Rainna Rosa Venniquin
Age: 15
Race: Mixed
Ethnicity: Mixed Latinx
Diagnosis: Generalized anxiety, Oppositional Defiant Disorder
Therapist: Tiana Kendra
Disclaimer: This journal is part of a therapeutic method conducted by Dr. Kendra to analyze internalized patterns within the patient. The goal is for the patient to be able to discuss these patterns in what they should eventually identify as a safe space, addressing triggering circumstances outside of said setting with the assigned therapist.
Fuck you. This is the first day.
I guess I gotta use you to vent right? Let out my feelins’ instead of breaking someone’s nose or cuttin’ up my skin. Some shit like that . . . right?
This whole thing’s dumb to me. I don’t keep memory stuff, that’s Skittles’ jam. He’s got all the baby photos and videos, he even fuckin’ scans ’em. I guess that’s cute. He’s gotta keep track of all our legal documents anyway, our birth certificates and prescriptions and shit, ‘cause Mama’s ghost possessed his heart or somethin’. Makes him work until he knocks out.
“Orale! Y tu desde cuando trabajas tanto?” Tha’s what Ms. LuLu says to him when he’s packin’ us into the van. He just gives her that big, cheesy grin with Mama’s dimples, runs a hand through his thick dyed locks and says, “No hay bronca, Señora,” like always. “Just keepin’ these foo’s away from the riff raff.”
“No me diga! Those four are the riff raff. . . .” Pinche vieja. She don’t know shit. She visited a handful a’ times. Literally, all five times Daddy gave Mama a ‘special’ Christmas or birthday present and made another one of us.
Rocky and I were a package deal though. Pistolas Gemelas, watch out for the Venniquin Twin Pistols. Nobody fucks with us. . . .
I’m losin’ it. Diaries are dumb. With four older brothers, one of ’em bein’ a goddamn snitch-shit, all of ’em bein’ goddamn snitches—you can guess how well that goes, Doc. I tried to keep one, pinche ratero Rocky would find it and tell Skittles. Then Skittles’d make me sit down on the fuckin’ couch and be all like, “Oh, Rain Drop, you can talk to me. Want a veggie straw?” NO, I don’t want a goddamn veggie straw.
Sorry. That was mean. Skittles, if you’re readin’ this, I’m sorry. Love you.
Aight, let’s see, why am I writing in you now? Skittles told me to start ’cause I started yellin’ at . . . um . . . I don’t know. I guess I just felt like yellin’. He doesn’t get it, he’s different like that. When he gets upset, he keeps it in, which is exactly what Doc said not to do. But he tries to keep up that goofy-ass smile, so we don’t feel like freaks. Too late, I guess.
I wanna hit bitches. I wanna hit walls too, but god, do I wanna rip out some hair and fill my nails with blood and makeup. Stupid bitches. Stanky bitches. Rude-ass, no respect-havin’, dick-ridin’, man-stealing bitches. I hate bitches. Rocky says not to hit ’em, just bust up their rides, but I’m like, what good is that? Their daddies are just gonna buy ’em new ones. New fuckin’ shiny cars they don’t even drive, they just ride dick in ’em. ’Specially that stupid bitch Maria.
He likes breakin’ cars. He used to be in little league or some shit. Softball, I think, and Dad got him a shiny metal bat, but he got kicked off tha team ’cause he went ahead and tried to rip the umpire’s eyes out. She had it comin’, that kid aimed right for Rocky’s goddamn head. I woulda torn her to shreds too. Bust ’er head open and dirty up the sand.
I just wanna hit something, I wanna hit something real bad, no, I wanna hit somebody, hit somebody real bad. Imma sneak out the window with Rocky’s bat. Maria’s fuckin’ with my head again. Stupid bitch. . . .
11/13/2015, 6:30 p.m.
I broke Maria’s nose. All up on her trash bag dress. Pinche fresa.
