Madari Pendas
TURNING THIRTY
“Well, I never had a face-lift, and it’s mostly because I wasn’t rich enough to have a face-lift.”
—China Machado
Roman numerals for thirty: XXX,
Treasures on a map; a winding dotted-and-dashed line,
XXX. Pornography.
X-ratings for adults only.
I was ten when I first saw a Girls Gone Wild commercial,
Intrigued by every faux groan,
& surprised by what adult women’s bodies
Looked like, shapely, developed breasts,
Cartography of arched backs, hills & valleys,
The caesura between chest and pelvis.
~
Plastic surgeons draw Xs
On the areas for reconstruction:
Drooping lids like boughs heavy
with snow; ripples in a forehead tide,
Dotted lines on a corrugated visage, a changed map,
The way the journey rewrites the destination.
X marks the spot.
~
My mother had children by thirty—
Wild, climbing toddlers, searching for new bruises.
Friends now travel in broods, kids that pull
At sleeves & blow snot into their blouses.
One friend never slept. By her daughter’s crib
Every night, watching the baby’s steady
Even breathing, in & out, in & out,
Afraid the girl would die of SIDS.
Am I failing in all the ways that matter?
Why can’t I make more room in my heart?
Another friend tells me her husband
Looks at her different, like he hates me,
After their son was stillborn. She whispers, over
Merlot, that she blames herself too.
~
I know I am capable of love.
But am I capable of enduring great loss?
~
I have lists, long, unfurling, scritta papered
Bulleted items of should have dones and will someday dos:
Stand in a cage and feed sharks—
Reminder: not while menstruating.
Have a threesome—
Reminder: don’t do it with a friend.
Road trip across America like Jack Kerouac—
Reminder: don’t bring east coast cynicism along.
Try ecstasy—
Reminder: be prepared for the come down.
Finally finish Infinite Jest—
Reminder: brag to everyone about finishing Infinite Jest.
Have sex with someone famous—
Reminder: act like it’s no big deal.
Go the mechanic shop without calling Papi—
Reminder: act mean for better service.
~
Will I still be beautiful?
I pretend the question is vain, vapid,
Scoffing when others ask it,
but lean in to hear the answer.
~
I am a “modern” woman.
I know it’s mind over fatter.
Yet, I stare at the new creases & moles
& darkened acne scars, wondering if it will
Happen all at once
Or in painful, small increments.
~
Will I still be beautiful?
Appointment scheduled.
The dermatologist pouts,
(Too much sun damage)
Freckles splattered like sargassum at sea,
Doc asks if I have good genes.
~
At thirteen, I had my first kiss with a girl, Tabby.
It was a dare during lunch.
I was afraid to lean in, afraid she’d remark eww,
But our lips met
And I felt as though my body caught fire,
I rushed out of the cafeteria,
Still feeling the pressure of her mouth on mine,
Afraid & hoping all future loves would scorch me.
~
When I call my abuela, which is never enough,
She regularly says two things:
Never believe someone who only brings good news,
And always have money your husband doesn’t know about.
~
In seventh grade I was stabbed,
Blood striping my arm, more tally marks.
When I got a tetanus booster the next day,
I learn nothing hurts in the moment, only when you can name it.
~
My first kiss with a boy comes also from a dare—
Perhaps people need incentive to kiss me—
He pops his lips against mine,
Then wipes his mouth on his shirt sleeve.
In the distant bullpen, one of his friends
Shouts, ewwwww.
~
I ask my abuelo about his biggest regret,
He lets his cigarette create a dense fog between us
And says, “Not fucking enough.”
When the smoke dissipates, he laughs a little.
I’m not sure if he’s talking about sex
Or general living, not having done enough. Or both.
~
On the southbound train, a coworker leans close,
Pressing the pudge of their shoulder into mine:
Women are worse to each other than men.
You can’t trust a woman with something to prove.
Men stab you in the back,
Women stab you in the pussy.
~
Always add five-seven years to your real age.
You’ll get so many compliments!
Age is revealed in the hands,
The zigging and crossing traffic of veins.
Also by the neck, the wattle, the blotched chest,
Smile lines, frown lines, how they write their lines.
Who did I learn this from?
A woman, of course.
Age to men is utilitarian,
Like penises and water-resistant watches.
~
Will I still be beautiful?
Next visit, I bring photos of relatives,
I watch Doc’s expressions. A sigh, a frown,
a scowl will tell me my future.
Will I age like honey?
Or like a sun-soaked turnip?
~
I should have had more sex,
Joined the Mile High Club,
Kissed more strangers,
Taken the Brazilian woman to my bed.
