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.