This week at lunch, she was tryna tell me that I wasn’t really Mexican ’cause I look like Wonder bread. I know I look like Wonder bread, bitch, who the fuck you think I see in the mirror every day? She seen my brothers, she’s heard me talkin’, just Mama’s printer ran outta ink, ya got it? She keeps ’er mouth shut when she see me on the beach though, probably doesn’t even know it’s me. Or she’s too fuckin’ scared.
Last time she tried to say somethin’ ’bout my skin, Rocky tipped over the Porta-Potty at the Latino Pride festival with her in it. Fresa came out covered in all the shit that comes out her mouth. Orion (“Orio”) wanted to run before we got our asses beat, but we just stood there laughin’. She wasn’t gonna do nothin’, ’specially with us there. Her lil’ cholo boyfriend fucked with Orio all the time until X messed him up before graduation. Right before they walked. He didn’t walk ’cause of that but no one fucked with Orio for a while after that. That wasn’t about to change with us, La Pistolas Gemelas. Soon as X left school, we were walkin’ in. No one was about to touch our lil’ big brother any time soon.
I’m tired of Maria. I’m tired of her little manipulatin’ games, and tryna make me feel like shit. She preys on the weak like a vulture and stays as naked as one. She ain’t the hotshot she wanna be. She’s a fuckin’ clown.
11/13/2015, 7:00 p.m.
Rocky put me in a headlock until I gave him his bat. He wasn’t mad, he was actually laughin’.
“No mames! You can’t be goin’ around doin’ shit like that, Rain Drop.” He slung an arm around my shoulders, poking me in the chest. “Ya gotta hit ’er where it hurts—”
“I did.”
“No, nah, nah, nah. . . .” He chuckled, that little squeak squeezin’ out his throat. He jostled me around a lil’ bit, pointing at our fancy-ass standin’ mirror, shiny gems punctured on the sides by my stud gun. He’s just as pale as me, ’cept he goes out a lot more, fucks around in the sun when Poughkeepsie gives it to us. Our eyes are gray durin’ overcast, we’re the same height minus my boots and his torn-up sneakers. We smile like Daddy did, we got his eyes too, that light brown that makes coffee jealous. Damn, we’re pretty as hell.
“You gotta hit ’er right in the wallet.” He slid his arms up to wrap around my neck again. “Wounds heal, but you gotta buy a whole new wallet. . . . ”
I stared at the both of us in the mirror, the sides of my mouth curling in sync with his. I shoved him in the chest to get out of his headlock and picked up his bat from beside my dresser.
“Me puedes hacer un paro?”
“Yeah, anythin’.”
“I get to punch ’er at least once.”
Rocky shoved me so I’d lose balance, almost colliding with our mirror, but I grabbed him by the hood and threw him into the window. He tried to kick me from behind, but I grabbed him by the ankle, letting him fall on the ground. We both snorted and started laughin’ like it was the funniest shit in the world.
After X yelled at us to be quiet, me n’ Rock went out to go bust up Maria’s car and spray paint the Puerto Rican flag on it. He had the idea to write: “I love the U.S.A!” under it. X was on the couch with frozen peas on his head and mumbled that she’s gonna skin us alive, but he was smilin’. He knows she’s gonna send her lil’ gringas after me. She’s gonna send fuckin’ Adriana after me. Adriana. Just ’cause she big doesn’t mean she can whoop my ass. She was standing there when I was beatin’ in Sofia Lucia’s big fuckin’ nine-head and didn’t do shit. Just stood there. No seas gacho, pendeja. Have a lil’ fun. But she won’t hit me. Pinche Adriana. . . .
When we got back, Skittles was upset. I know because he opened the door and gave me that sad smile.
“Qué onda, carnal? Cómo estás?” Rocky was tryna get soft with him, but it wasn’t workin’. Skittles’ eyes were set on me, big baby cow eyes that would make any whiny bitch burst into tears.
“Es neta?” His voice was low and quiet. “You gotta be doin’ this to piss me off on purpose, yeh?”
