Camila sat with her legs crossed on the boardwalk facing the Atlantic Ocean as the night breeze whistled its way through Coney Island. It was the 11^th of February, a rather cool evening in the winter. She was in her usual black attire, clad leather boots and jacket. The lines sketched on her face from effortless laughter, usually a sign of her rather jovial personality, appeared rather menacing under the full moonlight. Today her face was bleak, her dark brown eyes unescapable chasms of despair. She brought those same set of eyes towards the horizon, studying the hints of colors on its edges, fearing the day it would bring. The arrival of her two friends suddenly demanded her gaze and her thoughts were abruptly brought to the present moment. 

The three met each other their freshmen year of college at New York University in a house party coordinated by the residential advisor. It didn’t take long for the three of them to find each other in the sea of white in that apartment. They quickly connected over their shared pride of their borough– the Bronx. But, as they spoke that night, what was a seemingly meaningless connection no longer seemed so coincidental. The South of the Bronx was not a bad place, but years ago, it ravaged the lives of these women with trauma to last a lifetime. Their lives pushed them towards a dark night of the soul at a young age, but it was precisely in the Bronx that they had found life. Each found her safety once she started looking at the webs that connected her borough to the rest of the diaspora. Camila was 14 when she started learning Santería from one of her tías; Marcia was 16 when candomblé became her practice of choice, with knowledge also passed down from a tía; and Alejandra was 17 when her neighbor introduced her to brujería. 

Marcia and Alejandra came together, hands clasped as they usually were when these two walked next to each other. Upon seeing the last of their trio, the couple quickened their pace to get to Camila faster. Although Camila stood, she stayed put, managing a feeble wave and a low greeting. 

“What’s up with you? Why the somber face?” Marcia quickly picked up on Camila’s demeanor. She was particularly great at reading emotions, but in this moment her comment only served to annoy Camila.

 “Can I not wallow in the sadness of this moonlight?” Camila held out her droopy arms for a hug.

“No, you most definitely can. It’s just that you usually don’t,” Marcia laughed as they embraced, holding on to her friend a little longer than she normally would. 

“It’s my turn! Move!” Rather than wait, Alejandra bounced excitedly on top of both of her friends, her arms wrapping around them as she swayed back and forth with thrill. The empty boardwalk was filled with their collective laugher, its sound carrying throughout the deserted amusement park, filling its vacant ride with glee. 

“Ugh, it feels good to be here. It’s been such a weird month,” let out Camila as they parted.

“Yeah, it’s been a weird month. What’s going on for you?” Marcia became analytical– she couldn’t help herself. The night she was born the moon rested on the 8^th house of the sky, in the sign of Scorpio. This forceful, mysterious moon powered much of her nature, and tonight, 27 years later the same moon was visiting them in Coney Island. 

 “Well, there’s been a lot of changes happening in my life. I guess this bitch is to blame,” Camila chuckled as she pointed to the dazzling moon. She continued admiring the moon, as if puzzled by its existence; the thoughts seemed to make her emotional and she moved on as she started tearing up.  

“Life is so far and distant from those days in the village,” she laughed at she thought of the first time they met each other, how quickly they became friends, and how much faster they became family.

“It’s not so easy now. We are all 27,” Camila quieted, and the others understood. Saturn, with its slow-moving pace and strict commands, reestablished its strict rule on a person’s life when it reappeared in her natal position every 27 years. It’s no coincidence there is a 27’s club, and Camila was acutely aware of this phenomena. 

“And I think it’s time I take on all the lessons I’ve learned in this first cycle and move on to a different part of my life. I can’t believe it myself and saying it out loud to you guys makes it sound even more ridiculous.” Ignoring Marcia’s penetrating eyes, she looked down and continued, “but I sort of had a life calling, or maybe midlife crisis, still not quite sure which one,” she trailed off, hesitating to share her thoughts.

“I started dreaming about home a couple of months ago, started getting visions of my abuelita con mis primos on the island, and then bam!” the vibrant and fiery Camila was back for a moment. 

“I basically manifested a job offering back home con el departamento de historia en La Universidad en Rio Piedras,” she rushed it out before she could regret saying it out. 

“I haven’t told you guys, yet, because it just happened within this last month, and, unfortunately, this is our only time with each other.” She looked up at the moon, as if it were to blame for this inconvenience. 

“It’s okay, Camila. We know how much you want to get away,” Alejandra giggled, trying to lighten the mood and assure her friend. 

“Right, does she hate us that much?” teased Marcia, knowing this was not a conclusion Camila intended.

“Guys, no! What?” flustered, Camila tried to defend her statement, but instead her friends just laughed and ambushed her with hugs and congratulatory celebrations. 

“We’re kidding, Camila!” Alejandra laughed at her friend’s ridiculous attempt to explain her life decisions.  

“Yeah, I think we’ve tried to stretch that part of our lives for too long. You’re right, the days in the village are far and distant now, and we must learn to forge our own paths and build our own little villages,” Marcia smiled at her friend, offering a reassuring nod, instead of the reprimand Camila foresaw. 

“But, don’t worry. We both understand. Home is calling.” Marcia looked into her friend’s eyes, assuring Camila of the authenticity of her statement. 

The trio walked towards the end of the boardwalk, the place where they usually sat before the beginning of their ritual. Marcia reached in her bag for a joint she had prepared earlier. She started lighting it up, fixating her intentions on its flames as she spoke, turning even this small gesture into a ritual. 

“I think today calls for a different ritual,” she puffed out a cloud of white smoke.

“We have to pay respects to our ancestors, thank them for bringing this blessing into Camila’s life.” She turned to her friend, her lips pulling into a crooked smile and said, “I have just the perfect one.”

“I learned it from a Babalawo in the Bronx, ironically.” This reflection on their childhood sent Marcia into a rabbit hole of sentiments about the place. 

“He said that if I ever needed to feel home, I should do this ritual to call on those who were there before me.” 

Fate brought them together in that crowded room their freshmen year and it was parting their paths today in front of the full moon in Scorpio.

They began their ritual as was routine; each burned a bundle of African sage, smudging their foreheads with its ashes, cleansing the rest of their body with the smoke. Taking off their shoes, even in the freezing weather, each woman grabbed the other’s hand and walked towards the ocean together, heading to the moonlight. 

When they reached the waters, they bowed towards the moonlight and together they chanted: 

“My uplifted Ancestors, guides, fierce protectors, and skilled healers. Please stand with me.” 

Each spoke their own name.

“Alejandra, child of Mexico. Be with me in this moment and guide me along my road with a cool head and a clear mind.”

“Marcia, child of Brazil. I am root of your root, soil of your soil, bone of your bone, and blood of your blood.”

“Camila, child of Puerto Rico. Not deaf to our sincere cries; nor blind to our honest placations, keep the gifts of perfect health, wealth, and prosperity close so that we may honor and grow your legacy.”

Together they finished, bowing their heads further down towards the water as they spoke each word, “I have not forgotten my commitment to our lineage, and I vow to never forget. Thank you.”

The waves crept towards their heads, blessing their crown chakras, clearing all of the energies they had accumulated over the last month and allowing the full moon in Scorpio to elevate their minds. They let a couple of minutes pass until it was 12:24 am, when the moon was its fullest. They didn’t speak a word to each other, but the universe continued to revolve around them, filling in their silence. Without a word, the trio slowly rose together, and with three deep breaths, their final ritual was over. 

“Let’s go home,” said Marcia finally.