Family

Today is gray. A sluggish gray, tantalizing us with memories of the sunny days we could see Popocateptl. The day has been immersed with haze, clouds clotting the sky. It’s on days like this that the pollution becomes an accomplice with my asthma, draining my nose and rasping my throat. Rasping my thoughts. My head is cotton, gray cotton. I hurry to get home, reminding myself of the mountain of homework that awaits. Home isn’t that far from school; close enough that I can walk. My home isn’t in the city’s quiet, peaceful neighborhoods that elude the dizzying pace outside. We live right off Insurgentes, known for being one of the largest streets in the Americas. It’s six paces from the curb to our strip of shriveled yard, nine more to the steps, four up to the stoop. Our home perches on the street, absorbing the street’s noise and everything else that comes with it. And our home looks like every other one. It’s a cream stucco-concrete building. Wrought-iron bars protectively span the windows. A collection of spikes of multicolored glass crown the flat roof—our generic, low-cost security. Home, enough for our five-person family unit. I let myself in. The smell of warm bread wafts through the house, hanging in the closets and hovering in the hall. Mmmmmm—Mami must have been to the panaderia. Leaving my satchel in the living room, I float into the kitchen through strands of mid-afternoon light. I know from the smells, from the singing, from the atmosphere, that Mami is inside. “Hola, Mami.” “Mi’ja,” she says, pecking me on the cheek. “Como estas?” “Oh, I had an OK day Como siempre.” “Ay, mi’ja, aren’t you hungry? Here, have a torta.” She sets the sandwich in front of me on my favorite azure plate. Food is love, always. I push the torta away; I just had lunch. “Gracias, Mami, pero no tengo hambre.” “Ay, Rosana, por favor. You are never hungry anymore. My daughter shouldn’t be so thin. Just look at you.” I look at myself. Pale skin, lightest of my family; rough hands my mother wishes I’d manicure; protocol jeans. The light above buzzes, on the verge of burning out, like it always is. Mami imposes food on me; imposes it on everybody. Everything is normal. “OK, just have some bites. Just a little.” “Por favor, Mami. I’m tired, not hungry” “Ya, ya. Same thing.” The torta goes back on the counter. She’ll find time later to impose it on some other innocent individual. “So. How was your day?” I shrug. “The usual. But, Mami, I was wondering— there are some extra honors courses being offered after school. They would really help me do better in college. Would it be OK if I took them?” Mami is washing dishes in the sink, deep in the suds of irony I know she wishes she’d gone to college herself. “Really, Rosana, I want you to be an independent woman someday. You deserve a good education, mi’ja. But family comes first. You need to spend less time with your studies, more with your family. Too many rebellious ideas swirling around in your head.” “Por favor, Mami.” She turns toward me, shoulders sinking. The kitchen is dim, but her eyes seem lighter, deeper. “You know what Papi would say.” I’m perfectly aware of it: he would say no. I try again: “But Mami, you always tell me to take advantage of the opportunities.” Her eyes are glistening. “I know I tell you to. But you’re forgetting what is most important.” Then she pauses, her voice lowering to a whisper. Her voice is grainy, sound coming drifting in separate molecules. “I have raised my daughters to be strong-willed and independent because I was raised not to be. I didn’t go to college. I married too early I wish I hadn’t.” “I have raised my daughters to be strong-willed and independent because I was raised not to be” Her words hang in the air, heavier than the smell of fresh bread. The molecules have stopped floating; now they’re at a standstill. The power of her words has frozen them in place, in time. Mami turns back to the sink quickly, still washing dishes in the suds of irony. For an instant, it is as if the words were never spoken. “I didn’t mean that. I love your papi very much.” Her words ring unconvincing. And I know without her uttering another word that she really wishes she had gone to college and had a career first. Mami remains silent now, as usual. She’s never spoken about herself that way before. When she speaks again, it is not my mother’s strong voice. It’s a wilted voice, marred to crack like an egg. Like my mother. Like us all. “My role is to be a good mother, a good wife. I wanted to work; I couldn’t. I had children. I would have been a failure if I weren’t married with children by a certain age. But you are different.” Being different should be a compliment, but it’s not. “You are different. So go ahead, take the courses.” I should feel happy Relieved. But I don’t. I feel only as if another burden has been placed securely on my shoulders, tension rising, an encumbrance imposed. With my mother’s blessings. Natalia M. Thompson, 13Madison, Wisconsin Jessica Brodsky, 13Brookline, Massachusetts