I scratched the back of my head and looked down at the floor. “She was askin’ for it . . .”
“She? Who?”
I didn’t say anythin’.
He sat me down on the couch and told me to write some more, instead of sneaking out the window and messin’ with stuff. I told him again, she was askin’ for it, he said she wasn’t even in eyeshot, I just went lookin’ for a problem. I mean, yeah, but she’s been askin’ for it.
He didn’t wanna go back and forth with me, so he just sighed, put his hand on my head and said, “No hay bronca, Rain Drop.”
He’s got this way of making me feel guilty. It’s not really the same as the way Mama or Dad would, it was a cocktail of both with . . . a sprinkle of Skittles, I guess.
11/15/2015
I hate this fucking school. I hate the fuckin’ teachers, the dumbass students, and the shitty dances. How’d X n’ Skittles deal with four years of this?
Adrianna didn’t learn a damn thing when I fucked with her queen bee, I guess. Rocky n’ me were going to the cafe to meet Nathalie, his felpa princessa, so we could share a chemistry cheat sheet when we heard a slam against the lockers and laughin’. My gut feelin’ told me it wasn’t just any stupid fight, so I sped up my stride a lil’ bit.
Adrianna was up against Nathalie like some sorta pitbull cornerin’ a squirrel. My heart sank when I saw Nat cryin’, poor thing’s makeup runnin’ down her cheeks. I usually help her put it on, ‘cause she don’t know how, she’s real shy about lookin’ pretty like that at school because of . . . this.
Before I could do anything, Rocky was already on her. He yanked her weave back and slammed her into the ground like she weighed nothin’, then stood in front of his girl with his teeth bared and chest heaving.
“Oye, cabrona!” I screamed when I snapped out of my trance. Watchin’ Rocky do that is like seeing a shooting star, and my wish was to get into whatever trouble he was about to get into. I kicked her in the head and her gringas tried grabbin’ me by the arms, but I slung ’em off. When Adrianna got up, she started spittin’ words like the devil possessed her. She did everything she could to insult Nathalie, callin’ her the n-word, callin’ her a fag, callin’ her slur after slur after slur until I felt my nails get wet with her blood.
Nathalie is like the sister I never had. She loves Rocky in a way that can only be compared to Mom and Dad. They’ve been together since sixth-grade, which is cute as hell I think, and they were best friends even before then. Nat is family, she’s even picked up some Spanish so she can yell at Rocky when he’s bein’ stupid.
I didn’t mean to puncture skin, I guess it was kinda instinct. Keep my family out’cha mouth. I didn’t do crazy damage because Mrs. Rodriguez, my school counselor, yanked me off.
“Rainna! Qué está pasando aquí?!”
“She called Nathalie the n-word!” I sounded like a little kid bein’ a tattle-tale. “Then she said she was a man, she said she was a fuckin’ man! Aquí, look at this dumb bitch!”
“You tryna tell me that skirt-wearing fag ain’t a man?!”
“Chinga tu madre!” I spit on the ground in front of her and got my teeth knocked in while in Mrs. Rodriguez’s arms. She immediately let go of me, letting me fall on my knees and cover my mouth. I felt the heat of her hover over me, tryna tell me it was okay, they were just words, but when I looked up, all I saw was Adrianna’s wicked fuckin’ face.
The hit stung, but the pain couldn’t be nearly as close to my leather boot in Adrianna’s crotch. When she stumbled, I kneed her in the mouth and started hitting her again. I didn’t care if I ripped hair out, I didn’t care if she broke my nose, I didn’t care what she did to me. She’s part of a little band of terrorists that fuck with the gay kids and shy, pretty Latinas, and I’ve had enough. This school is my territory now, her lease has expired.
X went off on me when I got back home with Skittles. The two of ’em bein’ the oldest are our legal guardians. Skittles sweet talkin’ child services like they was old friends. But X is another story. If Skittles is the sweetness, X is the poison.
“The fuck is wrong wit’ ’chu?!”
