Hotel Antics

Jenny, Matt, Sam, and I walk down the stairs towards the two parked cars waiting for them. Well, Sam has a fistful of Matt’s jacket, trying to steady him. In the setting sun, I can see that I’m barely supporting most of Jenny’s weight. Luckily for me, she took her heels off her heels so that it was easy for me to keep her upright without us both meeting the floor.
“What the hell was in that whiskey?” Sam grunted, steadying Reeds enough so that she could open his car door and coax him into it. I lead Jenny to the next car and slide her in the best I could, encouraging her to scoot herself into the car further. Sam runs over to our car as I slide in after Jenny. “Actually,” she says, tugging on my arm. “I ordered us an Uber to our hotel.”
“But, she’s barely-”
“She actually has someone staying with her,” She waves me off. “Todd and Manda can help get her inside, honestly.” Sam slaps the trunk of the car once she explains to Todd, Jenny’s driver. “How did you make that whiskey?”
“It’s honestly one of the first things I learned to do,” I laugh, remembering the first time I changed water into Sprite. “My poor abuela almost died when I refilled her favorite Gin bottle. She called me a demon for weeks.”
“What made her stop?”
“I cured her best friend’s glaucoma.” We sat in silence, contemplating this. I notice that Sam wants to say something, but keeps thinking better of it. “Just spit it out, Sam.”
“What’s it like?” Sam blurted out. “How do you even go to school? So, like, can you not touch anyone? What if someone brushes up-”
“Well, I was home schooled,” I cut in. “And I have these gloves, so I’m pretty much good.”
“How do they work?” Before I can give her the play by play, a car pulls up that I assume is our Uber. I take off my gloves and drop them into her lap. Sam looks at me curiously as we stand up. “Put ‘em on.” We walk over to the car as she slips the gloves on. Clambering into the car, Sam gives the address to the hotel while she still attempted to wiggle her fingers into my gloves.
“Your finger are small.”
“Not really.” I reach over and help her fit the gloves on. “First, you gotta unbutton the bottom.” The gloves hiss a little bit and slide them both over her hands with ease. “What do you feel?” I ask after I button the gloves.
“Are they vibrating?” Sam turns her hands around in awe. “It’s almost constricting. What do the do, exactly?”
“It kind of contains the power.” I figured she didn’t want to hear the gritty details of how Dr. Sparrow and Mr. Sparrow figured out the logistics of a counter-active pair of gauntlets. She hands them back to me. “It’s kinda like a diaphragm binder. The power tries to expand in the gloves, and it’s kinda pushed back in,” I explain, putting the gloves on again. “It isn’t an exact science, and sometimes they don’t work, but, for the most part, they are effective.” Sam nods in understanding. We arrive at our hotel, or at least I assume we do. The front is almost entirely white brick, with a window every few feet. The door covering was tattered and broken over a tinted glass door. “Is this place safe?” I ask Sam, who laughs as she walks past. Cautiously, I follow her, my jaw hitting the floor once we get inside.
The lobby is a mostly off-white with cherry wood accents and accessories, two chandeliers mutely lighting the lobby. Cream chairs face the center of the lobby where a table held lady slipper orchids. I follow Sam to the front desk, through the doubles stairs, under the balcony, through the glass doors and right up to the front desk. A brunette with a wide nose and big blue eyes scowls at us as Sam beams up to her.
“Griphook,” Sam said dramatically. “I would like to enter my vault.” The woman looks at her impassively. I gape, looking between Sam and the desk clerk as Sam holds her pose for a little while longer before she just sighs. “My friend here-”
“You need your room key?” the woman asked me.
“Yes, please.” She walks into the office behind her and came back with a solid black card. I catch a glimpse at her name tag when she hands the card to me. Sam walks away as I examine the solid black card that has my whole government name as well as on microchip on it.
“Your luggage was taken up to your room earlier,” She tells me, her eyes not leaving the computer screen at all. I take the opportunity to lean over the desk so that only she could hear me.
“I’m really sorry about-”
“You friend is a teenager and stupid,” she quips. “Plus, she thinks I haven’t read Harry Potter.”
“Well, sorry anyway.” She cracks a small smile, continuing to type. I head over to where Sam is now twirling absently in front of what appears to be the elevator. We step into the empty compartment and Sam pushes the button to the 10th floor.
“So tonight-”
“The hell is your problem?” I turn to her. “Griphook? Why would you call another  person a goblin?”
“Oh, it’s not like she knows-” She brushes me off.
“She knows who Griphook is,” I grip her shoulder so and even if she didn’t, why is that still okay?”
“It’s not that big-”
“What if someone called you Kreacher?” Sam’s eyes tighten. “Even in a jovial manner?”  I know that if looks could kill, Sam would have liquefied me at my innocent tone. “So, I can gather you won’t do that again.” Before she could respond the doors open and we are on our floor. I take off, intent on finding my room without-
“Our rooms are this way.” I turn around slowly, holding my head high, intent on forgetting my own embarrassment and not talking to Sam. Not until I knew she actually understood what I told her. Without another word, I follow Sam around the corner of the elevator and down the hall.
“This is your room,” Sam points out quietly. I look over at her to see her shoulders doubled over, her chin resting on her chest looking uncomfortable. She shoved the key card into the door and disappears into her room. I shrug, entering my own room.
The slate colored carpet was completely unblemished, which makes me think that maybe this hotel isn’t known for partying. Come to think of it, I doubt that anyone but D.C. residents even knew this place exist: it’s a literal hole in the wall! I flop down onto the couch, plug in my computer and power it on. Giving it a few minutes to come to life, I moved my suitcase from the designated living area near the bed, where I notice that there’s a dresser holding up the T.V. I walk back to the computer and open up the Skype app. While it loads, I unpack my clothes quickly and send a quick text to everyone letting them know that I made it and went to take a shower.

