Prologue
“El camión de la basura!” Yaneriz yelled at the top of her lungs as she rushed out of the house, and Amaya followed.
A week ago, it had rained nonstop in the Dominican Republic. A layer of humidity laid in the air. The cement had just dried on their backyard, which made that day perfect for their game. Once outside the house the twins jumped over the muddy unfinished part to get to the cemented one. Their uncles had run out of cement and needed to get money for more.
Amaya didn’t make it, and in her haste, left a chancla behind. Her barefoot made a squishy sound when she stepped into the mud to pick it up. The soggy mess tickled between her toes.
With her chancla in one hand, Amaya ran to the swing. Once she reached the smooth cement her muddy foot slid and she put the chancla back on. Tight curls stuck to her temples. A bead of sweat hung on her upper lip. It smelled of rain and rust when she got to the swing.
Amaya looked up to see a face just like hers already on the seesaw. Her jaw tightened as she hopped in front of her sister. She was born fifteen minutes after Yaneriz, and her sister constantly reminded her of that. Yaneriz was also faster than her but never cared to use it unless it was to show off. Playing ‘El Camión de la Basura’ meant Amaya had to move as fast as Yaneriz to pick up all the imaginary trash from the imaginary street.
After thirty minutes went by, Yaneriz yelled, “you are not picking up the bags fast enough!”
With the strong breeze whipping her face, Amaya turned to look at the disapproving look on Yaneriz that mirrored their abuela’s.
“I am,” Amaya replied. Sweat collected on the curls by her temple that had shrunk even more with the humidity. Her high bun was now bouncing on her nape and Amaya’s stomach burned with her sister’s criticism. After a few minutes of letting Yaneriz think she didn’t care, Amaya sped up.
“There you go,” she heard her sister say.
Amaya’s chest inflated with pride, which she didn’t care to show. With the force of her swing, the breeze became spirited and cooled her scalp. This wasn’t so bad, Amaya thought.
“Okay, we finished our route. Now you gotta jump,” Yaneriz said out of nowhere.
Amaya pictured the garbage man swinging with barely one foot and one hand on the truck. She wondered what it would feel like to fly and feel the air underneath her feet.
“Come on! You are being slow again.”
Amaya gritted her teeth. She bent her knees and pushed with her back until she swung as far back as she ever had. When she reached the highest point, Amaya pushed her chest forward and jumped.
* * *
Yaneriz looked at the unfinished part of their yard, her sister’s feet, and knew right away she was going to land right on the dirt, right on top of charred glass.
Abuela told her to make sure they had shoes on, not chanclas, before going outside. Yaneriz didn’t think it was fair that Amaya didn’t have to be responsible for the things she was. Anger rose in Yaneriz’s stomach, and she knew she would get in trouble for this.
The older sister by fifteen minutes, tasted the humidity on her lips when she opened her mouth to say stop, but no words formed. Instead, she heard a shrill that dug into her bones and made her heart stop. All the anger bubbling in her stomach disappeared.
* * *
The heat from the kitchen made La Doña’s loose gray hair stick to her face. She was cooking dinner. Today Carlo’s Nueva Yol money didn’t make it; so instead of chicken, it was fried eggs with rice and beans. After the girls’ mother married a gringo and took off, Carlos did the same two years later. La Doña always thought raising children alone intimidated her son, which was why five years later he still hadn’t sent for them.
She didn’t mind taking care of her son’s girls. In her early years La Doña yearned for daughters. But her bones were getting heavier and her heart weaker.
She should have known that Yaneriz screaming at the top of her lungs and running out of the house like a cyclone was not a good idea. Yaneriz had a lot of energy and pushed her sister to match it. Which was why when they were together, her sons called them El Cyclón. La Doña didn’t mind it. They should exercise their energy, only safely. But someone hollering told La Doña safety went out the window, and she knew just who the instigator and hurt one were.
Immediately she walked outside and scanned the undone yard with weary eyes.
“Yaneriz,” La Doña growled even though it was Amaya she was focused on.
She moved her bones as fast as she could, remembering the time she could chase her kids en el campo. After seven children, nine counting the girls, her hips were too wide, her breasts too big, her knees too weak. Yet she covered the distance as if she was still thirty-three to reach Amaya and a cut she wouldn’t be able to fix.
