slam my fist on the desk but don’t feel it. All I feel is dizzy and mad. I grip the edges of the vanity for balance. I want to blame someone. I can’t stop thinking about that doctor threatening Cesar. Or my parents being homophobic. Or Cesar wanting to . . .
The edges of my vision go black, and all I can see is my fractured reflection staring back at me. My mom’s voice echoes in my head.
You should have been there!
I want to take back punching the mirror the first time, just so I can do it now.
You should have been there!
I punch it again anyway. And again. And again.
I can’t hear myself bawling, or feel the blood dripping from my knuckles.
“You should have been there!” I scream out loud at what’s left of my reflection.
I hit it until every bit of shattered glass falls from the vanity.
My knees are about to give out, so I stumble to the bathroom to wash the blood off my hands. I refuse to look at my face. I focus on the blood. So much blood on my hands. I can’t stop them from shaking. From anger or blood loss, I don’t know. They’re already starting to swell.
I want to punch this mirror, too. But this one is ours. And I barely have the strength to pick out the leftover shards of glass from my knuckles.
I let the water run over my hands. I don’t know how long I’m standing there. A few minutes, an hour, maybe. It doesn’t matter.
Cesar has gauze and bandages under the sink. He hasn’t had to use them all year. I thought that meant he was doing better, but maybe it just meant he lost the will to keep fighting. I should have been there. . . .
It takes me longer than it should to wrap my hands. They won’t stay steady. When I’m finished, I look up. The Code of the Heart stares back at me: In Lak’ech Ala K’in.
I got blood on the poem.
My knees finally give out, and I sob on the bathroom floor until I fall asleep from exhaustion.
I wake up in my bed. Mom must have carried me here, which means she saw the glass on the carpet and didn’t kill me. She turns on her bathroom shower, but I can still hear her wailing. When the sound of pouring water goes away, she cries louder. Eventually I hear her footsteps, and light peeks through the crack of my door.
“Are you up, mija?” She sounds hoarse.
“Yeah.”
She turns the light on and sits at the foot of my bed without mentioning the glass on the floor. She didn’t bother putting on the sunglasses she always wears to hide her crying eyes. She’s holding Cesar’s phone.
“I have to tell you something. I’m so sorry.”
“What?” I sit up so fast my vision goes white. I can’t handle any more bad news.
“Mija, I don’t know how to tell you this. . . .”
“Just tell me, Mami. You’re scaring me.” As much as I don’t want any bad news, I don’t want to be in the dark either.
“I think Jamal was cheating on you . . . with your brother.”
“What?” This feels like a fever dream. Why would she be bringing this up now?