We won't do this

So it's happened. Cheeto Gaddafi finally has the nuclear codes and is our thin skinned Commander in chief. At least half of the Nation wanted to see Pumpkin Pinochet occupy the highest office in the land and that is fine. Great, even. I hope he's everything you hoped him to be. Personally, I didn't vote for the baby-carrot dick bastard. And now that he's won, I have seen some shit on my social media accounts that I would like to address before I lose all of the diplomacy and just say fuck you with a rusty spoon.

We have to look to the future and Work together

I’m not going anywhere with you. If we happen to be moving in the same direction, good for you. However, this page tells me that chances are you, or some of the people you associate with saw his misogyny, racism, the homophobia of his running mate, looked around at the white nationalism who promoted him to power and then said, “Yeah, this guy’s good for the country .” If you knew there was a good possibility that someone refused to recognize your humanity, why would you want to even associate with them let alone working together with them? Furthermore, most white people don’t want to move forward. #MAGA I know, I know. #NotAllWhitePeople. But if you were in a bakery, and you saw a sign that a little over half of the products had fatal levels of arsenic in them, would you order or just leave? Still offended?

Bernie Sanders’ would’ve won

Listen to me right now. Bernie Sanders had a fundamental flaw: In order to win the Democratic Primary, it is in your best interest of the candidate to maybe run an aggressive and inclusive campaign, ESPECIALLY in the south. Bernie Sanders did not do that. Which was the kiss of death for his campaign. Combined with the fact that he couldn’t handle dealing with protesters, democrats (Mostly People of Color) saw through his “a better economy can fix racism!” Fam. That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. On a final note, I would like to address something that people seem to gloss over. Bernie Sanders is Jewish. Now, that should not matter when it comes to running a country that was found supposedly on religious freedom. A vast majority of Cheeto Gaddafi voters are Christian. And out of those, a lot seem to believe that this land is a Christian one.

Criticizing the Protest

You get mad when your latte is not soy. You holler at customer service representatives when AppleCare deviates in the slightest. Do not come out the side of your sunburned neck to say shit about a protest to me or anyone else that is a part of a marginalized group. Do not part you crusty lips and say that dissent is unpatriotic. Most of your ancestors rid Boston Harbour of the good Earl Grey because they didn’t want to pay taxes. As well as a war. Now, if people want to shake their ass rent’s due and overall having a good time flaunting their queer selves in front of a man who has no problem putting them in conversion camps, you just gonna have to stay mad. If people want to block traffic because they are tired of seeing the bodies that they identify with pile up with no repercussions to the ones that kill them, you can just stay mad. If people want to show Cheeto Gaddafi how to fill a gallery, bitch we will. And if you don’t like it

Insisting we need to be respectful

Birtherism. “Inner cities”. Insulting John Lewis. Insulting Meryl Streep. Clinton. Not to mention his personal attacks on all of his opponents. Praising Putin. Being a pathological liar. Birtherism again. Because I Cheeto Gaddafi spent eight fucking years questioning if this man was born in this country because he had the nerve to be president. Then when he actually ran for office, through insults and twitter storms, he stirred up a base of online trolls and undercover bigots, who trudged out to the polls to make America ridiculous again and that’s fine. But I am actually going to take a page out of 45’s book and question his very legitimacy of daring to occupy the highest office of the land. So to recap: will I be respectful?

What would MLK…

Let me just stop you right there. You wanna know WHY none of us know what MLK would say now? It’s because he’s dead. And I don’t know the MLK you heard of but the one I know would straight be like “Nah, fam” and curse white moderates and their POC compatriots (I point out white moderates because MLK did so here). So I don’t know what MLK would say or do, but I know that because of him we came very far and I’m not fucking going back. Also, not everyone is MLK in the movement. And at the rate that this country is going, they are creating more Malcolms than Martins.

America just had eight years of relatively no scandal. And I have heard so many people say that President Barack Hussein Obama is the worst president when a simple Google search tells anyone that isn’t the case. And since I know that Cheeto Gaddafi can’t go a week without not being in the spotlight, good luck with that.

In the Congress

We arrive at Comet Ping-Pong, which Jenny and Sam swear have the best pizza anywhere, and are walked to the very back of the restaurant. 

