Soledad: A Novel

by Angie Cruz

But if they knew the truth (and how much I am paying for it), they’d declare me insane and send my uncle Victor to tie me up on the hood of his Camaro and bring me back home, kicking and screaming.

She wants her family to find out. Why? To bring her back? Or to show them she was capable of escaping?

Like my grandmother, the old lady wears heavy pressed powder three shades lighter than her skin tone. Just looking at her makeup gives me allergies.

Highly critical of her grandmother. Judging on appearance

When I first moved downtown and people where I work asked me where I was from, I used to say the Upper West Side, vaguely.

Washington Heights is an embarrassment. Does she deny she is Dominican?

I knew that people associated what they saw on the news with the place I grew up in — a war zone filled with cop killers, killer cops, crack dealers, gang members and lazy welfare mothers — I convinced myself that embroidering the truth about my living on the Upper Upper Upper West Side was my way of keeping nasty stereotypes

Making general assumptions of what others think, though many times true due to how it is portrayed by social media

It felt worse than being called a blanquita back home: a sellout, a wannabe white girl. So to calm her down I told her the truth, I’m from Washington Heights. In a loud Texan accent she boomed: Then say it like it is, mujer. Washington Heights.

Racism and judgment by her "own people": us vs them

As soon as I arrive at 164th Street I’m attacked. I trip on the uneven sidewalk. The air-conditioners spit at me. The smell of onion and cilantro sting my eyes. I start to sneeze, the humidity is thick, sweat beads drip on the small of my back. Hydrants erupt, splashing cold water over the pavement. I

Imageries of an urban environment as hostile

know she’s just itching to burn a cigarette in my long straight hair, like the girls used to do to me in school when I was a kid.

Further rejection from her "own people" because her hair represents the white, the good, the preferred

Apparently not old enough for my aunt Gorda, who’s almost forty and still lives with my grandmother, and Victor, who is about to hit thirty and won’t leave my grandmother’s pampering ways unless someone marries him and takes her place.

Tradition of family, both women repressed and machismo

Finally I was offered the opportunity to travel far away to Europe, where I could taste grilled champiñones and tortillas españolas, leisurely sit at a café during siesta and drink strong espresso in front of an ancient church. Me and Caramel had it all planned.

Her impression of what life would be like elsewhere, based on books

Deep breathing is supposed to help. I learned that from my art teacher, who takes a lot of yoga.

Outside, American, influence--more cultured

my cousin Flaca is among them. Gorda already told me how she can’t get Flaca off the street.

Use of nicknames. Also, the contrast between Flaca and Soledad

It’s no wonder I avoid this place. It’s always one dreadful thing after the other. If it’s not my mother, it’s the chaos, the noise, the higher pitch in people’s voices. I need earplugs. In the eighteen years I lived with my mother, my family moved in and out of each other’s apartments, trading beds as if they were playing musical chairs. They ran across the street from my grandmother’s apartment to my mother’s apartment, back and forth, forth and back, front doors wide open, revolving, with neighbors and family coming through from D.R. One day I thought I had my own room, the next I day I was sharing my room with three little cousins who belong to Tío So-and-so who just arrived from some campo I hadn’t heard of.

Soledad rejects the cultural norms of Dominican migrants, setting herself apart though she was a participant until she was able to leave. Also note the language and the use of Spanglish: Tio, campo, Flaca, Gorda

Not having access to my mother’s apartment drove Gorda and my grandmother crazy. The worst thing one can do is to shut them out. It’s like slapping them in the face. And I’m sure they blame me for all that.

No boundaries until forced upon. Can also be symbolic of the invisible boundaries that exist on the island: class, two countries, race, education, color, etc

vecinos and vecinas,

bacalao,

cracked mirror (Gorda believes it’s one of the reasons her husband, Raful, left her);

Broken mirrors: Similar superstition in many cultures

quinceañera

Can it be my mother is dead? Ever since the day my father, Manolo, died, I fantasized about finding my mother dead. I dreamed her in accidents, caught in a shoot-out, slipping in the tub and accidentally stabbing her head with the Jesus on the cross hanging in the bathroom. I thought I was switched at birth, hoping my real mother would one day appear at the door to take me away. I held on to the fact that I don’t look like my mother. Maybe our lips are the same, full and pink. But my hair falls pin straight, my eyes are smaller, shaped like almonds, and my skin is fairer. My mother has the kind of face that when she smiles it makes you want to cry. A lifetime of misery, Gorda calls it. My grandmother, says it’s because my mother, was born on the wrong side of things. Came out feet first, that child. But I know it has everything to do with my father. Before my father came into my mother’s life, I imagine her to be more like me, with a desire to see the world, to try new things. Maybe if she had never met my father she would have been the kind of mother who would have understood why I had to leave home. Maybe I wouldn’t have left in such a hurry.

