A Cha Cha Revolution

After my mother’s death, we had a new revolution occur in our home. We were both sad to be orphans but, in many ways, we were relieved to not have to worry any longer. We were free to go on living and mourn our parents in our own ways. My sister took her mourning self to a different degree and started to go out every single weekend. She had a brand new 86 Dogde Daytona that my mother had helped her purchase on her graduation day in early June 1986.

Every week she would go clubbing with her best friends Raquel and Corina. Every week she would have a fight with my aunt that would range from what she was wearing to what time she would be coming home that evening. My aunt would get really crazy sometimes and chase my sister with a big machete. My sister would send her friends out first to start the car and then she would run to jump in before my aunt would catch her. Would she stab her? Would she cut her throat like in the movies? Definitely not. This spectacle would occur every week and the neighborhood already knew to expect it. After a while you would see people just sort of linger around waiting until it happened again.

I would usually watch the pre-show with my sister as the star in her room preparing to go out. My sister was really cool back then. She was a Cha Cha. To be a Cha Cha meant nice clothes and cool grooves. Cha Cha’s got to go to clubs on their own because they didn’t need a man to take them. They wore trendy granny boots, black mini dresses, and trendy hats. If they didn’t wear a hat then their hair would be held up high by the full can of Aqua Net (aka Cha Cha Net) hairspray they would put in it.

Raquel and Corina would come over about an hour before leaving to get ready with my sister. Actually, they would arrive already dressed to go out but the “real” outfits usually were hidden in the trunks of their cars because they knew that their mothers would kill them if they left the house dressed like putas as my aunt used to say.

Our house was a safe haven to them because it had no figures of authority—at least that’s what they thought. They would blast the radios loud to the music of Stevie B. or Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam. SaFire too. They would gush and complement each other on their outfits— “Ooh girl… looking good,” they would say. I would lie down on the bed and watch them through the mirror as they transformed themselves with their make up, hair and outfits. I would fantasize about when I would get to be a Cha Cha too.

My sister’s room now was the room downstairs that had belonged to my mother. My brother Enrique took our room upstairs and I was moved to the front house with my aunt and uncle because my aunt felt that I needed to be looked after more closely and because she secretly hoped that I wouldn’t be negatively impacted by my sister’s locuras and nightly outings.

My aunt would call my sister every bad word in the book. Not only was she a puta for going out dressed the way she did; she was also a callejera—a girl from the streets. When she was really mad she would call her a lechuza, which meant a female owl in Spanish, but was really a way to call my sister a whore that traveled through the night, without having to say it.

The adventure would continue when my sister would return from the club. Usually, she would come in at about 3 or 4 am with her shoes in her hand so that she wouldn’t make any noise. She would try to run past the house and lock herself in her room so that she would not have to deal with my aunt. My uncle never said a word because he felt that we were not his familia. We were just her pinche familia. My aunt was my mothers’ sister so it was her responsibility to make sure we ended up on the right path of life. I know that she was only truly worried about el que dirán and not about us. She only cared about what people would say.

She would usually try to convince me that my sister was bad to want to go out and that I should tell her what I thought. She would say that she didn’t really love my mother because if she did she would not be going out the way she did. For some time, I really did find myself resenting my sister thinking that it was true. Later, I learned that she was just trying to find herself a new identity. One that did not involve having to care for a sick bed ridden mother and younger siblings. Most importantly, she didn’t want to have to take care of me. She was through being my second mother and so she left me to do that for myself.

I really feel that my sister’s Cha Cha years were what finally gave her a sense of being free. She moved out shortly after this time and made her own life away from us and all the drama that was my Tía. It was truly revolutionary in many ways and I feel that she paved the way for the rest of us. Her revolution was only the beginning.

Written 2/2003