Lauren Holmes: Barbara the Slut and Other People

“That’s because I thought you got murdered,” I said.

“Oh Lala, are you really that upset about it? I wouldn’t have left you if I knew you would worry, but you’re a big girl, I thought you’d be fine.”

“I wasn’t fine,” I said. “I think I might go to Grandpa’s.”

“What? Why?”

“Then you can hang out with Martin as much as you want.”

“I only saw him when you were sleeping, baby. I didn’t think you would care.”

“And at dinner. And you said you were coming right back.”

“Okay,” she said. “I won’t see him again while you’re here. I’ll take you to Acapulco. We’ll go to the beach and we’ll go see the cliff divers.”

“I told Grandpa I was coming.”

“You called him?” She started to cry.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was mad.”

She cried and cried and I looked at the ceiling.

Finally I felt too bad and said, “Maybe we can go to Acapulco before I leave.”

She looked up. “Yeah?”

“Sure,” I said. “It’s on the way.”

She cried harder for a few seconds and then she slowed down and her breathing went back to normal and after a minute she stood up and went to the sink and splashed her face with water.

“Should we go now?” she said. “We might make it to see the divers at noon.”

“Sure,” I said.

“If we wear bathing suits we can go to the beach after. You can go in the water there.”

“Okay.”

“I should bring that Victoria’s Secret underwear. Those beaches are full of rich Mexicans. I could charge a lot more. I could make a killing.”

“Great,” I said. I could tell that this had been the plan all along. “Grandpa would help you, you know.”

“That is such a smart idea, Lala. I don’t know why I never thought of that.”

“Fine,” I said, stung.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was mean.”

We put on our suits and got ready to go.

“Should I bring my bag?” I said.

“It’s up to you,” she said.

“I can always bring it back here,” I said.

“Right,” she said, and gave me a weak smile.

We took the bus to Acapulco, and when we got there we bought juices and walked up to the Quebrada. I wheeled my suitcase and my mom carried her bags of underwear. When we got to the entrance she bought tickets, and we went in and found a spot at the wall. We could already see the divers on top of the cliff, in the bright sun. Below them, the cliff went down at an angle, and it looked like when they dove they were going to hit the rock.

“Martin and I came to see them at night,” she said. “They dive with torches, and we met some of those boys. Some of them are pretty cute.”

“Oh yeah?” I said.

“Yeah,” she said. “You’re going to meet such a cute boy, you’ll see. I didn’t meet your dad until the end of college.”

It felt like I was either going to tell my mom in the next minute, or my mouth was going to do it for me. My heart started to pound.

“I don’t want to meet a boy,” I said.

“Oh I know, baby, all you want to do is your research. But that will change.”

“No, Mama, I want to meet girls. I like girls.”

“Oh,” she said. Her eyebrows went up. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“I had no idea,” she said.

“Really?” I said. “You never wondered about it?”

“No,” she said.

I waited for her to say something and then I decided to help her because I didn’t want to be mad at her.

“Now you’re supposed to say that you love me no matter what,” I said.

“Oh, baby,” she said, “of course I love you no matter what.” She pulled me into her shoulder and held me tight. “Of course I love you no matter what.”

After a minute she said, “Are you going to tell your dad?”

“He knows,” I said.

“Oh really?” she said. “How did he take that news?”

“Fine,” I said.

“Huh,” she said.

“Why wouldn’t he?” I said.

“I don’t know, he can be so rigid.”

“He’s been really good,” I said.

Now there were more divers on top of the cliff and they stood in a circle and put their arms around each other and their heads down.

“When did you tell him?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “High school.”

“Oh my god. Lala. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It didn’t seem urgent.”

“Why are you telling me now?” She sounded mad.

“I don’t know,” I said. “There’s this girl and she thought I should tell you.”

“You didn’t want to tell me?”

“No, I did, I wanted you to know.”

Now one of the boys was climbing down the cliff, and he stopped and stood. The people around us cheered, and he flew off the cliff, his back arched and his arms spread like eagle wings.

“I wish you told me when you told your dad.”

“You weren’t there,” I said.

The diver entered the water with a high splash.

“You came to visit,” she said.

“I don’t know, Mom.”

She looked away and I could hear her breathing. “Lala, you are breaking my heart,” she said. She didn’t look at me. “I’ll meet you outside.” She walked up the stairs and I stayed and watched the cliff. The boys prayed and dove forward and backward and did flips and double flips. Right after they jumped they were still in front of the sun for a split second, and then they rushed into the water. At the beginning I had been worried about them, but now it seemed less real, like they were on automatic or something, or like I was watching them from very far away. From very far away I watched them jump off the cliff one or two at a time, and finally three at a time.

• • •

My mom was waiting outside the entrance for me. We walked back down to the Zócalo without talking. When we got there she said, “I guess you have to get on that bus, huh? If you want to get to the city before dark.”

“You could come to Grandpa’s,” I said.

“You know I can’t,” she said.

“I don’t really understand why not.”

“That’s okay,” she said.

We walked to the bus stop and when she saw the bus coming she hugged me.

“Bye baby,” she said.

“Bye Mama,” I said.

“Maybe I’ll come to the States.”

“Okay.” I hugged her again. “I love you,” I said.

“I love you too,” she said and kissed me.

I took the bus to the bus terminal and then waited for the bus to Mexico City. I was really tired. When the bus came I sat in my seat and closed my eyes. I imagined my mom on the beach, kneeling on rich people’s towels, telling them that the “See you tonight” underwear was her daughter’s favorite.

They say men and women can’t be friends. Because men will always want to have sex with women, even if we say we don’t. We might even think we don’t, but if we see the wrong body part in the wrong way, it will be over. Our penises will end us. But I think there’s a loophole. If the man in question already had sex with the woman in question and was so drunk that he doesn’t remember it. Or he only remembers it enough to know that it was not good. And then the man becomes friends with the woman, and because he has no memory of her vagina, he doesn’t think of her as having one. That’s what’s up with me and my friend Beth. I don’t want to sleep with her even though everyone, meaning my sister, Kelly, thinks I do.

I’m also not gay. Which everyone, still meaning my sister, also thinks. That’s not why I don’t want to sleep with Beth. I’m attracted to women. I’m not attracted to men. But for a straight guy in New York City, I’m not doing such a good job. For a tall guy with almost all of my hair, I am not doing such a good job. I did great in high school. I did fine in the beginning of college. I did horrible later in college and after that I took a break. I’ve been trying to make a comeback since I got to New York. But New York is weird. And I live with my sister. And back to my sister, the point is she says I have issues. I’m sure I do, just not the lying to myself kind, or the gay kind.