Serious mother issues, enough to want her dead. Resentment while hoping that circumstances caused the strife.

preocupada,

dolor.

For years we lived safely in our rituals. I never confronted her and no matter how our days went we went around each other like repelling magnets.

Two women in the same home. not bonding

Coño maldita niña! Why won’t you drink it? Why won’t you take a glass of water from me, Soledad?

Mother aware something was wrong, possibly already knew what was to happen

Drink the maldita water, she begged. A glass of water, that’s all, Soledad. Can’t you see, I’m trying to do something nice for you? When are you going to forgive me? When?

Desperate to be forgiven. Probably not voiced until then, when she knew what was to happen

She swept the glasses off the table with her arms, flinging them up into the air. I hunched over and covered my eyes. Glass ricocheted off my ears. I had to remind myself that I had already found an affordable room to rent in the East Village. That I was going to a place far away from my mother, from Washington Heights. As I felt drops of water fling over my hair, I had to remind myself that I was an artist, lucky to be selected from thousands of artists to attend Cooper Union. She continued screaming and I covered my ears. I ducked my head between my legs, and tried to remember the admission director’s calm voice. The same pleasant voice that found me a job at an art gallery, the same pleasant voice that congratulated me for being accepted as an art student with a full scholarship and having so much talent.

Hiding from the abuse by placing herself elsewhere, where she was running to

had taken off the gold hoops my mother gave me when I was born and placed them on the kitchen table. Stuffed with paint, clothes, brushes, sketchbooks and some towels I stole from my mother’s bathroom, my bags waited for me by the door for a quick exit.

Gold hoops symbolic of protection, hope for prosperity and success which she was removing to symbolize rejection of those same desires.

They remind me of my crowded paintings; no matter how big I stretch the canvas, I never have enough room for all my ideas. My art teacher says I have an interesting relationship to clutter.

Possible representation of her life that she wants to leave but represents who she is

My family is like clutter in many ways.

Supports my previous note

The blue candles are to keep you close to home, the yellow to drive away the sadness, the purple are so you’ll never forget and the white are so you’ll sleep in peace. Gorda recites prayers over my mother as my grandmother, watches over her. Uncle Victor paces.

Cultural, religious beliefs that are not necessarily religious, would not be called voodooism, just passed down through generations.

Soledad! My grandmother says it as if she’d been calling me all day. Now everything is starting to make sense, she says, grabbing my arms, squeezing to feel how thin I am. Sense? I was praying for you to come. Gorda grabs me, smiling from ear to ear, exposing the small gap between her two front teeth. Soledad, we think your mother’s resolving some things in her sleep.

Beliefs of the beyond, connected to my previous note

The way my family stares at me, so happy to see me, as if this wasn’t some kind of tragedy, is horrifying. They think my coming back is going to help her.

Belief in healing through symbolism and family, not doctors and modern medicine. Faith

Soledad, you should’ve seen your mother with las tetas afuera, wearing a tiger-print nightgown, her left nipple exposed. My grandmother, whispers when she says tetas and continues saying how when she got to my mother’s bedroom the comforter was pushed to the edge of the bed, the window blinds were closed tight, the mirror over the dresser was fogged up. Pobre Olivia,

Inability to speak of anatomy due to repression. What can they description of exposure also mean? What does the choice in feminine, tiger print, also mean to Olivia as a woman and her femininity

No mi’ja. She’s just sleeping. We found out from the lady who works with her that she hasn’t gone to works for days. She just stopped going and last night her lights were on all night. So we started to worry. Shouldn’t we call an ambulance? Estas loca, they’re like mechanics, they mess you up a little, so you have to go back and they can make more money. Nothing good comes out of people making a living on the sick. That’s what they’re there for, Abuela, to help, to fix things. You just can’t keep her here like this.

Different reactions based on personal experience, feelings toward Western medicine

I walked into Olivia’s room and all the saints had their back to her. San Miguel wasn’t watching over her? Gorda asks. Not even San Miguel, my grandmother says, he was looking straight at the radiator. And you know what else, Olivia’s clock was blinking eleven, eleven. As if to record the moment it all happened. And today is the eleventh. And Olivia’s birthday is 11/11 and it was at eleven that Soledad walked into this house after being gone for twenty-two months, and half of that is eleven, she says, and narrows her eyes.

Leaving my mother’s welfare up to my sixty-five-year-old grandmother, whose head is in the campo and whose heart is in love with Americanisms, is crazy. My grandmother is split between ideas, countries, her dreams and what’s real.

