Consuelo and I walked along the unbelievably narrow sidewalks of Viejo San Juan a Sunday afternoon, talking about the future. It had been months since the fatal night Vasquez cornered us in a dark, dank alley, leaving my friend terribly injured—now, you would not even be able to tell that Consuelo had a purple scar from bullet as she chatted happily. Though I was profoundly glad that she had recuperated, she made me nervous since she continued to work in Vasquez's shop.

"He won't come near me again, Anita," she said, waving her hands in a carefree nature. "But, then again, it was you he was after. I would stay away, too, if I was in your position."

"But he shot you, Consuelo! It is too dangerous to—"

"You worry too much, querida. Let's talk of something else…like our trip! Won't it be exciting to move to América together?"

"Sí, por supuesto." Yes, of course. The more Bernardo spoke of América to his friends, the greater number agreed to join us. It was almost as if he were Christopher Columbus, enlisting people on his crew for his crazy mission to the New World.

"Indio proved useful after all," she chuckled. "But once we get to América I'm a free woman! I need someone with a bit more backbone. What about you and Bernardo? How is that faring? You two are almost the leaders of our merry bunch."

I could not imagine going through boys as one trying to choose the ripest plantain from the tree, but that was Consuelo's nature, through and through.

"What can I say? His father gave me a job, his mother and sister are wonderful, and he is perfect." I spoke boldly, though inside I kept locked the sweet embarrassment that came when I spoke about Nardo to others. It was such a strange, indescribable feeling that I hoped would never go away.

"Chica afortunada," she sighed. "To have such perfection! That'll be the day, right?"

We kept walking, past the bakery and brightly colored houses, windows full of flowers. Reaching the summit of the hill, we stopped for a moment, looking out to the sea, bordered by El Morro fort. This place was so beautiful it was almost deceiving, making San Juan seem better than it truly was. But, no, there was my neighborhood, a grey eyesore not far from the fort. We both sighed simultaneously.

"I must go," I said at last, embracing Consuelo. "But I will see you later tonight at Señor Núñez's shop?"

"Yes, yes," she remarked absently at my referring to one of many meetings Bernardo held for his friends moving with him to América. "You can make it home alone?"

I forced a smile.

"I may be shorter than you, Consuelo, but I am just as strong!"

"True enough," she admitted, as we parted ways and I continued down the street.

I could escape reality in the beautiful neighborhood of the city, but not in my own. The homeless line the sidewalks, reeking of sweat and the filth they gathered in. Stray dogs followed me, the friendly ones winning my pity and the growling ones winning my scorns and shouts. I began to quicken my pace as I reached the heart of my neighborhood. Men in sweat-drenched undershirts leaned out of their doorways, a bottle of rum in their hands as they called out to me: "Ven a verme esta noche, chia", Come and see me tonight, girl. I avoided them and cursed all manner of beauty my mother had given me, suddenly wishing I had not left my knife at home.

Retreating into the relative sanctuary of my own crumbling home, I was surprised to my father was already home from Mass, a ritual I had abandoned with the death of my mother. As I grew accustomed to the grey light I noticed an ugly bruise forming on his forehead and rushed to his side.

"¿Qué pasó?" I asked as he waved away my inspecting fingers.

He sighed and smirked wistfully.

"I am not as young as I once was," he drew out, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. "It is not that I am very old in years, in fact, but this life has dealt me harsh blows."

He met my concerned gaze and continued.

"I was on my way to the Catedral San Juan when this…this strange fit of coughing took over and I just, collapsed," he clasped his hands together simply. "Thankfully some kind people helped me home, rather than rob me blind. Then again, I carried nothing of value except my life."

I remember recalling those exact words he often mentions whenever I feel in danger.

"But even my life is not as valuable as it once was," he noted, taking my face in his warm, familiar hands. "You do not need me anymore, Anita. I see the way you take care of yourself, strong and sure, like your mother was. And the way you are around Bernardo…it is as if you were not alive until you met him!"

"Papi," I interjected, "just because I love Bernardo does not mean that I do not need, do not want to need you!"

"You can deny it all you want. You are an adult, at far too young an age, too. My life is fading just as yours is beginning…I-I will not be coming with you to the land across the ocean."

"No, don't say such things!" I could feel my bottled up emotion threatening to spill, no longer a trickle, but a typhoon of feeling. "Listen to me, Papi; you're just having a bad day. I am going to get a doctor…"

He did not protest as I escaped from his sight, keeping all fears and tears in the deepest corner of my heart. I could not expose myself to weakness, I could not afford it.

