Aerie InternationaL - Missoula County Public Schools

jennifer giang
lilburn, georgia, usa
for fIve hundred And forty-three dAyS
I. Photograph
I don’t wait for Mom to stop the engine, just open the door and run
outside, not even bothering to slip on my sandals. The grass is rough against
my feet, and I probably just stepped on an ant pile, but I don’t care. All I
care about is the heat, and smell, and feel of the June sun burning through
my shirt, melting me with its buttery rays. Everything looks the same. The
rusty makeshift watering can is still propped up by the dead stump, and the
wild shrubs are still spreading their arms out, greedily taking in the dusty
concrete.
I nearly trip on the pile of shoes that booby trap the entry as I follow
Jane, my sister, through the doorway. Aunts and uncles crowd around us,
and we grimace as Mom prods us towards them. The ritual begins: an holá,
cómo estás, quick hug, air kiss on both cheeks. We get to my abuelita—
my grandma—and she smiles and envelopes
me awkwardly with her left arm. “Mira qué
hermosas están poniendo.” Look at how pretty you
all are becoming. I kiss her, wishing I could say
something, but the Spanish limits me to this
small greeting.
Soon, everyone begins shuffling towards the kitchen, grabbing plates and
plunking down food onto their dishes. The smell of piquant enchiladas is
just beginning to tickle my nose when Mom calls at me to come eat. I grab
a platter and stand in the corner next to the air vent so the cool air can slap
my legs.
My abuelita laughs from across the room, and her gold tooth glints under
the harsh glare of the light bulb. She reaches over to eat but as she begins to
pick up her fork, her smile fades. The fork doesn’t want to come up and lays
there, stagnant on the table, as if that piece of Dixie plastic were the weight
of a whole sea. Her gold tooth disappears behind her lips now, and she grabs
the fork with her left hand instead. No one notices.
I watch her from my corner, and get dizzy, as if something was pulling me
out of the scene and framing my abuelita’s crippled right hand into a distant
snapshot.
12
The ritual begins:
an holá, cómo estás,
quick hug, air kiss on
both cheeks.