Katy’s father’s hand kept waving goodbye, until his car turned the corner and she could not see it anymore. Katy Bay lived in a small village in England with her father, Mr. Richard Bay. Katy’s mother died when she was very young, and so her father had to raise Katy all by himself. Katy would miss her father very much, but he would be back the next morning. Katy, at the age of eight, dearly loved her father and had refused to be kept away from him at first. But Katy had stopped crying and agreed that he should go to his business meeting out of town, when he told her that her elderly Aunt Martha would watch her while he was gone. Aunt Martha was a loving woman at the age of sixty-eight who loved to sit and knit in front of the fire. Now, Katy’s father had a shoe store, and he had promised to be back before the store opened the next morning. But his train got delayed on his way home, so he could not possibly get there before his store was supposed to open. Katy knew that the store should open at exactly eleven a.m. And when it was ten-thirty Katy said to herself, “Daddy should be home by now, shouldn’t he? I wonder what I should do.” And all of a sudden, like a balloon popping in midair, it came to her. And as quickly as she could go she ran to Aunt Martha, who was knitting in front of the fire, and said, “Aunt Martha, may I please open the store?” Unexpectedly, Katy got up on the stool and started ringing up Mrs. Frouchy Of course, Aunt Martha thought that Katy wanted to play store and open her own pretend store. So she said, “Of course you may, dear, but don’t make a mess of things!” as Katy ran to the store, which was next door to her house. When Katy got to the entrance, she took the extra key that was hidden under the doormat, unlocked the door, and turned on the lights. After about five minutes, Mrs. Splenda Frouchy, a usual customer who bought new shoes quite often, walked into the store looking grouchy (as usual). She noticed that Katy was the only person in the store. But after thinking about it and noticing that she had to be home to cook dinner soon, she continued to shop and soon found a pair of shoes that were perfect for the not-too-hot and sunny June day. When she was ready, she expected to see Mr. Bay, ready and waiting to help her at the counter. But instead, she found the same child who had been standing there when she had come into the store. So, noticing that she had to hurry and hoping that the girl would summon her father to help ring her up, she put her things onto the counter. Unexpectedly, Katy got up on top of the high stool that stood near the cash register and started ringing up Mrs. Frouchy. After checking twice to make sure she didn’t make any mistakes, Katy took the money from Mrs. Frouchy and pulled out the cash drawer and put the money in. While all this was happening, Katy’s father was hurrying home, because he thought he would have to open the store right when he got there. But as he was nearing the store he saw Mrs. Frouchy walk out with a puzzled face, and as he was passing her she said to him, “Mr. Bay, you’ve got a smart little girl there! Imagine, a girl not even nine years old running a store! Who would’ve thought?” After hearing this, Mr. Bay hurried into the store and stopped at the sight of Katy sitting on the high stool behind the counter, smiling a smile as wide as the ocean. And of course, at the sight of her beloved father Katy cried, “Daddy, you’ve come at last!” Katy ran to her father and embraced him in the biggest bear hug that a little girl can give. After asking and finding out how Katy had “run the store” all by herself, the two closed the store early and walked to the house together. And after that, Katy helped her father almost every day in his store. And it became of that little accident that Katy became her father’s new and best employee at Mr. Richard Bay’s Shoe Store. Anika Walkes, 11Grand Forks, North Dakota Alexandra Carr, 13Brooklyn, New York

Exhausted from another long day of school, Kaeli flopped down onto her bed. Her eyes wandered around her room and landed on the little box on her dresser. Walking over, she picked it up. It was a beautiful box, painted with delicate butterflies and edged with gold. The butterfly box. Her grandfather had given it to her when she was very little. As the years had gone by, she’d filled it with little trinkets, lost teeth, pressed flowers… whatever she thought was special. Kaeli hadn’t opened it in a long time. She’d never shared it with anyone, either. A few months ago, she’d attended her grandpa’s funeral. She missed him. The box brought back a flood of memories. The pressed penny from her first trip to the zoo with him. The necklace he’d given her on her tenth