The Time It Snowed in Puerto Rico by Sarah McCoy Page A

Verdita! You’re going to kill yourself,” Mamá said when I jumped out, the tires rolling to a stop. But I planned to be around long after her and then some.
    Titi Lola’s house had two levels. On the bottom wasthe salon, with pink cushioned high chairs and long mirrors strung around the room. On the top was their home: a small kitchen, a living room, Tío and Titi’s bedroom, Delia’s bedroom, and Teline and Pepito’s bedroom. Delia and Teline used to share a room, but Titi Lola made Teline move in with Pepito once Delia became a señorita . I felt bad for Teline, having to live with a baby who still wet the bed, and a boy on top of that. I didn’t have to share a room with anybody, and I never wanted to. The new baby could sleep in the tub for all I cared. My room was off limits.
    I pushed open the door and stepped into the loud rhythm of a bomba coming from the old radio in the corner; women chattered back and forth through the mirrors and across the room to each other; a hair dryer began to blow, and water ran in the sink. The salon always felt alive with change and newness. It was full of women, a few actually getting their hair done while the rest sat in the high chairs reading magazines, tapping their feet to the radio, and lending an occasional Ay, Dios mio! to the gossip. Titi Lola stood in the middle with a paintbrush in one hand and a bowl of white paste in the other. An old, yellow-skinned woman with bits of hair poking through a rubber cap raised an eyebrow when I entered. She looked like a sea turtle, her skinny neck poking out of the green smock.
    “Verdita! Here you are!” said Titi Lola. “You’re right on time. Is your mamá with you?”
    The last time I’d seen Titi Lola was at the Navidad . Her hair was red then. Now it was brown. I liked it better red. “Sí .” I nodded toward the door. The bell over it clanged when she entered. I hadn’t heard it do that when I came in.
    “Venusa!” everyone said at the same time.
    Mamá moved around the room kiss-kissing cheeks. I followed behind, getting residual pecks before making my way to an empty high chair.
    “I can’t stay. I have an ALA meeting and then an appointment.” Mamá stuck out her chest so everybody could see the pin.
    “Oh, sí” the turtle-lady said under her breath, obviously impressed that Papi was a Borinqueneer.
    “Bueno,” Titi Lola said, and continued to paint.
    “Okay. And Lola, do something with that hair.” Mamá sighed. “I’ve tried everything.”
    I rolled my eyes. I did my own hair. Mamá hardly touched it except on special days. She made it sound like my hair was on her head. I’d show her. The Simplicity picture was in the pocket of my jean shorts. I could feel the paper stiff against my leg.
    “Adios!” She waved to the room, then locked eyes with me. “Verdita, be good for Titi.” She talked to me like I was still a bambino . I looked away and nodded. When she went out, the doorbell clanked again.
    “I love this song,” Titi Lola said, and a woman with hair knotted in rags turned up the radio. A charanga orchestra played out a fast rhythm. Titi Lola shook her hips and took quick back-and-forth steps around the turtle-lady.“Cha-cha-cha, cha-cha-cha,” she sang, then put the bowl and brush down.
    “Verdita, what you want? Shorter? Bangs?” She fingered my sprouts.
    I reached into my pocket and slid out the paper folded neatly in fourths. Titi Lola unfolded it and squinted. “I want that,” I said.
    She lifted an eyebrow, and for a second I thought she’d say no.
    “I was going to try blond next too.” She laughed. “Do you like the brown?” She fluffed her hair and lifted her shoulder to her chin like the actresses in magazines.
    “It’s nice,” I lied. I had to. I wanted her to make my hair blond and straight. I’d have said anything to get it done.
    “Me too.” She grabbed a green smock and spread it around my neck like a backwards cape. It was the first time I had my hair done