The Time It Snowed in Puerto Rico by Sarah McCoy Read Free Book Online Page A

a ring. Papi, Mamá Juanita, and I stood in the center of the gallera . All eyes on us.
    “Ay bendito!” said the witch-hazel woman. Her face twisted, and she gagged.
    Papi scooped me into his arms and carried me out of the plaza, my legs wrapped around his waist like when I was little. We walked away from City Hall, Governor Muñoz, and President John F. Kennedy.
    “Es okay, es okay,” Mamá Juanita kept saying.
    I couldn’t stop the tears from coming. It wasn’t okay. I wanted to see America.
    Papi walked us back to the long, green lawn in front of El Morro. He took off his guayabera , spread it over the grass, and I lay down. The wind swept over my body and I could breathe again. My tears dried in salty streaks. I was glad they were gone. I didn’t know what had risen up or why, but I was mad at myself for it.
    Mamá Juanita bought a tamarind piragua and sat beside me, pulled my head into her lap, into a sea of soft white. She opened her umbrella, stuck the handle into the ground, and fed me sweet ice in the shade. Papi lay in his undershirt, his hands beneath his head.
    “I’m sorry,” I said.
    “Sorry? Por qué? ” Mamá Juanita asked.
    “We missed President Kennedy.” I ran my hand over a patch of morivivi , life-and-death miracle plants. They pulled their fanned leaves into long prayerful limbs and muerto , died.
    Papi stretched out long and crossed his ankles. “He is just a man, Verdita. You are my daughter. I can read about it tomorrow. Besides, your mamá is right. I don’t trust these slick-tongued politicians. I’ll wait to see what the newspaper says.” He turned his face toward the sunshine. “It’s good to be Boricua today, eh?” He nodded up.
    A group of children flew kites. The wind blew steady and held the paper shapes high in the cloudless sky. The three of us lay on the lawn, watching them swoop and dart, swimming on the sea breeze. It was a beautiful day. I thought of Omar in the States. I doubted his sky was nearly as warm and clear. When I looked down again, the morivivis had opened back up, come back to vivo , life.
    W E DROPPED M AMÁ Juanita at her pineapple-colored house near the University of Puerto Rico, so she wouldn’t have to ride the bus.
    “Gracias , Verdita,” she said through the jeep window.
    “For what?” I asked.
    “For the afternoon. I couldn’t have prayed to spend it any different,” she said, and kissed my forehead. “Bendigo .” Bless you.
    At that moment I loved Mamá Juanita best of all. Shewinked at me, hazel-gold flints in the sun. And when we drove away, I felt a pinch inside that made my eyes water and sting. I wished we lived in San Juan with her, not high up on the mountain, so far from the ocean and the rest of the world.
    “Are you still feeling bad?” Papi asked.
    I leaned my head into the crook of my arm, my elbow sticking out the car window. “No.” I took a bite of the rushing air, eating the wind like it was the doughy middle of pan de agua .
    “Hungry?” Papi asked.
    I wasn’t paying attention to the road ahead, focusing instead on grabbing the wind with my hand and pushing it into my mouth. We took a sharp turn, and my eyes snapped forward to the steady gaze of the American Big Boy.
    “But Mamá?”
    “We can eat her dinner for lunch tomorrow.”
    I imagined Mamá sitting at home alone over a bowl of mixta . She’d probably be happy eating nothing but rice and beans until the day she died. Not me. I kissed Papi’s cheek as we pulled into the Big Boy parking lot. Inside, there was a short line leading up to the counter, where a large menu sign hung above a young man in a bright red and white uniform. Across the counter, fat bulbs of colored lights blinked steadily on and off. I couldn’t help but stare. The colors felt good.
    “You want a hamburguesa?” Papi asked.
    But the menu wasn’t just hamburgers. To the left wasthe breakfast list: hotcakes, toast, sausage, and eggs. In the middle, chicken cooked five ways, soups,