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We came to America when I was only four. I don’t remember much but mama tells me about it all the time. She tells me that we were on the boat for a long time and we didn’t have much water so mama used Abuelo’s hat to collect rainwater so we could all drink. Juanita and Carlos hadn’t been born yet so there were only six of us who made the crossing from El Salvador to the United States. It was Abuelo, Mama, Papa, Julio, Marcus, and I. Marcus was only a baby at the time. Mama says that I was very good and slept most of the way. I am always the good child and Marcus is always the bad child. Abuelo always says, “Ah, Marcus, mi hijo, you have too much spirit in you to sit in one place for long,” and he is right.
Abuelo is very wise. His face is the shade of a good tortilla, that perfect shade of brown. I love my Abuelo very much. He always calls me Bonita because my name is Sarah and he says this does not suit me at all. My Abuelo and I sometimes sit in the park and watch the ducks go by. We live in Pasadena and there are many parks for us to go to.
I am now fourteen and my friends think it is strange that I spend so much time with my Grandfather. I tell them they should spend more time with theirs, mine has taught me many things. I t was Abuelo who taught me to whistle and to blow bubbles with my gum and to always think of the happy things, especially when things go wrong. I know my Mama and Papa would like to teach me theses things but there are eight people in the family to clothe and feed and I have always been a quiet girl.
Mama works very hard in the factory to support us and Papa’s disability checks don’t pay for much. All Papa does anymore is sit around and watch television. It is very hard to look at him and see his eyes so dead and cold when they used to be so hopeful and sparkling and warm. Abuelo said that the accident just made him want to stop living. Sometimes I want Papa to stop living too, it would be one less mouth to feed. Oh, I don’t really mean it, I love Papa, but it is hard to always look on the bright side like Abuelo says.
Today Abuelo and I are going to the park again. Here he is, his eyes are so warm and loving. I don’t know what I you do without him. He is old so I have to help him down the steps of out building. He grips the sticky, worn banister so tightly I tell him he will break it. He just laughs and says that this banister has withstood more than one old man leaning on it. He is right, last week my friend Jimmy got shot and he fell on the banister and cracked his skull. It didn’t break then. I tell Abuelo this and he says “Bonita, I am sad that you must have this happen to you.” I tell him it is okay. Jimmy is in the hospital and will get well soon. The teachers at school said so. He just looks sad. As we go down the stairs I see Mrs. Stanley come out of her door in her big flowered housecoat, pink fluffy slippers, and her rollers. She is always wearing rollers. I never see her with just curls. I wonder if she ever takes them out or if they are part of her head. I laugh and Mrs. Stanley gives me a dirty look, she thought I was laughing at her. I smile and wave because she has always been nice and will sit with the kids if I need to go to the store before Mama gets home.
Finally, we reach the bottom of the stairs; the stairwell is covered in graffiti that gangs have painted on it. Abuelo shakes his head and looks unhappy. I don’t see it, it’s everywhere you look and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. I kick the leaves out of the way and jump of the stairs. I laugh and Abuelo laughs and the kids playing stickball just look at us like we were insane. Maybe I am insane, insane because I am glad to be alive and have a roof over my head, and clothes, and food to eat, and my Abuelo.
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