“The pizza’s are huge,” Sam explains to my confused look at the one menu. “Trust me, you don’t want a whole pie to yourself.” I shrug, because they’ve been here before and I haven’t. Also, I’m pretty sure these guys won’t try to kill me the first day of my internship.

”I should have asked before we got here,” Jenny smacks her forehead before looking at me. “Do you have and aversion or allergy to gluten? Dairy? Because we can go somewhere else if that-”

“No, I’m good.” I pat her hand in the most comforting way you can with double layered leather gloves. “I eat anything that doesn’t try to eat me first.”

“You don’t look it,” Sam comments. “You look like you only ingest water and veggies.”

“Yoga,” I inform her. “Also, no one in my family is bigger than a size six, so…” I trail off, grabbing the menu to see what my options are. “Is there an Alfredo pizza?”

“The Spring Chick is the closest thing they have, I think,” Sam offers, pointing it out.

“I don’t think we’ve ever had that,” Jenny wonders as the waiter makes her way back to us. She orders the pizza and requests to keep the menu as I shoot a quick text to everyone saying that I made it and that I’m eating right now. I put my phone back in my pocket and look around the table. Jenny is scrolling on her phone screen. I look over at Sam to see her apparently trying to drill holes in my head.

“So,” she starts, glancing around to make sure that no one was within earshot. “I saw your face when you noticed that you touched me. You still have it on your face now. So what’s up?” I shuffle a bit, unsure of whether I should tell her. I look over at Jenny who also eyed me curiously.

“Well,as you know, from those around me I knew that skin to skin contact for me held more significance than for anyone else.” I look up to see them leaning in to hear me better. I wring my hands and continue “I’m just afraid of your reaction when it fully sets in.”

“When what finally sets  in?” Jenny interjects. “It took me a few minutes to acclimate to what happened. But then I got over it.” 

“Yeah, I mean it’s shocking but not completely out out of the realm of understanding.” I shake my head at both of them.

“These powers can turn someone evil,” I insist. “I’ve seen it. Trust me, it isn’t all good.” At that point our drinks arrive.

“I mean, I guessed that,” Sam continues once the waiter is out of earshot. “But, I mean your Jesus. Surely your powers can heal even the most disgusting heart.”

“It doesn’t necessarily work like that,” I correct her. I don’t want to talk about it anymore but I feel compelled to warn her. “I bring forth what’s in a person’s heart. Good or bad.” With that statement, a heaviness falls on the us. Sam doesn’t ask anymore questions and Jenny seems to be focused on her phone again. We don’t talk until our pizza arrives, when we say our thank yous and dig in.

#*#*#

“It can be a lot to take in at first,” Sam offers and we pull up a block away from the capital building.

“We’re gonna walk from here,” Jenny announces as the car stops. “Eric’s gonna take your bags to the hotel, Jes. So, when you get there your stuff should already be there.” We exit the car and start walking towards the Capitol building. “So, I know I explained this, but the way this internship works is that I work with you to pinpoint where your activism can influence policy change. That means that you wouldn’t necessarily be working with me on everything you do-”

“Most of the congresspeople that work with the her are decent enough,” Sam adds.

“Most?”

“Senator Berger is a bit of a douche canoe-” her shrug is cut off by a shriek in front of her.

“SAMANTHA!” Jenny’s eyes are bulging out of her skull. Sam just shrugs again, and mouths that it’s true. “Besides, Berger is checked by the other members of Congress as well as members of the committee.”

“What committee?”

“Ethics.” Sam rolls her eyes and leans in. “The fact that that guy has the gall to say he’s ethically sound on anything is just-”

“Sam!” Sam just shakes her head at Jenny. “Topher isn’t that bad, c’mon.”

“I didn’t say anything about Senator Dunn,” Sam’s eyes widen innocently. “To be far, not everyone in the Senate is evil. Dunn, Reed, and Gael are all decent people. But, none of them are in the Ethics committee.” Sam turned back to me. “The House has a much more believable ethics committee. It run by Sinclair Jackson-”

“The Representative that did the SlutWalk in L.A.?” For some unknown reason, I imagined the silver haired Representative in a teddy and thigh high leather boots, like what she wore at the march.

“She’s also an esteemed civil rights leader,” Jenny says, dejected.

“Yeah, with a killer bod,” Sam nudges me and giggles. We almost run into Jenny who is now standing at the base of the Capitol steps, arms crossed and her face set into a scowl that resembled the one I saw at the Airport.

“Sinclair Jackson is a dear colleague of mine,” she forced through gritted teeth. Sam and I share a look that said What exactly is her deal? “She’s an intelligent fierce woman who does not deserve to be slut-shamed!” Jenny’s voice rose a bit in the end, causing Sam and I to sway back a bit. We remain quiet for a little bit and Jenny, satisfied with our silence, continued to walk up the stairs.

“You know,” Sam offers , tugging me behind her after Jenny. “Smart and sexy aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Yeah,” I chime in. “Just because she stripped down to nothing for a cause doesn’t mean that she isn’t an intelligent woman.” We make a sharp left once we are in the building, scuttle quickly past reporters and tourists alike in relative silence.

