Speaking Underwater

Content warning: explicit sexual themes, xenophobia.

"You're perfect," he blurted out as he finished inside her. She looked down at him and laughed at the look on his face.

"Lost for words?"

He swallowed and nodded.

Once he calmed down, she climbed off him and tugged on her jeans, which was difficult because she had to crouch to avoid catching cobwebs in her hair. Mops and vacuum cleaners stood propped against the wall. Blue plastic bottles of cleaning solution piled up haphazardly in the corner, moved there from where the boy had brushed them aside to clear space on the cement floor.

"Is it true that a guy's first time is his best?" she asked, struggling to kick her feet through the ripped pant leg.

"I think. At least, I don't have anything to compare it to."

She looked away.

"You did great, Mia!"

"I know I did. You looked like a fish gasping for air." He turned red. "Can you hand me my phone?" Facing upwards on a Home Depot bucket, her phone flashlight was the only source of light in the closet. As he handed it to her, all the shadows in the room—the mops, the spider webs, the bridge of her nose—rose and fell like the cover of a book opening and closing. Jake watched her in awe as she tossed her hair and began texting. After a minute, she put her phone down and sighed.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Is it your mom again?"

"Yeah. But she'll be okay."

Jake reached out for her. When she didn't move away, he put a hand on her leg. His still-exposed member began to pulse. "Get dressed," she laughed.

Once clothed, he began to feel silly. He heard people laughing outside.

"Do you ever feel like we shouldn't be here?"

"I would have preferred a couch."

"I mean, like we shouldn't be doing this?"

"Really?" She looked squarely at him. "Isn't it a little too late for that?" He looked away. Suddenly she was cuddled up against him. "Hold me," she said, putting her head in his lap. "I'm cold." He laid his arm over her and rubbed her a bit. Soon she pulled up her knees and began to cry. "I can't believe this," she said, as tears spilled from her eyes. "I'm just so pissed off. Things were hard enough for us already."

"You'll be okay. You're strong."

"It's not about me. My family is freaking out every day. My mom is texting me right now. Whenever I don't come home right away after school, she thinks I've been brought in. Her anxiety is really bad."

Jake rubbed her arm.

"You... you grew up here, right? Like, you have papers?" she said.

"Papers?"

"Never mind." She reached over and pulled his arm tighter around her. Even though they just had sex, Jake still found himself blushing when her slim brown fingers interlaced with his. "My family struggled so much back home. But when my dad spoke up, the government tried to silence him. That's why we crossed the desert to come here. Our voice meant nothing back home."

"That sounds really brave. I wish I was that brave. Sometimes I wish I could speak up more too."

"You listen. That's enough."

Jake tried to lean down and kiss her on the forehead, but it was impossible from this angle.

"Um... how did you... how did your family make it through the desert?"

"My tia. She was a special woman. She knew how to do things like attract luck, curse people who hurt our family, even how to communicate with relatives in her dreams. At least that's what people said about her. I didn't really believe it myself until this one night. We had been walking for so long that I thought the bones in my feet were going to poke through my skin. Mama didn't know if we were going the right way, and she and dad began to argue. I couldn't do anything, so I walked away a little bit, took off my shoes, and laid down beneath a cactus and fell asleep. Then I dreamed of my tia. She had died about two years before, but I saw her right there in front of me, in good health, and she told me to keep going, but that we had to steer more to the left. I jolted awake, sprung to my feet—my feet didn't even hurt anymore—and I rushed over to let Mama know what just happened. And Papa started laughing, because he had just told Mama he needed a sign or else he was going to turn us all around. I guess he trusted in his sister more than anything."

"That's amazing. It was the right way?"

"It was."

"Wow."

"Do you want to see something special?" Mia sat up, reached into her shirt and pulled out a pendant on a chain. She pointed the flashlight so Jake could see. "My tia gave it to me before she died. I haven't shown anyone in the States ever."

"That's not the Virgin."

"Oh, no." Mia laughed. "My tia was a bruja. She always said Catholicism was the religion of the colonizers."

Jake went stiff as a janitor's mop. "I have to go." He pushed himself to his feet, unlocked the door, and stumbled into the bright hallway, leaving Mia behind in the dark.

*

Inside a small white two-story house, a woman with a tight bun hummed to herself as she loaded dirty plates and silverware into a dishwasher. The sound of plates clinking against each other drifted past the chairs and table, up the carpeted staircase, and underneath the closed bedroom door, where a teenage boy lay in bed, breathing deeply. Cool air from the ceiling fan brushed over his face. Outside the window, an owl hooed into the night.