Matters were made only worse after the doctor came and left. He pulled me off to an alley behind our house to tell me the news: my father had a severe lung problem that limited his breathing. He would not see the end of this year. I felt numb, completely unfeeling to everything. Only a bit more than a year ago, the same news was told about Mamá. Just when we had a chance to escape all grief, all sickness and poverty, Papá would not be able to see it.

"In what manner will you be paying me for my visit?" the doctor continued, shaking me from my intense thought. The color rose to my face as I wondered what he meant, exactly.

"I will search our finances," I said coldly, crossing my arms. "I will have an answer by the end of the week."

"You had better," the man snapped, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "I don't come down to this neighborhood for nothing."

"Vale."

Even as I attended the meeting in Bernardo's father's shop, sitting on crates of rice and plantains, I felt like one in a dream, outside of my body, watching myself joke and laugh with this new group of people that I'd be making the journey with—Chino, Pepe, José, Roberto, Francisco, Manuel, and Tomas, along with Indio. They also brought their girls, Rosalía, Ana, Teresita, Lupe, Yolanda, and Natalia, along with Consuelo. I had committed their names to memory long ago, but could not comprehend how this girl I knew to be myself could have such a good time with the knowledge that her father was slowly fading.

My chest ached as I felt my heart breaking, yet a smile was kept fixed on my face.

"Ya, basta," Bernardo called out suddenly, trying to establish some order. "I have good news everybody—we leave for América in two months! So buy warm clothing, we will be in Nueva York for Las Navidades!"

Everyone let out a cheer and embraced one another. This was the first time they were given a chance for responsibility—we would go as a group together and the adults would come on the next trip. It would have been an exciting proposition, Christmas in New York, if I had not been so completely and utterly distracted.

"Calm down, calm down," Bernardo said good-naturedly over the noise. "We need all the names of those coming with us—so we have a good tally."

He held up the piece of paper he was passing around. Handing it to me, he narrowed his eyes, obviously realizing something was wrong. I took a pencil from his hand and wrote in my poor letters but a single name: Anita Torres. Reading it, he understood; but he was also like me, keeping up pretences as he continued to pass the paper around.

What should have been a joyous event was marred by sadness, which I did not have time to indulge. Two months would fly by quickly, I knew, and preparations had to be made.

Bernardo walked me home in the dark quiet, and we stopped a few blocks from my house. He embraced me silently, enveloping me in his warmth. He comforted me more than he could know, but I refused to allow my grief to resurface; I was afraid that, if I let it out, I would not be able to stop it again.

For some strange reason, I thought of Consuelo, who was by now sewing in the dim light of Vasquez's shop. I took a shuddering breath and parted fro m Nardo.

"I need to go see Consuelo, to make sure she is alright," I insisted.

He smiled skeptically, as if this was a joke since, after all, Consuelo was always alright. When I began to walk away, pulling his hand, he followed. Looking above, I noticed the absence of the stars, replaced with a vast darkness. I had a sickening feeling in my stomach and continued more quickly along the shadowed alleys I knew all too well.

Reaching the shop, I pushed open the door only to find four tired girls working in the stifling heat. Vasquez was nowhere in sight. Consuelo looked up with a sideways smile, blowing the hair out of her eyes.

"Visiting, Anita?"

I sighed with relief at my unnecessary panic.

"I just had a bad feeling, that's all. One of your 'bad omens'."

"Buenas noches, chicas," Bernardo said politely before turning to me. "We should get going, Anita bonita—my parents are waiting up for me."

"So soon?" a dark, all too familiar voice rumbled. "Why not stay and settle your debt?"

Bernardo whirled around as the door of the shop closed and Vasquez entered. He knew a threat when he saw one and held his palms out in self-defense.

"My issue isn't with you, boy," Vasquez spat evenly. "It is with Señorita Torres—she has not yet paid me what is due."

The breath caught in my throat yet I kept my face as still as stone as he approached. Nardo stepped between us, his countenance stormy.

"What is it you want?" he growled. Though shorter than Vasquez, Nardo's body language was clearly ready to fight.

"Only Anita knows."