“Well,” Jenny hesitates, as if she’s trying to measure her words. “Just don’t say anything about it to her face,” she concedes.

“She doesn’t care if you mention it-” Sam whispers to me.

“SAM!”

“She actually enjoys it.”

“Ugh,” Jenny slams her hand to her face in complete exasperation. We continue to walk down a corridor. “Anyway, there are a few policy things that we need to go over in my office before you are introduce to the other Congress members that I work with.” She stops in front of a door with her name embossed on the front.

“There isn’t much that we have to go over, honestly-” Sam is cut off by the door in front of us swinging open. Jenny leads us into a fairly small and crowded room. You could tell that someone tried to make the most of it; a couple of couches placed against a decorated wall. Sam leads me over to the couch and sits down, prompting me to sit down. Jenny riffles through her desk as I look around. The pictures on the walls were all of Jenny and other people. On the fireplace across from the couch they were sitting on, there was a bronze bust of MLK, a sailboat, a copy of The New Jim Crow, and another bust or Sinclair Jackson.  Flanking the fireplace was an Irish flag and a Great Britain flag. There’s a small coffee table that has seen better days in between the couch and the fireplace and a scruffy armchair almost right in front of the door.

“Found them!” Sam and I both jump at Jenny’s exclamation. She walks over to us and we hear a knock at the door. “I knew you would darken my door at an inconvenient time.” A slow, bright smile stretches across her face, as she takes two steps into the office. 

“I like to keep you on your toes,” she comments in Jenny’s direction before turning to Sam and I. “I don’t think I’ve met you, Sinclair Jackson. U.S. Representative of California.” At this point we’re shaking hands. “You’re beard’s a little patchy.” I just kept shaking her hand and nodding my head. I‘m not even thinking that this could even be an insult, but to be insulted by this woman was the same thing as being insulted be Meryl Streep: I’m taking it because it means that she saw me! Too soon, Mrs. Jackson lets go of my hand and turns towards Jenny. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”

“What calls?” Jenny pulls out her cell phone to check any missed calls.

“I called your office,” Rep. Jackson tells her. “But you just let it-”

“I haven’t been in the office at all today,” Jenny confesses, and nods her head in my direction. “I had to pick up that one up from the airport-”

“So did you see who Berger showed up with today?” Jenny’s eyes widened and then she leaps out of her chair. She thrusts a packet into my hands and almost runs down Mrs. Jackson on her way out.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Mrs. Jackson shrugs and heads towards the door. In an instant Jenny’s face was around the edge of the door again.

“Sam, can you go over the Indivisible files with Jes?” Before Sam could respond, she vanishes again, Representative Jackson right behind her. 

“What was that about?” I ask, turning back to Sam, who’s huddled over the packet that Jenny gave her.

“Oh, uh, Senator Berger proposed legislature that would raise the national minimum wage to something liable-”

“That’s great! Why-”

“Some of the provisions defund public assistance.” Something about the look on my face encourages her to continue. “They’ve been doing this for a while, trying to make opposing Senators look bad.” She shrugs. “They did the same thing with health care reform. Put in a provision allowing the privatization of Native American lands.” She is now facing me cross-leg on the couch, her shoulders square. “That’s why I did this. I sent a letter to Jenny, asking if I could get the name of all the Senators that signed it. I sent them each copies of treaties on each treaties anniversary. Jenny got so many complaints that she sent a staffer to seek me out. The first time I was here, I took a picture with each senator, posted it, and then kept up with them, periodically reposting the picture to remind of their promise.” She beams at me. “Some considered it legislative blackmail.”

“And what’d you do for this visit?”

“I sent howlers.” That is genius. “According to Jenny, it took staffers a good two and a half weeks to find them all and destroy them. I think they hate me now.” Sam’s eyes became unfocused for a moment before she looks back at the packet. “Okay, so the program’s aim is to-” there was a knock on the door again and I turned to see a guy standing awkwardly in the doorway. He was tall, tan with a fade, and wore a well tailored suit.

“Hey-hey Sam,” the man clears the lump in his throat. “I thought that Senator Prova would be here.”

“She’s with Rep. Jackson dealing with the racist pumpkin.” Sam looks back down at the packet in her hand. “What’s up? And where’s your friend, Dunn? Oh, by the way, Jes,” she gestures to me before absentmindedly pointing at the doorway. “This is Senator Matt Reeds of Jersey. Senator Reeds, Jes De La Cruz, new intern.” The man makes his way towards the couch.

“It’s nice to meet you Jes,” he says kindly. “And I told you to just call me Matt.” The sternness in his voice didn’t really match his face. He then slumped down into one of the chairs next to us with a sort of defeated sigh. “Topher was visited by Bay Creek Ministries while he was on vacation. And they had Senator Voldemort with them.” He turns to us then. “I need a drink.” I look at Sam, who had lost a lot of color in her face and looks to be near tears.