* * *
The oldest twin watched Abuela lean down to look at Amaya and then stand up with her hand readied. Abuela didn’t raise her hand to wave, not when her face looked like that.
Once Abuela reached the paved part of their backyard, she grabbed one chancla off her foot. Knowing full well what Abuela was going to do, Yaneriz brought her hands up.
At once, the chancla ricocheted off her back, legs, thighs, and shoulders. It hadn’t stopped raining. It was raining chanclas.
“I told you to take care of your sister,” Abuela said repeatedly with chancla blows.
Her skin burned with every slap of the slinky rubber.
“Mamá,” Amaya cried out from where she landed and made Abuela stop.
Slowly, Yaneriz lowered her arms and watched her grandmother walk back to her sister.
* * *
Pain seared through Amaya’s leg. She looked at the split skin, pink meat sticking out, and blood oozing down her leg and onto the dirt. “Mamá,” she cried again.
When Abuela cradled her, Amaya hid her face in the crook of Abuela's elbow. She smelled of vics, deodorant, and seasoning.
“Respira mi niña, respira.” Abuela rocked her for a little bit before shifting to look at Yaneriz. “You are supposed to protect your sister!”
Amaya shook her head and tugged at her grandmother’s arm. “Pero me duele.”
Truth was, Abuela, yelling at her sister, hurt her more.
She didn’t have to jump, and she could have watched where she was landing, Amaya thought. But she was hoarse from crying and tired from a pain that wouldn’t stop.
“Amaya, I need to take you to the hospital,” her Abuela whispered.
Amaya shook her head. The hospital always had a lot of people and no air conditioning. Between sobs she asked, “Can’t we fix it here? Can’t Ramon?”
Ramon was going to medical school, and out of all the uncles, he was the nicest and the one that ‘borrowed’ vaccines and medical supplies, so she and her sister would stay healthy.
“Ramon won’t get here any time soon, and I’m not going to leave you like this until he gets back from school. We can’t wait.”
A pair of chanclas dragged towards them. Slowly, Amaya turned around to face her sister.
“I can help,” Yaneriz said with red eyes and a red nose.
Amaya was going to let her, but Abuela wagged her finger at Yaneriz. “No, tu te vas a quedar aqui.”
* * *
Yaneriz opened her mouth to say something but thought otherwise. Nothing she could say would be helpful.
“Finish making the dinner. At least we’ll have that,” Abuela said before taking a deep breath.
Yaneriz tightened her jaw at the thought of cooking. She hated doing it, but when she heard Abuela grunt as she scooped Amaya off the floor, she decided it wasn’t that bad. She trailed La Doña silently and watched her amble to the back door with her sister in her arms.
Once inside, Abuela placed Amaya on the kitchen counter, threw a towel over her sister’s leg, and tied it. At the pressure of the towel tightening around her leg, Amaya cried out once again. This time it was different. Yaneriz thought her sister was going to die.
A mix of powerlessness, anger, and an unknown pain traveled through Yaneriz and scared her. She bit the inside of her cheek and said nothing. Why was her leg burning and throbbing? She asked herself.
“It will keep you from bleeding too much, mi niña” Abuela said. But the pain on Abuela’s face told Yaneriz she felt it too.
After scooping Amaya again, Abuela headed out the door. Before stepping out, she called over her shoulder. “You know where everything is at.”
“Yes,” Yaneriz said. By everything, Abuela meant the machete and revolver in case someone tried something.
When Abuela’s husband left her, Abuela made sure she was never defenseless. She taught herself and then taught her children.
“Lock the door,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Yaneriz whispered as her grandma started to close the door.
She didn’t think La Doña heard her, but when she turned around, with such intensity in her eyes Yaneriz stepped back.
“Let this be a lesson to you. You are the oldest for a reason, Yaneriz, and it’s not to push your sister around but to love and protect her. All you two have is each other. When are you going to understand that?”
Yaneriz had never seen her grandma this way.
The door closed with a resolute thud. Yaneriz locked it and then peered through the window. With Amaya on her lap, Abuela hopped a ride on the back of a motorcycle.
Staring at the street, she found it strange the world had continued to go on, even when everything in hers had stopped. At that moment, she made a promise to herself: I will protect my sister.