birthday. The good luck charm he’d given her for her first performance… Kaeli blinked away tears. She pushed her dark brown hair out of her eyes. It’s OK, she told herself. It’s OK. *          *          * “Kaeli,” the teacher said. He pronounced it Ki-lee, instead of Kay-lee. Kaeli was too tired to correct him. The teacher continued, “What’s the value of x in the equation x equals three times the quantity…” Luckily for Kaeli, the bell rang to signal the end of school. She packed up her backpack and escaped. It was drizzling outside, and Kaeli hurried to the elementary school, a block down, to pick up her little sister. Kaeli immediately spotted her in the window of the classroom. She was easy to recognize. With her short, dark hair and brown eyes, she looked like a miniature Kaeli. As she walked closer, Kaeli realized Aya’s eyes were red. Was her sister crying? As soon as she spotted her big sister, Aya ran out to her. “Let’s go home,” her sister whispered “What’s wrong?” Kaeli exclaimed. “Aya, what happened?” Aya just shook her head. “Let’s go home,” her sister whispered. Kaeli sighed and opened her umbrella, positioning it so both of them would stay dry. The two walked in silence, just listening to the pitter-patter of the rain on the umbrella. As soon as they got home, Kaeli faced her little sister. Aya was in third grade, but she looked like she couldn’t be more than seven. “What happened?” Kaeli asked again, more softly this time. She sat down with Aya on the comfortable, well-worn couch in the living room. She could see Aya fighting against tears. “I hate school!” her sister finally exclaimed. “I hate all of it! I hate spelling, I hate math, I hate everything!” She frowned at Kaeli’s concerned face. “Come on, Aya, you love school,” Kaeli said. “What happened today?” “They’re so mean,” she sobbed. At Kaeli’s coaxing, she continued. “I spelled ‘genius’ wrong, and I knew how to spell it, but I just mixed up the letters, and then, and then…” “And then what?” “And then they said, ‘How would she know how to spell it? She’s stupid.’” “Oh, Aya,” Kaeli hugged her little sister. “And then everyone laughed!” Aya started crying again. Kaeli sighed and stroked her hair. “Did you tell the teacher?” “N-no,” Aya managed. “W-why would I?” “She can help,” Kaeli reassured her sister. “Meanwhile, I want to show you something.” *          *          * Her sister quieted, Kaeli headed down the hall to her room. Kaeli paused for a moment. Was she ready to show Aya this? She’d never, ever shared it with anyone. It had been her special box, especially in the months following her grandfather’s death. “Passed away,” her mother might say. But he wasn’t passing. He was gone. Part of Kaeli wanted to keep this for herself. She shared so much with her sister. But the better part of Kaeli knew that her grandfather would have wanted her to show Aya. A meditation came back to her, from Grandpa’s funeral. “When I die, give what’s left of me away…” * It was still Kaeli’s memories, but maybe she could give Aya some of those memories, too. She picked the box up off her dresser, very carefully, and carried it back to the living room. Aya was curled up on the couch. Kaeli walked over and sat down next to her. “Aya, there’s something I wanted to show you,” Kaeli said quietly. She opened her hands to reveal the butterfly box. Aya’s eyes widened. “What’s that?” she asked. “Grandpa gave it to me,” Kaeli explained. She watched Aya’s eyes fill with tears again. Maybe, just maybe, Aya missed Grandpa almost as much as Kaeli. “I put all kinds of things in here,” Kaeli continued. “I look at them sometimes to make me feel better when I’m sad. It’s like… a box full of memories. Happy memories.” She handed it to Aya. “Can I open it?” Aya questioned. Kaeli nodded. Aya’s eyes widened as she opened the lid and looked through the contents. “I remember that!” Aya exclaimed, fingering the necklace. “Grandpa gave that to you when you turned ten! Remember the party you had? And Grandpa and Grandma made you the cake with the fairies, and…” “I remember. I’m surprised you do; that was three years ago!” Kaeli said. Aya just shrugged. It was nice talking about the good times with her grandfather. Before thinking it through, Kaeli fastened the necklace around Aya’s neck. “You can wear it tomorrow,” Kaeli said. “If you want, of course,” she added. “Really?” Aya asked. Her eyes were shining again, but this time from happiness, rather than sadness. “Really,” Kaeli confirmed. Aya startled her by giving her a big hug. “Thank you!” she said, grinning. Aya’s enthusiasm was contagious. Kaeli found herself smiling as well. They heard a car pull into the driveway. Aya pulled away. “Mom’s home!” Aya said, running to greet their mom. Kaeli closed the box, careful as ever, and returned it to its spot on her dresser. She knew that it would be there, whenever she needed it. Even if