“Bay Creek is a Christian lobby group who is looking to get rid of Planned Parenthood and replace it with community care centers,” Sam relays in a whisper as Senator Matt Reeds looks for something strong to drink. “There’s one right off the reservation. They specialize in “accidental sterilization”. I bunch of people go their for preventative care or prenatal care, but most of them find out later on that something was done to them and they can’t really point out what happened. I need a drink too.” Sam jumps up and helps Reeds in his search. I stand, searching the room for any liquid and spotting a decanter on Jenny’s desk. Smelling that is was water, I take my gloves off and hold the bottle. Within seconds the contents in the bottle went from clear to amber. 

“Here you go,” I call to them, placing the tray on the coffee table just as Jenny returned.

“I need a drink,” she exclaims, sinking into the same chair Matt vacated. She noticed the decanter in front of her. Sam and Matt join us around the small coffee table. Matt pours himself a healthy cup while both he and Jenny gave Sam a disapproving look as she pour herself a sip. Simultaneously, they take a sip and groan in appreciation. “Where’s you guys find this?” She asks. “The only thing I had in this office was water.”

You can't say they aren't racist, white person

So, when I started the job that I am currently working, I asked my boss a very simple question: have any of your workers expressed racial discomfort with any of the clients? He responded with the fact that he doesn't take on any racists clients and that he's never encountered racism with a client before. And I knew that couldn't be right. I live in Texas, the breathing definition of racism. Also, my boss is white and male, so he wouldn't know.
And it turns out that I was right. The client that I work for is a big supporter of Making America Great Again. The first week that I worked, he asked me where I was from. When I told him I was Texan, he said that my lack of an accent is a big give away that I am not entirely American. Now, just because my parents were born in West Africa doesn't mean that I'm not American. My real ass birth certificate is from this country. But he's cordial to me. Tries to have conversations. But he also bashes The Obamas, complains about the amount of brown people are in this country, Obamacare is worse than the ACA, how nothing is ever free etc.
This man is college educated. He doesn't believe in slavery. But he insists he isn't racist. And my boss vouched for him. I mean, he let's The Blacks into his house. Hell, his doctor is a Mediterranean Man (He's actually a Bostonian of Armenian heritage).
And I just....that's racist, dude. The fact that you can't see that means that you are not allowed to determine what is and isn't problematic. Because people like that don't get it. You don't even want to walk in another person's shoes to see their experience. And as for accepting certain people that they let into the house, those people work for him. In his mind, he can say and do whatever he wants to us and we just take it. Like we're hollow.
It isn't my fault that you can't see the humanity in others. It also isn't my fault that I believe you no longer have humanity (if you had it at all) which is why you can't see it anyone else.

Jenny and Sam

I spend the entire trip building pamphlets and packages Senator Prova asked me to provide for my proposed legislation. Luckily, the only thing I sought out to do was educate Legislators on who is LGBTQIA+ and how the only requirement we have is to live freely. A few times a tawny, weather-worn man with wild tufts of uneven white hair passed by my cubicle. The hostile look on his face startled me for a bit and gave me pause enough to look around. Normally when I travel, it’s with my mom and dad, who shielded me from the reality that faced me now. Everyone in first class is unnervingly alabaster, male, and boring. The air is thick with an entitlement and self-importance that I didn’t notice when I first entered the plane. The realization that these people are most likely going to the same place that I am makes me sink down in my chair, hoping not to be seen. The bell dinged and the seatbelt light came on, while the captain told us that we would be descending soon. I’m shoving the materials that I took out of my bag back into it when I feel something bearing down on me. I look towards the aisle and I see the burnt-orange guy again, staring coldly at me. I look around to see I what is so offensive that I am now having holes drilled into me. Not seeing anything I look back at the Sloth Fratelli look-alike. Is it possible for some to glare harder than a glare? It took me a while, but as I look down at myself I see what has his briefs in a bind. I have the audacity to have multicolored dreads and be darker than a paper bag. That, or the fact that my grey sportcoat and dashiki vest (with matching bowtie) fit better than his. 

“Can I help you with something?” I smile at him. He huffs before he starts packing his own belongings. Shrugging the whole thing off, I finish my packing and wait for the plane to land. I arrive in Dulles airport, disoriented and excited. Once I’m off the plane, I grab my bags and scan the crowd, looking for a familiar face.    

Jenny Prova was a senior Senator of the great state of Florida. She was also a good friend of Dr. Delaney’s, which is how I got on her radar. She is one of the few legislators in the country who actually won their districts on inclusivity and intersectionality. She’s also one of the few people who realizes that she doesn’t always knows what that means. So, every year she selects two teens who have shown exceptional work in activism to work with in introducing new legislation, allowing her to get re-acclimated to her constituents as well as providing the teens an inside look to how policies are made. When I met Jenny, she was nothing but smiles and good vibes. 

Which is why I didn’t realize that the scowling woman in front of me is the same one I met over winter break. Her auburn and silver hair was French braided and resting on her shoulder that seemed to be holding up her ears with how high up they were. Her arms are crossed tightly and she’s angrily tapping her stiletto. Jenny looks like she’s ready for a fight. As I get closer, her features soften a little bit, but don’t go away.