Had more casual, nameless, tavern,
Whiskey-spritzed sex in a bathroom stall
Where my attention wanders towards toilet
Graffiti and where I start
Reading all the writing on the walls.
Geez, I wonder if Mark and Tammy
Are still together.
Maybe I should call Joe for a good time?
~
From a Yahoo article, titled,
“Women are Hornier in their 30s:”
Many people consider the 30s to be a peak
Sexual time for women. Many women find
They have a heightened sex drive,
Increased enjoyment of sex and better orgasms.
So there is something to look
Forward to as I get older.
~
No matter how old I get
I still believe
I only deserve respect
If I'm successful.
~
On my twenty-third birthday
I wished for my abusive ex to die,
Five years later he loaded
A Beretta into his mouth.
I feel cosmically responsible,
Yet I'm not sure what the lesson is here:
Only want the best for other people?
Never say what you really want aloud?
~
At twenty-eight, after five years of high
Walled grey cubicle farms &
Low performance reviews
for "not working with a sense of urgency,"
“Poor customer relations,”
“Too many misspellings in press releases,”
Childhood has ended. I used to watch the sun
From the manager's office, cresting the Miami skyline.
I love quitting jobs.
A faux-summer, man-made spring break,
No meetings, no water cooler gabbing, no bosses
Skulking, crouched to see if you're asleep at your desk again
~
Why did I want to be an adult so bad?
~
I haven't read enough.
I haven't written enough.
I still haven’t finished Moby Dick
Or The Corrections or goddamn Infinite Jest.
~
I haven’t loved enough.
I haven't had any scandalous affairs.
By this age, I thought a Warren Beaty type
Would have taken me to Lake Tahoe,
Hidden his wedding ring under a Gideon Bible,
Called me darling and left me a rose by my pillow,
After his leave, I’d stretch into the middle of the bed,
Like a cold front, still smelling him on my hands.
~
Will I still be beautiful?
Anything is possible with science!
It’s not uncommon for women
in their twenties to start Botox,
When I ask if it’ll hurt, Doc giggles.
Do IUDs, tampons, waxing, pap smears,
Menstrual cramps, menopause,
Breast feeding hurt?
When does pain ever allow
Us to stop?
~
I never want to look “good for my age,”
I just want to look good.
~
People say: Thirty is the new twenty.
Getting older means you absolutely stop giving a fuck.
But, I still give a fuck.
I still give a lot of fucks.
~
Folding laundry into neat, tight squares
My mom shares:
I wish I would have never had children.
She comforts me by adding that she loves me.
An opera singer, a cruise ship performer,
Telenovela actress—denied dreams.
~
Should I do what my mother couldn’t?
Make her not regret having me.
~
I learn immigrants can work miracles
When I’m in my white flowing quinces dress.
Papi worked extra shifts
And Mami used her hidden money stash.
Rich girls have their Quinces at Vizcaya
Against the oolite limestone.
And have a large fiesta with choregraphed
Dances that people rehearse for weeks.
I practiced disliking and criticizing
What I knew we could never afford.
My favorite dish is still eggs over rice
And easy mac with canned Vienna sausages.
~
I used to mock my mom’s sunhat and Zinc use.
As you get older your parents get smarter.
I blanched my face in sunscreen because I’m told
Aging is the worst thing that can happen to a woman.
~
I lost my virginity to a Robert, at eighteen,
In a parked car at a park.
I’m almost done, he said mid-stroke,
I counted the veins in the banyan tree’s leaves,
As the sweat from his forehead rained upon me,
I wondered why I ever looked forward to sex.
~
Women peak sexually at thirty, right?
Right?
~
My mother, chest burned with grease splash-back,
And thick dimpled arms on her waist,
Always said one day you'll thank me
& You’ll miss me when I’m dead.
She also used to say: virgins don't use tampons;
Being barefoot will get you sick;
Sleeping with wet hair will rot your teeth;
Never eat at an enemies or accept their food;
Standing under moonlight will give you cancer;
Ladies don't shave above the knee;
If a ghost calls your name, don’t look back;
Don’t let the broom sweep your feet.
Never say your desires aloud for the Devil is listening.
If aren’t a virgin on your wedding night, you’re useless.
~
At sixteen, wandering the house,
I learned my parents still had sex.
Something else a wife must be good at, I figured.
Mami wasn’t a virgin on her wedding day, I call her useless.
Sounds & then a slap and then a heat on my cheek,
Every girl knows exactly how to piss off her mother.
~
Will I still be beautiful?
