What Happened to Ruthy Ramirez

by Claire Jiménez

In my fourth-grade mind, Ruthy was invincible. Thirteen-year-old Queen of the Quick Comeback, hoop earrings and Vaseline, Patron Saint of the Fist and the Late-Night Call Home from the Principal. Who in the world could touch her, my sister?

And sometimes it just felt good to watch these women argue, when so much of your day-to-day life consisted of nodding politely or biting your tongue so that you would not be fired, so that you could buy groceries, so that you could pay rent and take care of your family.

I tell you, the worst type of womanizer is the former geek.

Truth

How many girls in the world were there who looked like Ruthy, talked like Ruthy? Laughed like her? How many of us were missing?

About how this time, when Coach had them sprint, the ground seemed to have softened beneath her sneakers. She could smell the grass, the sweat on her skin, and the air darkening. Free, she’d figured it out. The rhythm, how to resist the demand for breath, even her own body’s nagging. Ruthy had measured it this time. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. And she could feel her coach smiling at her as she sprinted past all the other girls, who were just too slow.

And Ruthy was eager for another stretch of road. The world around her seemed to melt away, to disappear.

And for a brief moment, for just one small moment, nobody was...