The Cross

  S. L. Mair

  This is a true story. Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

  Cover image used with permission from Deposit Photos. Font used with permission from DaFont.

  © 2023, S. L. Mair. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, or stored by any means without permission from the publisher.

  Dedicated to all the strong women out there, especially the ones who live on in our hearts.

  Fernanda’s mom, Maria-Elena, drove the car up the bumpy pot-hole-ridden road. Fernanda and I sat in the back while Fernanda’s seven-year-old sister, Gabi, sat up front with their mom. I had no clue where we were going. All Maria-Elena said was that we were heading away from San José toward a smaller town up in the mountains. She said she had something to show us.

  “What did it feel like?” I asked Fernanda quietly. Alanis Morissette’s voice wailed from the speaker system, drowning out our hushed conversation in the backseat.

  Fernanda placed both hands on her belly button.

  “It doesn’t hurt here.” She moved her hands down between her legs. “Or here.” Her hands settled back on the space between the two, right where her seatbelt crossed her abdomen. “But here.”

  “Was it scary?” I didn’t know much about that stuff, only that blood was involved. That’s what the pads were for. I knew this because I saw a bloodied one in the garbage once. My older sisters already had theirs even if they didn’t talk about it much.

  Fernanda shrugged. “It’s not scary, just super annoying.”

  “Ugh.” I feigned mild annoyance even though I wondered when my turn would come.

  Fernanda was always more mature than I was. She was twelve, a full year older than me. She already had a boyfriend and an ex-boyfriend. She smoked cigarettes stolen from her mom’s purse, and sometimes she sneaked out at night to go to concerts. One morning at school she told me that some guy put a cigarette out on her arm. She even had the calloused burn mark to prove it. Cool.

  I knew I couldn’t sneak away from home even if I wanted to. I didn’t have a key for the front door and the backyard was surrounded by a fifteen-foot brick wall topped with tangled barbed wire. I was locked in my dungeon of a house.

  At least, that was the excuse I gave Fernanda. The truth was I couldn’t bear to disappoint my mom by making her worry. I could never tell this to Fernanda though. This wasn’t an issue for her as she managed to keep all her late-night escapades secret.

  And even if I did manage to sneak out on my own, I didn’t have the money or know-how to venture out into San José alone. I was an eleven-year-old Canadian ex-pat with white-blond hair. I stuck out like a lightbulb compared to the dark-haired Costa Ricans. Eyes followed me everywhere I went. Strangers would approach me regularly, asking if they could touch my hair. It was impossible to blend in.

  With her dark hair, golden skin, and brown eyes, Fernanda blended in easily. She also looked old for her age, allowing her to integrate with teenagers and young adults. And, unlike me, she was tough. A tomboy. She was good at sports, good enough to intimidate the boys. And she was bold enough to skip class. She had no problem walking into nightclubs, bars, and other places where she didn’t belong.

  And now, with her news, she was officially a woman. And here I was, still just a girl.

  The car pulled into a small town made up of single-level houses with tin roofs. The walls had been painted orange and turquoise years ago but were now dirty and faded. Maria-Elena parked on the dusty street. We all climbed out into the dry, scorching sun. The sky was bright blue, not a cloud to be seen.

  “A beautiful day for a walk,” Maria-Elena said. She put on her glamorous way-too-large movie-star sunglasses and walked ahead of us. Her long maroon skirt fluttered behind her while her red toenails and flat sandals peeked out from under the fabric with every step.

  Maria-Elena was short, petite, and extremely beautiful. The popular boys at school were always going on about how “hot” Fernanda’s mom was. Her frizzy dark curls cascaded down her back. Her flawless café-au-lait skin showed her youth while her deep red wine lips complimented the darkness of her features.

  Though she was tiny and small-boned, like a bird, Maria-Elena had a commanding presence. Fernanda also had a commanding presence, but that was mostly due to her muscular physique and her tomboyish aggression. Gabi, who was still young, was small like her mom. A little bird.