Older generation in love with two worlds

Look Soledad, I’m not blaming you for leaving, but your mother has been very lonely and we think it pushed her to live in her dreams.

Strong beliefs

filled with hours with no one to look after, not a man, not a child. I truly think that algo le pasa las mujeres cuando le dan demasiado tiempo para pensar.

belief that women cannot be alone or they will be consumed by their thoughts

my mother doesn’t believe in the power of a cleansing. My mother believes in X rays, prescriptions, things that come out of a pharmacy. But that’s not going to stop Gorda from breaking into my mother’s apartment and getting rid of what Gorda calls the frustrated energy that’s eating away at my mother’s spirit.

contrasting beliefs between family members

On many nights when I still lived with my mother, she screamed for help, woke me up asking me for forgiveness. She was always apologizing between screams. And no matter how far I tried to push back the screeching sound of her voice, I hear it, and hate myself for letting her carry the burden of my father’s death.

What happened that both are riddled with guilt over the father's death?

The way he left them, without saying good-bye, makes her feel that he’ll be back.

Spousal aabandonment

Gorda’s mouth waters with anticipation as she feels the weight of her suitcase against her leg. They’re filled with her collection of healing teas, oils and candles, which reek of a botanica when they knock against one another.

Question her intent of healing or harm, which is why Olivia prevented her from entering

You hit some girl, Flaca. A freaking white girl. When I took a peek and looked, I was like, That ain’t no hippy white girl chick, that’s Soledad.

Is Soledad's whiteness why she is admired by Gorda and rejected by Flaca?

can’t be near Mami no more without her starting with me. She just don’t understand I gots my own troubles. She says I best be getting myself a job this summer or else she gonna send me off to plátano land so I can learn to be more grateful. Could you believe her? Kids over in D.R. are raised to be hard workers, she says.

First note the improper grammar of the English language. Colloquail, limited education in the public school system. Platano land, typical name for DR Belief that children behave better in DR

My mother always has one ailment or another. But she always tried to hide it, especially around Gorda and my grandmother. They don’t tolerate sickness. To them it equates weakness. My grandmother says it’s because there’s no time to get sick. It’s a luxury to lie in bed and be taken care of.

Illness is a luxury and a sign of weakness

Sometimes it’s hard to believe she can be so powerful, especially because I’ve never seen her do anything with my own eyes. But Gorda says, You can’t see the air yet you know it’s there, so why do you have so much trouble having faith in me?

Push! Olivia said. Gorda pushed as she squatted on the floor trying to make it easy for Olivia to catch the baby. Gorda’s left leg was falling asleep. She was tired from balancing herself against the tub. Finally the baby slipped out like a limoncillo pit out of its shell. Olivia grabbed the baby, poked her pinky nail in her ears, nose and mouth and waited for the baby to scream. And without hesitation the baby opened her eyes, pointing her skinny, long fingers at Olivia. Don’t cut the cord, Gorda said, not yet. This is the only time we will be attached, she said, taking her baby from Olivia’s arms.

Gorda has her baby at home, with very little preparation but no hesitation. Some items especially reserved for the birth. The meaning of the cord

Manolo was away building a house in La Capital for three months and Raful said he wouldn’t be able to sleep if the baby was going to cry all night.

Men not a part of raising child. Difference between a woman as wife and as mother

Soon after Flaca was born, Gorda had to go back to work or they were going to replace her at the factory. During the day Gorda worked while Olivia stayed home with the girls and at night it was Gorda’s turn to watch over them while Olivia left them to clean offices.

Work is a necessity. Family maternity leave is not an option, nor is it offered, in their worl of work. Women depend on each other to rise their family and work

She begged Flaca to drink, oftentimes resorting to pumping her breasts, which were in constant pain from all the milk stored in them, and was surprised that Flaca drank from a bottle without a problem. Gorda felt so disconnected from her, she tried to meditate on that short moment when her and Flaca were still attached. She wondered if Flaca’s refusal was a sign to what their relationship held in store. She became so sad she would make herself feel better by spending more time with Soledad, who was fascinated by Gorda’s curly hair.

Already knew they were not emotionally attached. Found solace through relationship with Soledad

Flaca was sucking Olivia’s milkless breast like a pacifier.

Greatest form of treachery, mother to mother

Gorda could never forgive Olivia for taking Flaca away from her. Olivia kissed and held Flaca like a new beginning. Flaca had shared her first secret with Olivia. Secrets were funny like that. They create distance with everyone who is not included. Who knows how much time Flaca and Olivia had their secret before Gorda found out? Gorda hated her sister for closing herself up, for pretending that it never happened, for putting her in a place where she cried and got angry and Olivia sat like a rock, hiding inside herself.