Page 58 of And Still Her Voice
“What are you reading?” I asked.
“Jesus and the Disinherited.I picked it up at my church in San Francisco.”
I didn’t want to think about Jesus at the moment, so I returned to my own book, which would surely land me in hell. By the second page, I’d stopped reading aloud, my temperature rising and burning through to my Catholic core. The inside of the bus warmed to the temperature inside a virgin’s womb and the engine vibrated beneath me like a heart beating on speed which causedmy vagina to feel sinful things I had no control over. The protagonist was having sex with a complete stranger on the plane. I was grateful Grandma hadn’t made an appearance so far. I peeked across the aisle. River had his head buried inEbony, the “Best Dressed Women of 1968” issue. Fat chance. The only sex I’d be having would be in my dreams, and it wouldn’t be with River.
After several miles and several pages of sex with strangers, I heated up enough to ignite the book on fire. Toes curling, I set down the novel and wiped the drool from my swelling lips. I rubbed my eyes and opened them to see River staring at me, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.
“Ooh la la?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I tossed him the book. “How’s it going with John? Why aren’t you back there having an orgy with the others?”
“Not my thing.” River laughed, tossing the book back. “He’s still trying to find himself. I’m more monogamous. Besides, I do have my standards.”
I grinned, suspecting the truth was that River proved too much competition for John.
Tony, who had apparently passed out last night in the space behind me, popped up from underneath a mound of tarps and blankets. “Did someone say ‘orgy’?”
No such luck losing Tony. I wondered why he’d been warned. I stuffed the book into my sack.Emanuellewould be part of my future sex-ed class, but still I’d never figure River out, much less the whole concept of sex. Was I confusing lust for love as Grandma put it? I pulled my leather-fringed dress out of the bag to mend the tear before the next show. You’d think I’d learned my lesson by now, but I was seventeen and the mixed cocktail of rum, marijuana and raging hormones had cut off oxygen to my brain, making me lose precious smart brain cells. Also, it didn’t help having to watch everyone else in the band hook up.
***
At the end of March, we made a quick trip into New Orleans for a concert at the Stash House, a place practically right on the Mississippi River. After the concert, River said goodnight and I took a short cab ride back to my hotel room at the Hotel Saint Vincent up on Magazine Street and turned in. The next morning, as I waited for room service to deliver my breakfast, I called home.
Maggie answered.
“It’s only Thursday. Why aren’t you in school?” I placed my clothes from the night before onto pink cushioned hangers.
“It’s closed. A bunch of the Mexican kids from the local high schools had a walk out as part of the Chicano Movement. I marched the first day, but it’s not really my thing.”
“Being Mexican isn’t part of your thing?” I hung up my velvet blue fringed top.
“The only way to get ahead is to work hard. I got a promotion at the bank.”
“You’re on your way.” I heard a knock on the door. “Hold on a sec.” I set down the phone. A bellboy pushed a cart into my room and then lifted the lid to a silver serving dish. He poured me a cup of coffee. “Thank you.” I picked the phone back up.
“Who’s that? One of your many lovers? Mom says that’s why you don’t want to come home. That you’re living in sin shacking up with a paramour. You know all that free love everyone’s talking about. Where are you anyway?”
“Paramour, that’s a fancy word for Mom.”
“She probably picked it up in one of her romance novels,” Maggie said.
“I wish I had at least one paramour,” I said, pouring in some cream and sugar. “I’m in New Orleans. That was room service, not a lover.” I stirred.
“Look at you! There’s working hard and then there’s doing what you do.”
I laughed. “Speaking of working hard and love, how’s Mom?” I blew into my cup.
“She’s good. She’s been spending a lot of time over at Uncle Teodoro’s house. That barrio is so depressing.”
“I guess.” I took a sip.
“But I do remember they made it fun.”
I didn’t remember having fun over there. What I remember was the spot under a pepper tree in a nearby field full of mustard plants where I’d escape to read books likeGulliver’s TravelsorJames and the Giant Peach.
I told Maggie I’d call her back later. I couldn’t wait to eat my breakfast without going down memory lane and developing indigestion. I didn’t want to think about not having someone to love me.
***
