Page 6 of Praying for Thunder

A soft, feminine palm touched Ani’s cheek. Moola promised, “And so are you.”

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It was Ani’s day off when we sat at the small bar in our tiny, dilapidated kitchen. There was an old brown electric stove under cracked beige countertops. Perched on a stool next to her, since I had outgrown my highchair sometime back, I ate my cereal. She stared at my drawing, now hanging on the rusty brown refrigerator. A cup of hot coffee cooled, untouched, as she was so deep in thought.

“Ani?” I said, with a mouth full of Cocoa Puffs.

Her stare didn’t stray as she numbly answered, “Si, Niño?”

“Leche’, por favor?”

In the apartment was where I was taught and permitted to speak Spanish.

A smile slowly crossed her lightly tanned face as she stared at the drawing. “She loved milk, too.”

“Mama?”

“Yes, Niño. Your mama.” She leaned back on her stool, exhaling a surrender. Then she walked to a window, and for the very first time, opened the curtains.

I almost gasped as the sun shone into our dark little living room, dust dancing in the beams of light.

Anita faced me, holding her arms wide in front of the sun. “Want to go for a ride?”

When adults release fear, we children do, too. “Yes! Yes!” I climbed down from the stool, my size now larger than most kids my age.

She winked. “Get our hats and remember to speak English.”

“Okay!” I took off running until I heard a cough. My lanky legs skidded to a stop. “Oops! I mean, okay.” I was still within our home’s walls, hence already forgetting which language I was to speak.

She dipped her chin. “That’s my boy.”

In a hat and sunglasses, I happily rushed down the stairs outside of the apartment. Ani was carrying a backpack that was always on the heavier side, and she was holding my hand.

Her grip tightened when a neighbor headed up the stairs, saying, “Hey, there! Sorry, I haven’t caught your name yet—”

Anita raced us past him.

“—but I wanted to warn you—”

Almost tripping down the last step, she spun to face him, me already in her arms. “Warn me of what?”

“Whoa.” In the middle of the stairs, he raised his hands. “Only that I’m having a party tonight. I wanted to give you my number—”

She took a step back.

“—in case we get too loud, but,” he observed her scared body language, “I guess you could just pound on my door.”

Ani’s sigh was monumental. “Oh.” Her arms loosened on me. “I’m used to noises in the night. I won’t complain.” She set me back on my feet but grabbed my hand.

His head tilted. “You alright?”

She jerked. “Yes. Of course.” She turned away, tugging me along toward the parking lot.

“Hey!” the neighbor called out. “I still didn’t get your name?”

Anita waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder. “Suzan.”

Trying to keep up with her much longer legs, I peered up, wondering why she was lying. “Por que—”