My mentor, brilliant & literary,
Scholarly & accomplished
Is disappointed by the question.
It’s 2021 for God sakes!
Who the hell cares?
~
As I get older, so do my parents,
Just cremate me, my mother says,
It’s cheaper. Funeral homes are a rip-off.
How will I go on without a mom?
~
Do I believe in anything?
I only pray when I’m desperate.
I'm tempted to believe in only what rhymes:
Fake it til you make it;
Beer then liquor, never sicker.
Liquor then beer, never fear!
You snooze, you lose;
He who smelt it, dealt it.
~
Beauty is inner,
Beauty is outer,
Beauty is a state of mind,
Beauty is seafoam,
Beauty is Maybelline,
Beauty is a construct,
Beauty is narcissism,
Beauty is power,
Beauty is hours in a mirror,
Beauty is smile lines,
Beauty is simple,
Beauty is changing,
Beauty is slightly crooked teeth,
Beauty is a unibrow,
Beauty is twenty-extra minutes,
Beauty is not the goal,
Beauty is silk pillowcases,
Beauty is catcalls & dog whistles,
Beauty is currency,
Beauty is a needle in the forehead.
~
On my eighteenth birthday,
I learned how to smoke a cigar,
And I cut the nub,
The foreskin of the cylinder, with giddy delight.
I thought each new year of life
Would bring with it a new initiation.
~
At twelve, I jumped off my parents’ roof
To follow through the impulse.
Hot shingles burned my thighs; feet dangled;
I learned two things:
What you overthink, you will not do.
You can't enjoy the fall.
~
My biological grandfather died alone in Cuba,
After a fall, found face down on the floor.
We used to call him with pre-paid minute calling cards,
He was a voice trying to break through static.
~
I remember the start of the new millennium.
When I was seven, I won a Y2K contest.
The prompt: Write about the year 2000
And what it means to you.
I wrote: if we all die in Y2K,
I won't have to do a project for the science fair.
The whole world counted down,
All moving in unison into the future.
The Earth isn’t scared of getting older.
The apocalypse had an eerie enthusiasm
We all lifted our arms up as we approached the top,
Unafraid because, at least, we wouldn’t die alone.
~
A year later my teacher turned on the television,
We watched the towers fall,
When people began jumping,
She kept the television on,
Wringing her hands in prayers and fists,
Prayers and fists.
This is the new millennium,
I was right to be afraid.
~
While writing this essay, a building in Surfside collapsed,
Ninety-eight people died.
I think: That could have been me,
Before correcting to: are the people okay?
~
At thirteen, my middle school best friend
Overdosed on Xanax bars & had her stomach pumped.
A high school boy had given them to her.
She had invited me to cut class with her that day.
I thought: That could have been me,
Before correcting to: is she okay?
~
I thought at thirty, I'd know everything.
Be self-actualized. The best version of me.
I still can’t fit into size six;
I still say stupid shit in workshop
Like what’s a dangling modifier?
By thirty, I should know that at least.
~
I still have not finished
Fucking Infinite Jest.
~
When I get my first white hair at twenty-six,
I pause before I pluck.
It’ll grow back.
I’m still a woman with white hair.
Other women share their secrets:
I dye mine;
I use coconut & ginger;
Wheatgrass juice.
~
I am not alone, like those single strands,
None of us want to be old women.
Now’s there more, the twines of white, bruja hair,
Brouhaha. I laugh when a strand catches in the light.
My mother-in-law, fully grey now, reminisces,
Men used to look at me!
~
At twelve, I smoked weed for the first time,
In an alcove, under a royal poinciana shade,
I toked until I coughed,
Amazed by the grey ghost slinking out
My mouth towards the treetop canopy,
I feared it had been my soul, leaving.
Life, the dealer said, is like smoke,
it’s pretty and killing you.
~
Will I still be beautiful?
At thirty, I don’t have the answers—
I do have cold creams, vitamin C serums,
toners, retinol, SPF 100, sunhats, silk pillowcases—
But I have enough wisdom now to know
I’m not the only one with all these damn questions.
__________
MADARI PENDÁS IS A LATIN-AMERICAN WRITER, TRANSLATOR AND PAINTER. SHE IS THE AUTHOR OF CROSSING THE HYPHEN (TOLSUN 2022). HER WORK HAS APPEARED IN CRAFT, PANK MAGAZINE, SINISTER WISDOM, AND MORE. PENDÁS HAS RECEIVED AWARDS FROM THE ACADEMY OF AMERICAN POETS, FIU, AND TWO PUSHCART NOMINATIONS.