Prologue When I Learned to Swim Before my brother, Matti, is born before I learn how to keep secrets, before I learn what my name means and how it ties me to the water, Papi teaches me how to swim. Mami is away in the Dominican Republic visiting family and friends she hasn''t seen in years. I am six and still afraid of everything. Papi knows Mami won''t like it. But he decides it''s time for me to learn. The First Time I tremble near the edge of a pool. My knees KnOcK kNoCk KnOcK against each other. A warm August wind w h o o s h e s through my tangled curls, I almost let go of my Minnie Mouse towel when-- Papi nudges me a little closer to the edge.
I jUmP back as if the pool is a sinkhole of blue flames. I squeal a high-pitched trumpet tingling my tonsils: No, no, no! I don''t want the water in my eyes in my nose in my lungs. Mami says that the water . Sssh mi reina, no pasa nada. Papi sits me on his lap, tells me a cuento para calmarme. Papi: The first time I swam in the green rivers of el campo, the current slapped me around until my arms began to flip and my legs began to flap and suddenly I was flying underwater. Your body will know how to handle the water as long as you don''t resist it. Jumping In Papi''s big brown arms wrap around my waist.
His warm breath tickles my ear and his black beard sweeps against my cheek. Papi whispers: Concentrate-- Reach your arms out, then pull them apart as if you are parting the purple curtains in your room. Kick your legs like a drummer''s hands when they paddle their palms on a Palo drum. Imagine your body is a feather and you''ll float. Let the water hold you. Remember, yo estoy aquí. He squeezes my hand. 1 2 3! We jump in.
The Island (& Me): May My Island We live on an island. The island where we live is an o u t s t r e t c h e d arm reaching into the Gulf of Mexico. Galveston: Where the streets are lined with papel picado houses in peacock green and pomegranate pink. Hundreds of shotgun houses where the wind whistles in through the front door and shoots directly down the hallways out the back. Hundreds of houses in sherbet colors that remind Mami of "back home." But this is the only home I''ve ever known. On Sundays before church, I like to walk to the seawall, alone, and watch the sunrise explode in the sky like cascarones on Easter. Blue, pink, and orange colors confetti the horizon and kiss the sea.
Sometimes, I don''t know if the ocean is the sky or the sky is the ocean. It opens BIG W I D E E N D L E S S. The way I do when I swim. Sometimes, I think that if I swim long enough I''ll reach that cascarón sky and instead of swimming I''ll begin to S O A R. Wants Me Close Some Sundays after church, Mami, Matti, and me go to the beach. Sometimes I build sandcastles with Matti. Sometimes, if Papi is with us and goes in the water with me, Mami lets me S W I M. Mami doesn''t like it that I swim underwater so far away from her.
I try to tell her: Papi taught me how to hold my breath, stroke my arms, and kick my fins, like a dolphin. I''ll be fine. Still-- shewantsmeclose. She''s afraid la mar will swallow me up the way it swallowed her brother her house and her village during a storm long ago when she was just a girl. Mami calls the ocean "la mar" instead of "el mar" because she believes the ocean is a strong woman who gives and takes life when she wants. The ocean will betray you she says. I try to tell her: I am Ani de las aguas I swim with the dolphins. The water and I protect each other.
She won''t take me away from you. Still-- shewantsmeclose. Birth Story Mami says when I was born, I almost drowned in the ocean of her belly and they had to C U T me out. I was not ready for the world, would not latch, would not eat, would not stop crying. So they slipped tubes through my nose and fed me food that was not Mami''s milk. Mami says this made her worry we would not bond and I would not have enough of what I needed to grow big and strong. And sometimes I worry she was right.