Suddenly, the boy sat up. He kicked off his blanket, violently, and tore at his bangs. Silently, shaking, he beat his fist against his knee. He pinched himself. Then he sat for a long time with his face in his hands, totally still. After a long time, he kicked off his blanket and dragged himself into the gaming chair by his desk. He flicked on the desk lamp. It cast a narrow oval of light over his desktop. On the wall above, a crucifix caught the light in its metallic curves and reflected the light back down at the boy. On the desk, a leather-bound book sat atop a stack of hand-written poems. When the boy lifted the book, several sheets fluttered off the edge of the desk and scuttled across the floor, animated by the fan.

forgiven

when will this state of mind be given

to me

for whom he died to set free

The boy opened the book and read a highlighted passage.

"And if your right hand causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away. It is better to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go to hell."

The owl sounded again. Pressing a finger to his forehead, the boy tried to focus, but then his phone lit up, illuminating the room from a different angle. A text, from Mia. "Jake, please. Answer me." Her profile picture smiled at him next to her name. Laying his head on the book, he tapped her picture to zoom in. Her face was kind and youthful. He touched her cheek... but it was just glass. He tried to remember her scent and warmth. Around her neck, just barely visible between her hoodie and her skin, hung a thin silver chain. He zoomed in on this part, then released his fingers and let the photo bounce back into place.

Out of nowhere, a notification from YouTube dropped down from the top of the screen. "Your subscribed channel 'American Truth' just uploaded a new video: 'Breaking down the Illegal Alien Crime Wave' ". Jake popped out his AirPods and tapped on the link. The video app ran slow, so to free up space he cleared away dozens of open tabs. The video titles flashed across his screen as they vanished: "Why America is in Free-Fall," "American Jobs on the Line," "U.S. Christian Population Lowest in Decades," "Watch as I Prove Confused Liberals Wrong about their Satanic Gender Ideology."

Then he watched.

"No criminal deserves a voice in our democratic process," an angry young man shouted at him at the end of an eighteen-minute street interview. In a flurry of red, white and blue, the young man's face faded away and was replaced by a still shot of an American flag overlaid with a ten-digit phone number and an exhortation to report any suspicious people to ICE via the provided hotline.

Jake's phone rang. He rolled onto his stomach, pulled up his contacts, and added Mia's name to his blocked list. The call silenced mid-ring. His screen returned to the YouTube video, and Jake hovered his thumb over the "X" in the corner of the screen, but then he paused. Without exiting the screen, he laid back and closed his eyes.

His heart began to beat faster.

"ICE anonymous hotline," said a voice, a moment later.

Jake swallowed, then opened his mouth and spoke.

"I need to report sexual abuse from an individual I believe is undocumented."

The owl hooted again.

*

Candles. Silence. A small room. A dim light. The door opened, and a teenage boy shuffled in. He sat down in the padded seat with a huff.

The old priest looked up at him.

"I had sex with a girl."

The priest coughed and held up a wrinkled hand. "Let's slow down and start from the beginning."

The boy looked at his feet. The priest inspected him for a moment, then reached across the room and handed the boy a pamphlet. The boy mumbled through the opening prayer.

"Now. What's this about a girl?"

The boy's foot began tapping. With splayed hands, he explained what had happened in the janitor's closet. "I can't get it out of my mind. I can't sleep. I don't know what to do."

"Not do it again, for starters," the priest said.

"I won't. I can't."

"I wouldn't be so sure of yourself, child. The devil is strong and beautiful. If you fell for his trap once, you ought to be on guard not to fall again."

"Sorry, I mean, she's not at my school anymore. I mean, I haven't seen her at school. I don't think she's coming back."

"I see."

There was silence.

"About this guilt," the priest started up again, clearing his throat. "Our society is ridden with guilt. But you did the right thing, coming here to wash yourself clean. On a slightly different note—I've seen you at mass before?"

"Yes."

"And you received the sacrament?"

"Yes."

"Then you ought to trust more. Once we're done here in a moment, you will hear me tell the story of Jacob during my homily, but I'll tell it to you now in short. Jacob fell asleep on a rock and dreamed of an angel. Later, he wrestled with the angel and broke his hip." The priest leaned forward in the creaky chair. "You are wrestling with God, my son. He is waiting for you to submit. He can only forgive you if you let him."

The priest traced a cross over the boy and let him go.

*

He could not recall her face, but her curvaceous body was upon him again, riding him to climax. He tensed and grasped her bare hips... but his hands passed through her and she vanished like a bubble of soap. The boy awoke, sweaty and wet.

He shut his eyes and tried to conjure up the image again, but she refused to materialize. As he rose to the surface of consciousness, he felt his happiness slipping away. Finally, all that remained was a ball of hardness in his stomach and a tightness between his eyes.

