Titi Sylvia sucks her teeth.
“Don’t be so hardheaded, Danaís. So many people who survived Hurricane María are suffering from post-traumatic stress. Being surrounded by family is great, but it’s not a solution,” Titi Sylvia says. Her tone gets angrier. “The incident in Tampa is not the first. Stop taking it so lightly.”
“We’ve been through this already.” Mami raises her voice to match Titi’s. “Please, just let it go. The doctors found nothing wrong with her. Eury just needs to relax.”
I turn the volume up on my phone to drown out their voices. The volume is at its highest level, pounding Prince into my eardrums.
It was Titi Sylvia’s idea to have me stay here for the summer. Titi trusts doctors and hospitals and, above all else, the importance of medicine. Therapy and medication. She loves to proudly state how she had an epidural when she gave birth to Penelope and “it was the best decision of her life.” She’s always been very vocal about trying new things. Titi Sylvia is so different from Mami. Mami says she’s too americana, too willing to accept what any man in a white lab coat tells her.
“My daughter doesn’t need drugs,” Mami told the doctors who treated me after my “incident” in Tampa. “Nervios, that’s what you are suffering from. When I was your age, I went through the same thing. No drugs.”
Mom took me to church instead. She said the repetitiveness of the mass will help calm me, and it does. Reciting prayers and lighting candles help a little bit.
How can I explain to my family that what happened to me wasn’t just a breakdown? It is tied to something way more complicated. Evil. Titi Sylvia won’t understand. No one can help me, not when I’m the only one who can actually see my tormentor.
He appeared when I was five years old, almost six. It would be years later when I could finally see him for what he is. But at first, he was a friend.
“Papi, don’t leave!” I wail, flinging myself onto the floor of my parents’ bedroom. “No! Don’t go.”
Papi picks me up and dumps me on Mami’s lap. I wriggle and kick free from her embrace. I run to him, but he’s already out the door, heading toward his car. He places the last of his luggage in the trunk. I try to climb in, but the car doors are locked.
“No, Papi. Take me with you.”
Mami screams for me to come in. The neighbors look at the scene I’m causing with pity. Why is Papi doing this?
Papi doesn’t look back once. He starts the car and leaves. I’m left screaming on the porch. I run back inside my room and grab the doll Papi gave me, the new one that smells like strawberries. I was so happy when he gave me the toy. It meant the arguments between Mami and Papi would soon end.
I run to our backyard and throw the doll against our tree, hoping it will break. When it doesn’t, I search for a rock or a stick. Anything to damage the doll, to hurt it as much as Papi hurt me.
“I hate you,” I say. “I hate you so much.”
Raindrops slowly fall on my face, blending in with the tears. There is a slight rumble. I can hear thunder in the near distance. A storm is coming, like the many storms that blanket the island at the start of hurricane season. I don’t stop throwing the doll against the tree. I will break it until there is nothing left of my father’s gift.
“Here.”
A beautiful boy my age with tight brown curls appears from behind the tree. A trigueñito with angelic features. I’ve never seen him before. In his hand, the boy holds a thick branch.
“Use this,” he says and hands me the branch. “Go ahead.”
I swat at the doll, over and over again. With each hit, the doll’s face deforms. The rain drenches me completely, but I don’t stop. I hit the toy until it becomes broken pieces.
“I hate him,” I say, and I suddenly feel so tired. I go down on my knees. The rain now forms mud around me.
“I’ll hate him too,” the boy says. “We both will.”
The boy kneels beside me. We stare at the crumbled fragments while the wind slowly picks up, the shower now a downpour.
“It will be hard for him to see while he’s driving in this storm,” the boy says. “If he’s not careful, something could happen to him.”
I turn to the boy.
“You think so?” I’m suddenly filled with fear, picturing Papi in a ditch somewhere, unable to get out of the car. I hate him but not enough to wish him into an accident.
Do I?
“I don’t want something bad to happen to him,” I say. “I just want him to come back.”
“He won’t come back because of what you did,” the boy says. And I start to cry because I can’t remember what I did wrong, but I’m sure I did something to push Papi away. The boy consoles me by placing his hand on my shoulder.
“That’s okay. I’m here and I’ll never leave.”
The boy says this with such tenderness.
“Eury, come inside!” Mami yells from the porch. She’s been crying, just like me. “Please!”
“Your mother needs you,” the boy says. “If you want, I can come back tomorrow. Do you want that?”
His voice is so soothing. His eyes are not cold like Papi when he left.
“Okay,” I say.
“I’m Ato. I’ll see you tomorrow, Eury.”
Inside, Mami wraps a towel around me. “Eury, who were you talking to?” she asks.
“A boy.”
“What boy?” she says. “I didn’t see a boy. Stay inside. The storm is getting worse.”
The loud honk of a car behind us snaps me back to reality. Mami and Titi Sylvia no longer argue. Their silence is proof the conversation will most likely continue later. My sweet cousin Penelope waves frantically when Titi parks the car. I continue to search in the shadows for signs of Ato. He won’t come right away. He’ll choose a time when I feel safe, like in Tampa. This time I will make sure to be ready. I will stay alert.
“Finally!” Penelope says. “I’ve been waiting forever.”
“Get the luggage first,” Titi Sylvia says.
“Ma!”
Penelope opens the door and instantly wraps her arms around me. My eyes brim with tears. Penelope is my closest friend even though we live so far apart. She’s the only person who sort of knows what’s going on.
“I missed you so much,” I whisper into her shoulder. Her hugs fill me with hope.
“I know, prima. We’re going to have so much fun!” she says. “We’ll talk as soon as we can get away from them.”
A voice calls her name from across the street. Penelope still holds me while responding to them.
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” she yells back. “You’ll meet them fools soon enough. They give me a headache. They’re good people, tho. Let’s go inside. It’s too hot.”
Even though she’s holding me, I don’t feel frail or weak. I can lean on her, and Penelope is ready to support the weight. Lighten my load, even if it is only temporary.
“Ay, un cafecito,” Titi Sylvia says. Her husband, Charlie, left a sticky note with a heart drawing on the pot of coffee he made before leaving to work. “You girls hungry? Breakfast. You must be.”