I look in Pheus’s direction, and he returns my stare. What does this action mean when Melaina is right beside him? It means nothing.
When Pheus sang the words to “Adore,” I felt such a heaviness in my chest. I didn’t expect to be moved so deeply by his voice. The first time I heard Prince, Mami was in the kitchen singing quietly to the song “Kiss.” This was before Papi left us. They were still arguing, but not that day. It was such a rare treat to see Mami enjoy anything, let alone a song. Whenever I could, I would ask her to play “Kiss” for me. As I got older, I eventually discovered all of Prince’s songs.
My love for Prince stems not only from how talented a musician he was, there’s no argument there, but Prince was also very spiritual. In the interviews I read, he was always so forthcoming with that. After being such a sexual person, Prince found religion, and this blessing came through in his songs. Prince was telling the world you can be both: passionate and a believer.
Pheus doesn’t sound anything like Prince. He doesn’t even sound like Romeo Santos, although I can see why the comparisons are being made. The talent to move a person simply with a guitar and a voice. Does Pheus understand how few people have this ability? I can’t stop glancing over to him.
“Who’s bringing the congas?” Jaysen asks.
More and more people come to the beach. Large families and couples. The circle of friends expands. Penelope doesn’t push me to join. Conversations continue without me. In between the groups of people finding space on the beach, I search for signs of Ato. My sneakers still on even as I lie on the blanket.
A tiny sparrow with speckled gray and brown feathers tears into a piece of bread, making a quaint peeping sound. This bird looks nothing like las llorosas de Puerto Rico, who are slightly bigger and darker, but I can’t help thinking of them. When the llorosas are afraid, they make a screeching, crying sound, hence their name.
A young girl and boy, about six years old, give chase to the bird that flies away. The girl holds a bucket while the boy starts digging into the sand using a plastic shovel. The sun already lightening the ends of his curls to a honey color.
“Yo te enseño,” he says. The girl listens and plops down beside him. The boy takes hold of the bucket and places both his hands in it. He lifts his cupped hands and sprinkles water on the little girl. She lifts her face up as if she’s being blessed.
A vision of me as young as this girl comes to me. Like her, there was a time when I, too, was anointed.
Raindrops lightly tap my forehead. I lift my face and close my eyes to let the water cool my hot skin. Although I try to enjoy this, I can’t stop thinking of him.
“Don’t be sad.” Ato appears as soon as I think of Papi. It is as if he can sense when my mind fills with heartbreak again. Papi has been gone for close to three years, but I still think of him every day. Still wish for him to return.
“Do you want to play?” Ato asks.
“Okay,” I say.
“Here.” He hands me a bright red trompo. Ato wraps the long string around the top’s body before letting it spin on the ground. The trompo twirls so fast. It’s mesmerizing to watch.
When Papi left us, Mami spent her days crying. I didn’t know what to do. There was barely food in the house, but at least I had Ato. He stayed by my side, making sure I found things to eat. We picked mangos and ate them, leaving the pits on the ground. The neighbors eventually forced Mami out of bed to find a job. While Mami works, I stay with our neighbor Blanca. But I don’t really need any looking after, not when I have Ato.
“Come from out of the rain,” Blanca says.
We are by el Río Cibuco. Blanca said it would do me good to be outside. She planned this excursion to the river but didn’t expect the change in weather. I ignore her request to take shelter. I’m too busy concentrating on the trompo spinning and on Ato.
“Do you ever miss your home?” I ask. I’m worried Ato will stop visiting me, that I will step outside my house and he will no longer be there to greet me.
Ato hums a song by Prince, the one we both love so much. “Diamonds and Pearls.”
“I only think of us when we are together. I don’t think of the things I miss,” he says. “I can create new memories to remind me of home.”
With a slight flourish of his hand, the trompo lifts up into the air. The toy turns and twists with the help of the wind and Ato’s motions.
“It will be different when we are there together,” he says. “El Inframundo isn’t just for anyone. You have to be selected. Chosen. Do you know why I chose you?”
“No, Ato,” I say. “Why?”
Ato sings the words to “Diamonds and Pearls.” He sings of never running away, that love is meant for us. It’s nice to be loved, to be wanted. Ato chose me.
“But what about Mami? I don’t want to leave her.”
He pauses. “Don’t you think she might be able to take care of herself better? Then you wouldn’t have to go to the neighbor’s house.”
I think of all those times I tried to get Mami’s attention and she would just stare at the bedroom ceiling, like I wasn’t even there. Even now there are times when I feel invisible around her. I learned how to conceal my tears so she wouldn’t notice. I don’t want to add to her grief.
“I don’t know,” I say. “She would miss me.”
“Like your Papi misses you?”
Ato makes the top drop to the ground. I am once again filled with sadness.
“Don’t worry, Eury. I won’t leave you,” Ato says. “I will never treat you like your father.”
And I believe him.
The little girl and boy run past me toward the ocean. Their tiny feet kick up sand.
“Right, um, Eury? Florida is basically Puerto Rico now,” a boy with neon green hair says. “Everyone who left the island lives there.”
“Dizque Puerto Rico isn’t Puerto Rico if everyone is abandoning it,” Jaysen says as if I’m to blame. “Am I right? How is the island supposed to get its act together when everyone is bailing?”
“Leave it for the next guy to fix,” a girl says.
They continue to talk about my home as if they can clearly see the solution. My family’s failure to stay on the island is written off as abandonment.
The hurricanes will return later this summer. Fear will march alongside and blanket the island. Hurricanes have always been part of our fabric. My mother and I have each gone through so many. We always knew how to handle the situation. It wasn’t as if we weren’t prepared for Hurricane María. We were. That day was different. What began as a slow build—some rain, some tossed palm trees—transformed into an unnatural predator.
They talk of my home as if they would have made better decisions if they’d been there. They have no idea what my family faced. What I faced.
“You think you are safe here,” I say. “Florida isn’t a sanctuary. Neither is New York.”
“I’m confused,” Melaina says, her body pressed firmly against Pheus like he’s a wall. “Why are you here, then?”
It’s an innocent enough question even if Melaina’s intentions are to malign. She sees me as a threat. Melaina and her layers of insecurity.