La madre

She lied awake at night waiting for her eldest daughter to come home from her late shift. She hated that job. She felt her daughter was capable of so much more. She didn’t want to push her too much because she was afraid she’d cause her to become depressed- her disenrollment last semester at the Nursing School and her divorce were enough for her to handle. She thought it was unfair that her other children would ask the eldest daughter to contribute more with chores and such. 

She walked down the hallway using her hands to guide her and went to the bathroom, then found her way to her grandson’s room. She loved babysitting him because she knew she was helping her eldest daughter. Her younger daughter thought it was unfair and that her mother wasn’t supposed to raise him. His relaxed body and open mouth were indicators that he was fine, so she walked past the other rooms and checked to see if her children were asleep. Her son, who was always busy with his school work, sat at his desk finishing his math homework.

“Isn’t it too late for you to be up?” she whispered.

“Ma, its my homework and I have to finish.”

“Me preocupas that you’re always up so late. Have a good night and go to bed soon,” she kissed him good night.

“I promise I’ll go to bed soon. You shouldn’t be awake anyways. Buenas noches mami,” he hugged her.

“Make sure you don’t wake up your sister. You know she gets cranky when she doesn’t get enough sleep.” 

Mami, I’m doing my homework. Good night,” he said as he buried his head back into his books.

She glanced over to her youngest daughter and breathed easy knowing she was asleep. Knowing she was home. Like her brother, she went to bed by dawn writing papers. She delicately walked back to her room and lied in bed. She checked the time. It was 2:34 and her daughter still wasn’t home. She prayed to God to let her get home safe and closed her eyes. 

She realized her attempt to fall asleep was failing. She could not fall asleep without knowing her children were safe and sound. To help put her mind at ease, she thought about her old house. She hated this apartment. It made her feel so big, whereas the house made her feel so small. The three story house provided her privacy and a room for everyone. Now, it saddens her to see her youngest daughter and son sharing a room, her eldest daughter and child in another, while she kept one to herself. The thought of everyone sharing a room made her think about how she doesn’t have anyone to share the room with. Her big bed seemed to swallow her without someone to share it with. She hated the lack of driveways, the lack of privacy, and how she always had to make three trips to get all the groceries out the car. She missed sitting on the porch. It was something she always did in Puerto Rico with her parents. They’d talk about life- how rough it was and how the United States had to be better and let the sun bronze their faces. It was something she brought with her when she came to New Jersey.

        She thought more about her former house. It wasn’t the nicest house. It had some dings and needed new paint and fixtures. But, it came a long way. It was a project she shared with her ex-husband. They found the house a dump, a fixer-upper. They pulled weeds and cut trees down from the yard, while removing the piles of garbage. The house was a dark brown when they first found it, but she thought she should paint it a color that reminded her of home. Yellow. Caribbean Yellow. She planted bloodroots and irises along the pathway that led to the front door with her youngest daughter. She remembered her youngest daughter loved abuela’s garden in Puerto Rico. She remembered how she danced in the living room with her kids to the bachatasmerengues, and salsas. The sounds that seemed to tell the entire neighborhood ‘Hi, we’re Latino’. She remembered seeing her kids mature from pre-teens into adults and how her grandchild’s first home was there. 

She remembered California was three hours delayed so she tried to call her son. She missed him the most. After three rings and no answer, she left him a voicemail.

         “Hola papi, just calling because I can’t sleep again. Estoy aqui pensando. I’m thinking about everything that has happened in the last couple of months. I wish you were still here, but I’m so happy for your accomplishments and your new life. Call me soon, your mami misses you. Te quiero,” she pressed the end button. It was 3:15 now. She made one more round of walking down the hallway and opened the doors of each room enough to peep her head in and make sure her kids were asleep. She checked her grandchild and fixed his blanket when she noticed his toes were peeping out. She walked back to her bed, drank a half spoon of NyQuil and went to bed again. This time when she closed her eyes, she was asleep in twenty minutes.

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