Tomas Marcantonio

The Tumbadora

I close my eyes and listen for the bell. Meditation's not for me; I'm a pep-talker. The angel in the ear of a boxer.

  Pulse check. How's the heart doing? 

  Beating like a damn tumbadora.

  Set it on fire. You're a lion tamer. A gladiator.

  I try to believe it. 

  Let's see that fire.

  I start slapping my thighs and shaking my head.

  Faster.

  Faster I go. I'm in the arena and the lions are off their chains. Circling me like piranhas around a drop of blood. I turn slow circles and draw my swords.

  Make me believe it.

  I slap my thighs like I'm trying to put out that fire I've just started. But the fire's just growing now. Burning through these blue wires that carry my blood. Electric wires that send sparks into the air when I breathe. Ho, I'm burning now.

  How many people have that spark of yours?

  Just one. I'm the only damn one. I'll slap my palms on this tumbadora until they're red and the skin comes peeling off. Shedding like a snake in yellow summer. Come at me, mountain-shouldered pussy cats, my mane's a firework of purple poison and it's bigger than yours.

  I open my eyes, stand and find the classroom, hear the students on the other side of the door. Not their inane chatter; only their breaths. Their human breaths that dissipate into the air just like mine. But none of them have done what I've done.

  None of them told that girl that she was beautiful when she drudged home in the rain with the claw marks of the bullies still red across her back. That was me. 

  None of them jumped from that cliff into the turquoise rock-maze and came up harrumphing with their fists in the air and the Spanish salt-glaze over their faces. Hell, I had sorry pebbles of broken teeth on my tongue when I came up but I was the only one who did it.

  None of them feel their hearts shrivel up like sodden tea bags when they stand in front of people. When they answer the phone. When they meet someone new and the wetness on their tongue soaks away like a spittle of rain into mud-cracked earth. They'll sit there with marshmallows for cushions and watch while I spin the swords in my hands and take down the lions one by one. That's me.

  The bell rings. The paper's shaking in my hands like autumn's last leaf. No. No, like a damn pirate's flag.

  You okay?

  Okay? Me? I close my eyes and take the breaths. They're in there waiting, tapping on their bongos and tablas and tambourines. Not me. I'm slapping my tumbadora because I'm a damn lion tamer. Dum duh duh dum duh duh dum. Yes, my mouth's dry and I'm weak-kneed and my world of cardboard walls is tumbling down around me, but to hell with it. My heart's beating like a tumbadora and I'm the only one.