“Jes!” She squeals, grabbing onto my forearms and half-dragging me into a hug. She pushes me back at arm’s length, then strides backwards towards the front doors.“I’m so glad you’re finally hear! How was your flight? Are you hungry? Let me get your bags. Oh.” She stops without warning, and that’s when I realize that there’s someone else with us. This girl can’t be much older than I am, with an even tan that the fairer skinned can only dream of and jet black curly hair haphazardly piled on top of her head. I would have killed for her red lace skater dress, and made a note to ask her where she got it later. She does not notice my inventory of her however, because the orange guy from the plane is walking towards us with an entourage of what has to be VIP of D.C.

“Isn’t that...” the girl starts, pointing at I think a particularly lanky man with floppy blonde hair, trailing behind the rest of the pack.

“I guess I know why he didn’t need a ride,” Jenny states in an icy tone, shrugging.I’m still looking at Agent Orange as he reaches a man standing near the door dressed like a chauffeur and a teenager in a suit and tie. Orange tosses his briefcase at the teen who fumbles in a bit before holding it close. 

“Who’s the orange guy?” I ask without thinking. Jenny and the girl in red both cackle loudly as Jenny throws her arms around my shoulders. We walk out of the door, the pair still laughing when the the girl speaks.

“Agent Orange is Senator Daniel Berger, staunchly conservative and oddly in favor of preserving the sanctity of this country.”

“Now is that before or after Europeans destroyed it?” Again, without thinking the words leave me. 

“I like you,” the girl says, just as we are approached by a man just in a chauffeur’s uniform. Jenny slides my bags away from me and start handing them to the guy, leaving me and the girl in red standing together. “I’m Samantha Oxendine,” she sticks her hand in my direction. “But you can call me Sam.” I shake her hand, and her eyes widen, staring down at our hands. I look to Jenny, who has turned around at this point and seen our hands locked together. I look back at Sam, who is gulping for air or for words as I try to pry my hands away from her. But in her shock, she holds me in a vise-like grip. Jenny excuses the driver and comes over to where we stand. She pries Sam’s hands off of mine and ushers her into the back of the car. I follow around the other side of the car, finding my gloves in my coat pocket and slipping them on. We all pile into the town car, Sam visibly shaken, and Jenny explains to Sam what’s happening as I look back to the first few times.

⚲#*#*#⚲

One day, when I was four, I shook the hand of one of Dr. Shalhoub’s students. Once she realized what happened, she snatched me off the desk and ran to Dr. Delaney’s office, while calling Dr. Sparrow. She sat me down on the desk, handed me her iPhone and tugged Delaney away from where I could hear. She kept adjusting her hijab, which was a nervous I noticed that she had, between wild gestures at Dr. Delaney tried to calm her down. What felt like years later, the door opened and Dr. Sparrow walked in with Dr. Isaacs and my parents. After a hurried and seemingly erratic conversation, filled with hand gestures and exclamations, the group finally approached me about why I can’t touch anyone. 

According to them, when they held, something shifted in them. They didn’t know what it was, but it compelled them to protect me, and by extension, my family. They explained that while they still kept their free will, they weren’t entirely certain of what my powers could do. The next day, Dr. Shalhoub reported that the student ended up proposing to her fiance after two years of holding onto the ring.

⚲#*#*#⚲

“How are you not freaked out by this?” Sam asks Jenny, the trembling in her hands subsiding by the moment. “I mean, what you just told me is completely insane, but you don’t seem phased by it.” Jenny shrugs.

“When you see it happen to someone else, or when you see you aren’t alone in what you felt, doesn’t seem so crazy.” Sam nods absently at this explanation, still staring at the invisible residue on her hands. I can’t help but adjust my gloves because if I just had the stupid things on then this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. I’m definitely going to have to tell Dr. Sparrow-

“Nice beard, by the way.” I look up to see Sam smiling kindly at me. “And I meant to point it out earlier, but your hair is amazing. All those colors. Like, a dreaded merperson.” I beam at this. Senator Jenny leans around Sam to give me a double thumbs up before she clears her throat.

“So I didn’t get to introduce you guys earlier.” Jenny frames Sam’s face, who smiles cartoonishly. “Sam here is an Indigenous American who is going to be working on health care reform and Indigenous reparations again this year.”

“Again?” I ask confused. I am under the impression that we only got one shot at this internship. 

“Uh, yeah,” Jenny claps Sam on the back. “Sam did such a good job last time she was here I had to invite her back. They are still talking about how she put them on the spot and their constituents have not stopped calling since you left. She dragged the cowards into the light.” I get the impression that Sam is sort of a manipulative mastermind. “She says she has something else up her sleeve that she came up with the last time she was here but she won’t tell me.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing scandalous,” Sam assures Jenny, patting her on the shoulder. “I just discovered a new angle that I could work this, focus on both the Senators and their constituents.” Jenny and I both wait for her to continue before realizing that she’s reached the end of her statement.

“Oh c’mon!-” Jenny whines.

