Free Handbook for an Unpredictable Life: How I Survived Sister Renata and My Crazy Mother, and Still Came Out Smiling (with Great Hair) by Rosie Perez

never left, as if the fact that I was ripped away from her and sent to a home never happened. She played it as if I had just been away for a brief moment and now I was back. But it didn’t work. Her anxiety was too close to the surface.
    Like when Millie first saw me, she cried and cried and picked me up, twirling me around. I went silent again. It was too overwhelming. Tia, with a controlled yet panicked command, told Millie to put me down: “No! Don’t!
De
nuns say she don’t like to be touched!” Or when my cousins would ask, “Rosie, you wanna play with …” “No!” Tia would yell in a whisper. “You have to call her Rosemary now. That’s what
de
nuns say.”
    What the hell was up with that name? I stomped my foot on that one, demanding they all call me Rosie. It drove me crazy, like Rosie was dead and this “Rosemary” had taken her place. Theirwhispering about me when they thought I wasn’t listening drove me bonkers as well. They would lean into each other and say things like, “I feel so sorry for her,” “She looks so sad,” “I can’t believe Lydia didn’t want her to stay at her house for the holidays,” etc. Their intention was wonderful but misguided: the “handle with care” treatment came off more like “handle with anxiety.” It made me self-conscious and even more aware of the fact that I lived at the Home.
    The medium-sized Christmas tree in the living room paled in comparison to the one at the Home and was decorated in the weirdest way. It just had Christmas balls on it—all the same color—and a string of lights. That was it. Tia wasn’t big on decor.
    Titi and Millie put on “Soul Man.” “Come on, Rosie, dance, dance.” The pout on my face from my little fit over them calling me “Rosemary” quickly disappeared. Millie grabbed my hands and swayed me to the beat while everyone else formed a little circle, clapping their hands, encouraging me to dance. The ham in me couldn’t resist. How could I let a captive audience down? The beat took over my tiny body, and I was gone. I bounced, twirled, bobbed my head, and jumped up and down. My goodness, I was in heaven. What made that day even better was that Tia had made
arroz y gandules
and
pasteles
(similar to a tamale, made of green plantains instead of cornmeal, and stewed meat, pork, chicken, or seafood in the middle, wrapped in banana leaves) that night: heaven all over. I stuffed my face like a fat little pig until my potbelly swelled even bigger.
    Tia took me into the bathroom to bathe me. I immediately tensed up. For the past six months I’d been showering with twelve strangers, feeling humiliated each time. Tia’s bathroom was really narrow, making me feel claustrophobic. She began to take off my clothes while I stood next to the porcelain tub. “No!” I said with a paranoid pout.
    “What’s the matter,
mija?
” Tia asked confusedly.
    “I wanna do it … please,” I replied with my eyes cast down toward the cheap linoleum floor. I felt so bad being so curt and mean to her.
    “Okay,” she softly said with a warm smile.
    She let me undress myself, and I slowly got in the old-fashioned bear-claw tub. Tia sat on the toilet seat. Cookie came in shouting, “Mommie, me and Millie are going to the park. See you later, Rosemary!” I tensed up again. “Don’t come back too late!” Tia shouted back as they left. She looked at me and started laughing. “
Ay
, you look so mad again. No worry. I’ll tell them to call you Rosita, ’kay?”
    I exhaled a sigh of relief. Tia looked at me, smiled, and said with her thick Spanish accent, “God bless America two times that they left. They drive me crazy.” Then she made a silly face. I cracked up. She cracked up with me, both of us cackling in unison. She took the big white bar of soap and gently washed me. It felt good, soothing. I started to play with the soap, letting it slip in and out of my hands.
    Tia picked me up out of the bath, wrapped me in a towel, and