#findingana

Aye dios mio, but I would never forget the look on the man’s face when he landed on my windshield. The keys jangling in the shattered windshield, the blood, the debris, it all faded into the background. But he was bathed in light, and his face looked like the painting of Jesus in my living room. His expression was almost one of bliss. Even as I prayed that he lived, I hoped that he died. Oh shit! If I got caught there goes a quincenera, never mind a Sweet Sixteen party.

I wanted to turn back the clock and start the night over, heck, start my life over. But it was too late.

________________________________________

First day of spring semester and Sylvia and her crew were already starting shit. It’s like she could smell how bad I wanted to be down and was just as determined to make sure I never entered the inner circle. I was standing near my orange locker with Lisette and Rosie when she walked over with her girls, trying to act like they were feeling us and just wanting to say hi. But I knew the deal; I knew the cracks would start sooner rather than later. Still, no matter how much I prepared myself, the put-downs always felt like a sharp, stinging slap in the face. I knew today would be no different, even with the new outfit from The Gap, the new sneakers, and the visit to the hair salon.

“Oh snap, look y’all, Ana got that hair straightened for the first day of school! You go girl, getting those naps out the kitchen so you can represent!”

Sylvia’s little gang of witches laughed and looked at my hair like they were expecting it to talk back or something.

“Yeah, I may have a relaxer in my hair, but at least it doesn’t affect my brain, seeing as how I’m in the right grade. Hey, Sylvia, why don’t you go somewhere and learn how to read English?”

She sucked in a hard breath and stepped toward me. Her girls stopped laughing and looked a little scared, like something might actually break out between us. Raising a finger in my face, Sylvia offered a tight smile. I was terrified that she might actually hit me. Hard.

“At least I know how to speak Spanish, and at least I look Spanish. Not like some morena trying to pass herself off as Latina with a head full of nappy hair and that black skin. You better go join your people and quit trying to be something you’re not, Ana Carr.”