“Are you kidding-” Sam just crosses her arms with a smug look on her face as we protest and beg for her to give us some sort of clue as to what we should expect.

“Okay, okay. I will just say this.” Jenny and I lean in close to better hear what she’s about to say. “It will be a magnificent experience for all of those involved.” I suck my teeth at Sam, disgusted. Jenny throws her arms up in exasperation as Sam cackles wildly in between us. 

The curious case of Mariana's belly button

My story starts about six months before I was born, and My aunt Marisol and Uncle Vicente’s wedding. My mom, Mariana, was the junior bridesmaid and the youngest of five kids. Mom always says that the only reason that she was even in the wedding was because my grandma insisted that she needed to attract the attentions of a good man. My mother, however, had her eyes set on one man in particular.

Javier, my father, was and up and coming lawyer in the D.R. He had always been fond of my mother, thinking that she was the funniest of the Castillo siblings. Even when she was younger, dad recalled her often getting in scuffles to defend the honor of her older, more emotional siblings. He once called her “brute force in a floral dress”. He admired her when she was a child. And when she got older, I think you can guess where his mind went.

Well, that night the alcohol was free flowing and everyone was free willed and somehow my parents ended up in a hotel bed together. Here’s where I point out that even as drunk as my father was he still had the presence of mind to slip on a condom and in a moment of further T.M.I. my mom tells me that her first time was magnificent and totally worth the pregnancy.

Spoiler alert.

But back to that later. In the glaring light of the day, my dad was MORTIFIED. He begged her to forgive him, which, you know, rendered my mom speechless. He insisted that they go to her parents so that he could ask for her hand in marriage (“It’s the least I can do for ruining you). So, my mom, at this point, didn’t know she was pregnant. Also, she didn’t really care for having anyone else, but the whole ruining her bit and the fact that she thought he felt obligated to “keep her” seemed wrong to her. She’d won, but it almost seemed at a loss. So, my mom insisted that he think about it for a bit, get his bearings before he goes making plans that he’ll regret. So, a few weeks later, dad shows up. Long story short, in the lowest keys of a wedding I have ever heard of, my parents were married on a farm in the very beginning of September. Not too long after wards, the front of my mother started to protrude ever so slightly. Mom just shrugged it off as settling into married life. Dad pointed out that the protrusion was only in the middle. They didn’t consider it would be possible to be pregnant after one time and mom wouldn’t be visibly pregnant after three weeks of marriage. Reality sank in when grandpa chased dad around with a machete, I can only assume for some archaic patriarchal reason.

A couple of weeks later, my dad gets a call from a friend of his who has the opportunity of a lifetime. But he has to leave right away. Dad promised that once he was settled, he would send for mom and me.

And that is how I was born in a boat in the Gulf of Mexico. Luckily for the two of them, as I was being ripped into this world, they were crossing paths with a party yacht. Or fate, because this yacht was filled a bunch of professors from Florida State University. Four of those professors happened to be in the lower deck while my mom pushed through her contractions. On December 25, at midnight, I was born on the S.S. Jordan surrounded by my parents; Bryan Delaney, a law professor; Aqila Shalhoub, a professor in western theology; Eustacia Sparrow, an OB/GYN; and Angela Isaacs, a nurse.

From that moment on, the four professors became our American family. We lived with Dr. Isaacs until mom and dad could save up and get their own place, refusing to accept any sort of compensation from them. Dr. Delaney helped us get our citizenship, putting in all sorts of hours to make sure there would be no reason for it to be challenged. Since there were now more ready and willing people to take care of me, mom was able to become a nurse as well. The adults in my life thought that it was in my best interest to keep me insulated. It was the reason that I was home schooled. It was why they never hired a babysitter, choosing to keep me surrounded with familiar faces. For a while I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to play with other child, or give the mailman a hug or take candy directly from some of my mom’s colleagues.

Jes goes to Washington

I’m trying to figure out what to do with my hair as my mom and dad frantically try to piece together. I can hear my mom mumbling under her breath, most likely freaking out about how my room isn’t spotless and I’m leaving without enough time to  rectify the situation. I finally decide to make a high bun just as my mom throws her hands up.

“Where’s your charger?” she asks me.

“It’s in my bag, ma,” I answer without turning around. She walks up behind me just as my dad sits on the bed watching us. My mom’s hands tremble as she helps me wrap my dreads up in a braided high bun. After she’s done, she pats my head one, two, three times before I still her hands. Looking into the mirror, I can see that she’s starting to cry. My dad seemed to notice too, because he stands up and walks over to put his hands on her shoulders. Big mistake. My mom broke down in my hair. As my dad rubs her shoulders, I pats her head with as much sympathy as I could put into comforting my mother. Honestly, I think it’s a little too much.