  I liked Maria-Elena. She always welcomed me into her home whenever I visited Fernanda. If she wasn’t cooking, she was dancing. Upbeat merengue music was always pouring through the house as she pulled me into an impromptu dance lesson.

  “Lead with the hips,” she’d say as she guided me back and forth with her bony grip, trying to keep me in sync with the tropical sound of drums and trumpets. Although I tried to do anything with my hips, I could never move the way Maria-Elena did. Her skirt circled and swished around her legs while I struggled to keep up.

  Fernanda, Gabi, and I followed Maria-Elena down the dusty sidewalk along a row of small business storefronts. It was a busy Saturday. Doors were open as reggae and Latin pop music poured out of every store. Run-down cars attempted to drive down the dusty road, beeping at an ox-cart that blocked the road. Tables set up on the sidewalks displayed numerous neutral-toned purses, belts, and shoes. The overpowering smell of leather and ox crap lingered in the air as we walked by.

  “This way,” Maria-Elena said. We followed her down the sidewalk.

  Shaggy’s deep voice poured out of a music store. A table of colourful cassettes attracted my attention and I stopped to take in the titles. The names of Spanish artists were accompanied by English ones like Nirvana and Spice Girls. I touched my pocket, wishing I had money to buy something.

  Maria-Elena and Gabi continued down the sidewalk.

  “Come on,” Fernanda said, tugging my arm. I pulled away from the table and we continued on, trailing behind the others.

  “So, what’s going on between you and Charlie?” I asked. “Are you two, you know, together?”

  “I don’t know.” Fernanda kicked at some pebbles on the ground. “We keep breaking up. I think I have my eye on someone else right now.”

  “Someone else?”

  “Yeah.” She smirked. “Octavio. He’s in ninth grade.”

  “Ninth grade? That’s three grades older than us!”

  “I know.” She picked nonchalantly at her short nails. “I’m hoping he’s more mature than Charlie.”

  “What’s wrong with Charlie?”

  “He doesn’t want to do anything beyond kissing. It’s boring.”

  Stunned, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even have the courage to talk to most boys let alone someone in high school. I didn’t even have my first kiss yet!

  As I walked, I stared at my feet, ruminating on how behind I was. Fernanda was growing up without me.

  “Come on, girls,” Maria-Elena called out from up ahead. She had her arm around Gabi.

  Looking further up the sidewalk, I saw four men leaning against the storefront windows. With their blue jeans, worn-in button-downs, and tanned weathered skin, they looked like cowboys. Some of them had mustaches but even the ones that didn’t still looked grown to me.

  As Maria-Elena walked by, the men whistled and turned their heads to ogle her. She pulled Gabi closer to her as she rushed by, pretending not to hear them. Their heads whipped back as their eyes landed on Fernanda, then on me. There were more whistles.

  “Hola chiquitas,” one guy said.

  “Que hermosa!” Said another. The guys leered with excited eyes.

  I knew from experience that they were complimenting us. The last time this happened, Fernanda and I were walking by a construction site after school.

  Fernanda stood up a bit taller, lifting her chin. She pretended not to hear them, not to care, but I could see the slight smile of pride on her face as we walked by.

  “Come on, girls,” Maria-Elena urged as she looked back at us, making sure we were still there.

  Fernanda and I picked up our pace. The sound of Shaggy bragging about his skills in bed faded behind us. The smell of fresh empanadas and spices filled the air as we walked past the last store before coming to the end of the (very) small town. The sidewalk came to an end but the dusty road continued up a small hill overlooking the town.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Who knows,” Fernanda said, rolling her eyes. “My mom always makes us do weird stuff like this. She said it’d be good for me, whatever that means.”

  Maria-Elena gestured for us to keep going as we crossed the road and left the comforting shade of the stores. We walked out into the shining sun, kicking up dust as we followed the walking path up to the top of the hill.

