Libertad
O
written by Michelle Jaimes illustrations by Nieves Winslow, layout by Siobhán Chapman
nce upon a time, not so long ago, not so far away, there lived a girl who could smell curses. They smelled of sulfur and open sewage and made the hairs on her arms stand warily. She was surprised to find a sickeningly sweet smell clinging to her best friends and believed she was cursed to fall in love with each one of them, but falling for straight people is a curse that befalls many queer folk, not just her. That wasn’t her main concern at the moment, however. A more foul smelling, and surely detrimental, curse had settled itself deep beneath the concrete roads of South Central Los Angeles. A monster lived beneath the community’s feet. Its huge tentacles stretched from Exposition Park to Watts, curling itself around every neighborhood, every house, every family. It dug its way up through sidewalks and roads, cracking them open into potholes and uneven roads that jostled cars and punctured tires. It discharged hot fumes that drove the youth wild and made them act out against their teachers and parents. It made mothers chant under their breaths and fathers bang their fists on tables. It made teachers slouch in their desks and the police draw their weapons. It fed from the power lines, drank from the water pipes and found warmth from the gas tanks, sucking electricity, water and heat from homes. Nobody but her best friend believed her. She was going to find it. And she was going to kill it.
“So, how do we find this… cucuí?” “It’s not the cucuí, Lupe.” “Whatever.” Lupe flipped her long black hair dismissively, but she failed to meet my eyes. She didn’t want me to know how scared she actually was. “El cucuí is something our parents made up in order to scare us into obedience. Like the boogeyman for white people. But this thing don’t affect 14 | OutWrite, 2018
no white people around here.” “What white people?” she asked. “The USC kids,” I replied. “Oh. I guess they don’t count. They’re not part of our neighborhood,” she said. “They have security guards posted around campus, protecting them from us. They kick us out of our homes to build dorms. Of course they’re part of our neighborhood.” She shrugged. We were sitting outside Doña Sofía’s house eating raspados before going inside. If there was anyone who knew about the monster, it was her. She does brujería, witchcraft. My mom took me to her once. I don’t really remember what it was for. Sofía just rubbed a whole egg over my body, then cracked it open over a glass of water. I think it was to detect evil magic cast upon me. Why my mother thought someone was doing witchcraft on me, I have no idea. Maybe she sensed the flaming gay demon living inside me. Doña Sofía had a tiny jungle in front of her house. It was dense with the citric fragrance of orange trees, the minty scent of rosemary, and the sharp smell of cilantro. I could only see the roof of the house. La Sonora Dinamita sounded through the door. She must’ve been cleaning. I hesitated in front of her door. I used to think she was some sort of con artist, but one day while my mom and our neighbor Luz chatted on the front steps of my apartment, she passed by. When she was out of hearing range the neighbor turned to my mother with the look that
