Our phones went dark. There was no sound, no image. No connection to whatever was unraveling on the other side of the country. Just a blank screen. We held our breath and waited, pinched with fear.
And then, a few moments later, a new, haunting image flickered on. I’d never seen anything like this being broadcast before. It was a large desk in the middle of a bare room. There were stark gray cinder-block walls behind it, interrupted only by a portrait of the President and an empty wooden chair.
I flipped to another feed, and another. But they were all showing the same thing. The same desk, the same wall, the same portrait.
As if to wipe away everything that had just happened.
As if to wipe us all away.
CHAPTER 2
Mami didn’t even pretend to sleep that night. I could feel her next to me on the pullout couch, rolling around, getting up, and lying back down. By three in the morning, I went to get a drink of water and found her in the kitchen making a big pot of ajiaco. Her long, wavy hair was slipping out of its usually tight bun. She was chopping and stirring so slowly as she stared out our palm-sized window. The sky outside was cool and steely, with just a scoop of fading moon.
“Mami? Why are you cooking?” I asked.
“¡Mi’ja!” she said, spinning around. She blinked quickly to wipe away any signs of being frightened or even surprised by my voice. Then she came over and squished my cheeks hard between her thick palms. “Vali, vete a dormir,” she told me.
“I can’t sleep,” I said.
“You have to,” she insisted.
Mami was fiery and tough as nails. Even at five foot one, I was sure she could hold up the world, or carry me and Ernie through the apocalypse—whichever came first. She had broad shoulders, a barrel-shaped middle, and weathered café con leche skin; her dark eyes were always sparking with determination. Mami worked on McAuley’s Dairy Farm just outside of our town of Southboro, Vermont. A few weeks before, she helped birth a calf that was breech. She tried to tell me about the thrill of catching its placenta, but I gagged. Absolutely nothing made Mami squeamish or scared. Her rules for survival were:
Love all creatures, great and small.
Quit your worrying, and praise God you’re alive.
Protect your family at all costs.
“Mi’ja, a dormir,” she said, her voice low and husky. Her thick lips only worked their way into a smile if she truly meant it. Now they were pursed into a tight frown.
I frowned back, our faces almost identical. I loved that I looked so much like my mami. We had the same skin color, the same long dark hair, even the same hips. We got to share bras, lip liners, and an obsession with old-school reggaeton. Most of all, I felt like Mami could see straight inside me, tunnel through all my confusion and fear, and hold on to my heart for safekeeping.
On any other day, I wouldn’t have dared argue with my mami. I’d just have gone back to bed like she told me to. I was a pretty respectful kid. But I couldn’t ignore what I was feeling and go lie down. No matter what Mami said, this wasn’t a normal day. This was only a few hours since we’d witnessed that girl being blown to bits in front of the Mexican/United States border, since we’d seen people in San Diego charging toward the Wall and then heard shots tear through the crowds. This was the morning after, or maybe just a continuation of that terrifying instant when we were here and the West Coast was on fire, and nobody was telling us what was going on.
I knew that if I tried to lie down for another minute, all I would see when I closed my eyes was that girl’s ponytail—so bouncy and full, and then swallowed in flames in the same breath. Or I would fall into another nightmare about her stepping on a land mine and her body exploding into guts and eyeballs and shreds of Mickey Mouse shirt.
And me, running across that field, desperate to put her back together, knowing I never could.
“¿Mi’ja?” Mami squeezed my cheeks. “Go.”
“But what about Tía Luna? Have you talked to her yet?”
Mami shook her head, turning back to her pot on the stove.
“Is everything still down?” I asked. Mami didn’t answer. One glance at my phone said it all. The government had shut everything off—internet, cell service. Nothing to see here; nothing to be done. Feeding us only that empty chair and portrait in a cinder-block room.
This was where we were now: in the utter darkness.
“We still have the National News report,” Mami said, resigned. “They tell about same thing over and over. The economy so good, trade wars we win. And did you know there is a new sandal with a . . . cremallera? It is very popular this season,” she reported.
“What are you talking about?” I shot back—a little too loudly for Mami.
“Shhh. Por favor, Ernie’s still sleeping,” she whispered. “This is all they tell us. This is all the news I have for you.”
I reached for Mami’s phone on the counter. It was hot in my hand. I saw she’d dialed Tía Luna’s number fifty-three times since last night. I tried for a fifty-fourth time, but all I got was that meaningless message again: Your request cannot be processed at this time.
“Vali, por favor,” Mami said, taking the phone from me before I could dial again.
“I wanna know what’s going on!”
“Me too, mi’ja. Pero they tell us nothing right now. So just go to sleep,” she said. She smushed me into her chest for a brisk hug, then pushed me out the kitchen door. And that was that.
I tried to go to sleep. I really did. I went into the living room and lay down, first on my side of the bed, then on Mami’s side, then horizontally. There was just too much tumbling inside of me. Bright flashes of that girl stepping forward. The earth erupting, the livestream falling, the stampede of feet and dust. The gunshots going wild.
I grabbed my phone and searched for any possible pictures or reports about last night. There was nothing. Or really, there was the National News morning show, with hosts in chalky makeup, pointing to weather maps and sipping fake coffee from their empty mugs. Putting on this government-sponsored charade about the US waking up to a brand-new, fantabulous day, even though I knew for a fact that we were in the middle of the worst economic downfall in American history. Nothing was growing here. The drought was killing off all vegetation and livestock, we had strict water rations, and we were lucky that Mami even had a job.
The TV hosts’ teeth were so white and straight as they yammered on about made-up facts, like
The US economy is soaring!
The drought is almost over!