Dreams... dreams...

A thought occurred to him. Tossing himself back in bed, he touched himself lightly, then tried to sleep. He touched himself on the chest, where she had drawn her finger. He held his own hand, trying to ignite the memory. Rolling over in bed a half hour later, he opened his phone and stared at her photo, straining his eyes until they hurt, then rolled over again and focused. Nothing.

At two thirty, he gave up, went downstairs, put on his socks and shoes, and slipped out the front door. He walked briskly with his hands in his pockets. Three blocks down, he passed a graveyard and turned the corner. The steeple of the old church came into view, piercing upward before a moonlit white cloud. Then he stopped. There, at the corner of the intersection, was a storefront Jake had never seen before, bearing a welcome sign with a drawing that shocked his heart when he saw it. He looked down the street at the church, then back at storefront.

But of course, it was night, so both were locked.

*

The late afternoon sun shone through the windows of the small trinket shop. A tiny bell tingled as the boy opened the front door. Inside, the air smelled strongly of incense. Looking around and seeing no one, the boy inspected the display items on the shelves, picking up gemstones and miniature golden statues, eventually making his way to the rear end of the shop where a heavy purple curtain hung across a doorframe. After reading the sign posted on the wall, the boy ducked beneath the cloth and stepped into a shadowy back room.

"Welcome," spoke a woman.

"Oh. I didn't see anyone at the cash register. Are you Miranda?"

"I am," said Miranda. The boy shifted his weight. It was difficult to read the woman's expression in the flickering candlelight. "Please, sit." Hesitant, the boy chose one of the round pillows on the floor and sat down. An old woman with long silver hair sat across from him. She wore a simple shawl around her head and a long dress. Strings of beads draped from her neck. Bands of silver and bronze wrapped around her wrists, and countless jeweled rings decorated her long fingers. Between him and her was a low wooden table with a pattern engraved in the wood. The boy pointed to it.

"That's the same as your sign outside. Is that your design?"

"Mine and many others. Do you know it?"

"I've seen it. I've seen it on my friend's necklace."

"Friend?"

"Yes..."

"Come, dear. If you misguide me with your words, my interventions will steer you somewhere you never wished to go. Let's try again now, with more honesty."

"I guess we were more than friends. But, how did you know?"

Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. "Because my sign says I specialize in 'dreams, love, & romance.' And because you hesitated when you said friend."

"Okay. You're right. We weren't just friends. We were intimate. We..."

She held up a hand. "Just tell me how I can help you, and I'll tell you my price."

"I need to talk to her again."

"Hm. Has she gone mute?"

"She's gone... away."

"Let's let the cards speak for her then, shall we?" She gestured to a deck of cards on the table. "Draw."

The boy picked a card.

"Oh-ho! You saw a priest before you came here, didn't you? Didn't he tell you to avoid wicked old fortune tellers?"

For a moment, the boy grinned despite himself, then a shadow returned to his face. He shook his head. "I didn't ask. I didn't want to know."

The woman nodded. "The Hierophant card speaks for those who prefer to be told what to do, especially regarding spirituality, rather than carve out their own path. Alright. Your next card will tell us what will help you now, in the present."

Justice.

"As I thought. You're dreaming if you think you being forgiven will help your girlfriend now. What you need to find is a way to fix this mess you created. One more now. Let's peer into your future."

He flipped over an image of the moon.

"Ahh." She drew out the word. "So the cards agree. Dreams are the way to go, young one. And I have just the thing." She withdrew a vial from the folds of her clothing. It was small, fitting neatly in her palm, and filled with liquid the color of amber. "A dab of nestor oil on the pillow ushers the sleeper to the dream of his choosing. But choose carefully, because while you may enter whichever dream you chose, you may find it far more challenging to exit." She untwisted the bottle cap and held it beneath his nostrils. Pummeled by a whiff of what smelled like ginger and vodka, he found himself, to his surprise, suddenly drifting off to sleep.

"I'll take it," he said, shaking his head clear.

*

"Mia, it's me!"

He spread his arms wide. From afar, she turned her head, as though looking for something far in the distance. Her hair cascaded in waves down her naked back. Her clear skin shimmered in the purple sunlight.

Waist-high in a river of vodka, he waded toward her.

"Mia! Mia!"

Snapping her neck, she faced him.

"Mia. I'm here. Please, forgive me. Please."

Mia opened her mouth... gaping, she stuck out her tongue. Her mouth opened and closed. Then she turned, kicked her tail, and swam away. Jake waded after her, shouting her name, but she disappeared, leaving him lost in an endless sea of dreams.