“You woulda done the same damn thing if you saw it! She was cryin’ and everything!”
“It’s none of my business!”
“Yeah, right, so you beatin’ up Manuel and Chris wasn’t you tryna get revenge for your gay little brother, eh? You’re so full of shit!”
“It ain’t your job to protect anyone, that’s mine.”
“I wasn’t about to wait for you to drive up there so you could kick her ass, nah, nah, wey. My sister, my fight.”
X gritted his teeth so hard I thought they were gonna shatter. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. “Is therapy even working for you? Do we need to put you on fuckin’ sedatives or somethin’?”
“Why don’t I just grab some pills from your junky whore and take a load off then?”
He grabbed me by the shirt. “Watch it . . .”
I spit in his face, and he threw me against the wall. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”
“Oye!” Skittles got in between us and dragged me upstairs. His eyes were bloodshot, bags sinkin’ in his pretty eyes like he just got punched by exhaustion. “Both a’ you stop! X, if anyone needs a sedative, it’s you, go smoke some weed. Rain—” He didn’t even turn to look at me. “Jus’ go to your room. . . .”
I swallowed hard and dug my nails into my palms, the same nails that scratched up Adrianna. But I listened. I went up to my room.
Orio’s door was open, just a little, and I saw him lying on the floor, clutching his stomach like somethin’ was wrong.
Great. Everything I do leaks into everyone’s heads and they worry about me. Skittles was probably tryna get him to eat, but I interrupted that, now he’s bunched up in pain. I slowly opened the door, takin’ one step in when I heard Orio hiss at me.
“Get out.”
I’m sorry, Orio. I’m sorry, Skittles.
11/17/2015
I wish I could say sorry to everyone right now. But it’s stupid, they won’t even take it. We don’t take shit, and my words are full of it. Fuck it, I guess. Whatever. Fucking . . . fuck it.
Imma scream into my pillow until I can’t breathe. Maybe then I’ll feel better.
They saw what I did to Maria’s car and Adrianna’s face. The little Chicano football players. They cornered me when the last bell rang and tried feelin’ me up, slipping their scaly-ass hands up my shirt and shit. One of ’em held me by the thighs so I couldn’t kick any of ’em. I had to say fuck it to my nails when the quarterback unbuckled my belt. I clawed his fucking eyes out. So, I’m in trouble again. But this time, it doesn’t really matter. If those fuckers raped me, they wouldn’t’ve done anythin’. Just like they wouldn’t do anything to help Nathalie. No matter how many skirts she wears, how many people call her ‘Nathalie’ or refer to her as ‘she’, the administration doesn’t give a shit. Not until legal documents are finalized.
They’d ask me why I’m wearing my shirt so damn high and wearing makeup like that. They’d tell me I have to serve lunch detention for making three of their best players bleed and puke on the hallway linoleum. Not my fault they didn’t think the Venniquin girl would fight back.
My fault for makin’ ’em corner me.
My fault for lettin’ ’em.
My fault for thinkin’ I deserved it.
I want to protect everybody: my brothers, Nathalie, our name, but I can’t. This just shows you that I can’t do shit. I’m just a pissed off little Latina who paints her nails black and punches people to stop herself from crying in public. So she won’t be embarrassed.
12/01/2015
Dr. Kendra put me on somethin’. I don’t remember what it’s called, it’s just supposed to make me not so pissed all the time. S’posed to calm me down. They make my brain feel like applesauce.
Skittles has been homeschooling me because I got suspended. He keeps askin’ me what I wanna be, and that he’ll do anything to make it happen. I told him I wanna be happy. Well, I want a bass guitar so I can do somethin’ with my hands and then be happy.
He smiles that smile and says, “No hay bronca.”
Yeah. No problem.
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Zoe Elerby is an undergraduate at Columbia College Chicago. She is a passionate creative writing major who has a piece that has been published by Nervous Ghost Press. She has big dreams as a writer which she is currently turning into a reality thanks to her diligence in Columbia’s creative writing program.