I cursed soundly, a deep noise I did not know I possessed. This man thought he owned us, thought he could control us—working and abusing us for practically nothing. But no more. Reaching behind my belt, I pulled out my knife. Now the time would come—my will would be tested. I held it to Vasquez's chest, whose face looked amused.

"Laugh all you want," I spat, "but know this: you think because you are stronger and we are weaker, because you are richer and we are poorer, that gives you the right to dominate us, to have us follow your will without a struggle? I'll have you know that no matter how much power you think you have, you are about to loose it all. We are all leaving to a land of opportunity where there will never be people like you telling us we are worthless!"

"Is that a threat?" Vasquez chuckled. "You think you can come here with a boy and a knife and suddenly you can overcome me? What are you going to do, chiquita linda, kill me?" he boldly put his hand against my face, stroking my features until I pulled away roughly and Bernardo stepped between us angrily.

"Do you think I need this?" I asked evenly. I pulled up the knife, as if about to throw it at him, but then let it fall from my palm to the ground with a clatter. "Vamonos chicas," I whispered, pushing past him to open the door.

It was as if I had not even realized what happened—it was so strange, so unexpected. Consuelo and the other girls had followed me out of the shop without question or hesitation and I saw such an admiration in their eyes that had never been there before.

Once we were all safely a few blocks away, Consuelo rushed to embrace me.

"You are the bravest and most reckless nena I have ever met!" she exclaimed into the night. "And because of that you have set us free—I am proud to follow you to América."

As my heart slowed and the fact that I stood up to Vasquez sunk in completely, I realized all the girls had left and only Bernardo remained. He took my hand and gave a baffled smile.

"That was weird," he spoke, beginning to walk, "but very brave of you."

"He is lucky he got off just with a few words, after what he's done to us…"

"What do you mean?" Bernardo asked, suddenly serious. "I will go back and kill him if he's hurt you!" Somehow, I knew he was not lying.

"He's done nothing to me, only threats and thoughts. Consuelo was hurt though, a few months ago when she defended me. And I-I was just frustrated. He thinks he is so mighty that he can control us; I don't want to be controlled by anyone. I want to be free." I knew my emotion was getting the better of me, but did not care. I had to speak.

"We will be free, and I will always, always protect you," he promised me solemnly. Drawing a breath, he paused before he continued, "Your father will be happy knowing that."

I smiled wistfully, realizing that his words held truth.

"He will not live to see those days," I spoke softly.

I hated this seriousness—what happened to those days on the beach, laughing and running? Somehow, Bernardo seemed to sense this and he suddenly scooped me into his arms, kissing the side of my forehead as my head leaned against his.

"¡Mira! The stars are out," he remarked, cheerfully.

True enough, the stars that had been hiding from me earlier were now exposed, bold and unafraid.

"So?"

"So…" he scrambled for an explanation, "They are beautiful, like you, Anita. The stars that shine over América are these same stars that shine over our Borinquen." His smile widened as he thought of an idea. "C'mon, let's show them to your father."

"No! We can't!" I shrieked and laughed at the same time as he began to run, bouncing me up and down. Still, I did not argue too much and when we arrived at my house, I rushed inside, waking Papá up.

Without much protest besides a small fit of coughs, my father struggled to walk outside, leaning on me fully for support. Once in the cool shadows of the street, Bernardo came forward and supported Papá's other side. Between the three of us, huddled together, we breathed the same awe as we looked towards the skies.

"See the stars, Papi?" I asked. "No matter where we are, we will always see the same stars overhead." I caught Bernardo's eye and he winked knowingly.

"De veras," Papá spoke, his words quiet and peaceful. "Mira como brillan para nosotros…"

Look how they shine for us, he says. Glancing at his face, the starlight spilling onto his skin, I savor the moment, studying las estrellas reflected in his narrow eyes. Looking past him, I noticed Bernardo watching me and I mouthed a 'thank you' to him and he clasped my hand behind Papá's back. Together, we looked to the stars and sighed. I prayed the futile prayer that this night would never end, that we could always be like this, but I knew dawn would come eventually.

I knew that just as the sun rose over América, it would set on my father's life—so I thought of nothing else, nothing else but that moment and the stars shining just for us.

Spanish Translations:

Chica afortunada: Lucky girl

¿Qué pasó?: What happened?

Vale: Okay, I understand

basta: enough, settle down

Las Navidades: Christmastime

Chiquita linda: little, pretty one

Mira: Look

De veras: Literally "of truth", truly

las estrellas: the stars