  The hill was just large enough to be a hike all on its own. I breathed heavily as dust settled on my dry tongue. The four of us laboured on as we shielded our eyes from the blazing sun. Looking up at the very top, I could see a small white cross overlooking the town.

  During my years in San José, I had seen a few hills with crosses. I could even see one lit up at night from my bedroom.

  “Are we walking all the way up there?” Fernanda asked.

  “Yes,” Maria-Elena said. “It’ll be good for us.”

  Fernanda rolled her eyes again. “See?”

  Gabi expressed her excitement as she skipped and ran ahead of everyone. Maria-Elena walked at a leisurely pace behind her while Fernanda and I fell behind. We all slowly made our way up th

e hill.

  “Do you think Octavio will actually go out with you?” I asked. “You’re still in middle school.”

  Fernanda smirked. “I hope so. I’ve been standing at his locker during his lunch hour.”

  “That’s why you’ve been skipping math?”

  She nodded. “But don’t tell my mom.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Anyway, he knows who I am. I’m not worried.” She acted too cool to care, pretending as if the conversation bored her.

  “Almost there,” Maria-Elena called back to us. “I hope you girls are paying attention.”

  “This is so stupid,” Fernanda muttered.

  Taking our last steps, we finally found ourselves in front of the white cross. It was taller than Gabi. Brightly coloured flowers were placed at the base along with teddy bears and weathered pictures of women’s smiling faces.

  “Someone died here?” I asked.

  Maria-Elena nodded. “Thirteen women.”

  “Thirteen?” My mind conjured the image of a serial killer hiding behind a rock somewhere and waiting for unsuspecting women to walk up the hill. I looked around fearfully.

  “Some were not much older than you girls,” Maria-Elena said in a somber voice. She stared at the dirt-worn pictures faded by rain and dust.

  Behind her mom’s back, Fernanda looked at me and shook her head, clearly disappointed that this was today’s outing. I knew she would have preferred to spend the day at the mall, trying to sneak into PG-13 movies.

  Ignoring her, I looked back at the flowers and pictures. Dread flooded through my belly.

  “If women are killed here, then isn’t it dangerous being here?” I asked.

  Maria-Elena looked down at me with those big bug-eyed sunglasses.

  “They didn’t die here,” she said. Turning, she looked back out at the town.

  I followed her gaze as her words took root in my mind. A sad, sick feeling trickled through me as I realized that those women didn’t die here, on the top of the mountain. They died out in the town. I looked back at the smiling faces in the pictures. Faces that looked like Fernanda’s. Like mine.

  Maria-Elena must have sensed my discomfort because she reached over and grabbed my hand with her comforting bony grip.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re safe together.”

  Bored, Gabi pulled away and started dancing and kicking up sand as she sang to herself.

  “Don’t do that!” Fernanda whined, kicking sand back in her sister’s direction.

  Maria-Elena dropped my hand. “Fernanda, be nice!”

  The two sisters bickered with each other.

  Tuning them out, I looked back at the pictures. I thought of all the things I hadn’t experienced yet: my first kiss, my first period, high school, graduation…

  Did any of those women know they’d miss out on those things?

  I stared at the flowers and thought about all the people who loved them, all the people who missed them.

  Suddenly I didn’t mind that I couldn't sneak out at night, or that I cared about not letting my mom down. I didn’t mind that boys didn’t give me the same attention they gave Fernanda. I didn’t mind being where I was for just a bit longer.

  “Are you coming?” Fernanda asked. She stood a few feet away, hand on her hip as she squinted and shielded her eyes from the sun. Maria-Elena and Gabi were already halfway down the hill, laughing and kicking up sand as they raced each other down.

  “Yeah,” I said absently.

  Looking at the cross one last time, I pulled away and joined her.

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  Also by S. L. Mair

  The Cross: A True Coming of Age Short Story

  About the Author

  S. L. Mair is a Canadian author who grew up in San José, Costa Rica. She's a science fiction author who occasionally writes autobiographical short stories.

 

 

  S. L. Mair, The Cross

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