“I’m just afraid that this is the last time I’ll see you,” she sobs through her hands and my hair, causing both my father and I to roll our eyes. She’s been doing this since she realized that I was taking this internship. Honestly I had to. Working with a Senator to bring specific issues to the forefront? And my mom was all set to pack us all up to go, until my dad pointed out that they would be in the Dominican during the summer. Which we do every year. Which was the first time that my mom broke down like this. So, we just let her cry to her heart’s content, hoping that she would just get it out of her system so that I wouldn’t have to worry about her going completely empty nest on everyone else. Mom is finally calming down, regaining her composure and wiping her eyes.

“You have your inhaler?” I look at my dad in the mirror, who nods and walks mom over to the bed and sits her down. I grab my sun hat off the floor and straighten my new floral bow tie and walked over to where my parents were situated. I lay a hand on my dad’s shoulder, who straightens up at once and fixes mom with an icy stare.

“You have to calm down,” he barks at her. Mom’s jaw drops, and her face starts to morph in anger immediately. Before she can say anything, I intervene.

“Don’t you think you are getting a little carried-”

“You. Are. My. ONLY. Child!” My mother half wails half shouts, tears brimming in her eyes again. My father and I throw our hands in the air, knowing that we will probably never get her to see reason in this particular avenue.

“Mama, I love you, but you’re being ridiculous about this,” her nostrils flare, but I have to get her to do something other than sit down and cry. “I am not marching towards the death chambers, I won’t die on this summer internship. I’m working in government! How dangerous can it actually be?” I stare into my mother’s eyes, devoid of tears now but still holds a teensy bit of anger in them. She quickly shoots up from the bed, grabs my carry-on, and marches out of the door. My dad and I stare at each other for a moment, both of us letting out a deep sigh Dad grabs the big suitcase while I grab my tech bag.

“You know she’s just worried-”

“I know, I know,” I cut my dad off, trying again to straighten out my bowtie. “I just think that this isn’t where it all happens, you know? And even if I come out now-” The horn blare from the car interrupts our after school special moment and dad and I make our way downstair. I can hear mom yelling profanities in both English and Spanish, trying to get us to hurry up. I grab the suitcase and meander to the car

“Do not forget to call Professor Delaney if anything goes wrong,” my mom starts reminding me before I even have my seatbelt on. “He may not be able to help immediately but he can always offer advice. Always, ALWAYS, wear you gloves, Jes-” she leans on the car horn, the sound erupting from the car, most likely waking up our sleepy neighbors

“Mom, they stopped working-” I whine to her.

“I don’t care if they don’t work all the time!” She honks the horn three more times before dad finally joins us in the car and immediately starts heading towards the airport.

“Darling,” dad warns. Mom shoots him one of her signature withering glares.

“I want her to come home relatively in one piece,” she spits through gritted teeth. “Or would you like to see our daughter- eh child, end up on a cross?” her misstep took some of the anger out of her, but not a whole lot. To his credit, J.V. de la Cruz didn’t flinch.

“Jes is sixteen, how much trouble can she get into?” This is apparently the absolute wrong thing for him to say because Mariana starts to list off all of the ways that my life could end in D.C.

I hear none of it because I now have my headphones in and am now listening to Sufjan Stevens to work out my own thought. Not that my mother needs to know, but I am just as scared as she is. This is the first time that I am going to be on my own on any trip. See, I was one of two teens selected in my Congressional district to see how to turn my activism into actual changes in policy. Professor Delaney, a really good friend of my parents, always said that I maybe one day that I could be the first genderqueer President. Around this time Professor Shalhoub would point out that Jesus wouldn’t want to hold any sort of political office and that the only reason that I even need to do this is to see how to better influence changes in perspectives and thinking in order to save as many souls as I possibly can.

That is, after all, the whole purpose for me coming back.

Thoughts

I made a playlist instead of taking anxiety pills.
Now I know why they say it's a killer.

Poem Jan 3

It took three years to sweat you out
To rid myself of the poison I took for you
I never imagined that I would every be back here
crawling back to you
begging for forgiveness

At this point I thought
I'd be happier
Freer
Or dead.
And none of that happened.
Instead, I'm stifled again
While you smother me
While I smother you
As I stifle your happiness
your freedom
as you wish for death.

You begged me to never come back
You never dreamed that I would be so foolish
As to crawl back to you
After getting rid of my poison
for three years

Poem Jan 2

I don't want to die alone
But I can't live with you.
Where does that leave me
If I can't start over, as well.

I guess I'll just get buried alive
Smothered by my own insecurities.

poem jan 1st

For as long as I can remember
I have always been "clever"
Always held the potential to be greater
Always held up to the light
To be examined
To be exhaulted
To radiate greatness

A time came that the light became to bright
So I created
A hollowed out replica
Of what everyone wanted to see
Jovial, good-natured,
And above all, clever
This shell shielded me
As I created a cage
To ward off
Further examination
In this cage,
I was able to throw myself
Against the walls
To remind myself
To feel
To cry
To let sadness rule

I built my cage
To be me
To choke on my worthlessness
To bath in my own loneliness
I made its exterior bright and bubbly
So no one could hear
The pained screams
The sickening blows
As I slam myself against my cell
Cracking every bone
Marring each layer of skin
Over And Over

The cycle hasn't ended
And I fear it never will