Branches Book

BRANCHES

Jackeline Lopez-Ruiz

MY ABUELITA

A Rose and A Bee “It’s called symbiosis,” my second-grade teacher explains. “As a bumble bee collects nectar from a flower, pollen gets stuck to its feet. Then, when it travels to the next flower, the pollen helps the flower pollenate. That’s how a bee and flower share a mutually beneficial relationship.” Anxious for the school day to end, I squirm in my metal chair as the overhead projector displays photos of nectar and pollen on the white board. Once I hear two dings, I know the school day is over and start packing my fruit scented erasers into my backpack. Running over to the front gate of my school, I stop and stand on my tiptoes to search for my abuelita. I find her sitting down on the stairs that lead to the auditorium. Her short, thin hair touches her shoulders. When she sees me, she smiles with tired eyes. I run over to her as she stands up with the help of a cane held in her right hand. “Dame tu mano,” she says like always, and like always, I pretend to hold onto my backpack. I like to think I am big enough to not hold hands anymore. We head home together and walk side by side. Once we reach a laundry store located on the corner of the street we live on, I ask her for a dollar to spend at the vending machine inside. She shakes her head while also pulling out a dollar bill from her pink, floral mandil. I happily go inside and buy a Twix. Once we return to our walk home, she pressures me to finish eating it by the time we get home or else my mom would get mad at both of us. I smile because it was a sweet secret. This is why I love my cavity filled molars. Once we arrive home, I see my mom getting ready for work again. She’s busy in the bathroom changing from her cinnamon bread scented clothes to her black uniform. With her two jobs at the bakery and pizzeria, I only see my mom for small moments, which I savor. Always in a rush, she speaks with a certain urgency. Her words fly out of her mouth slower than she likes. I can hear her chatter away with my abuelita in the kitchen as I go over to the bedroom to take off my Sketchers. I pull and pinch the laces until I’m red in the face with frustration. I call out, “¡Mamá!” Soon I hear footsteps coming towards me, but it’s my mom and I immediately say, “No, not you! I want my other mamá.” My mom simply laughs and answers, “Oh! OK, my bad. Sorry.” I could hear her laughing and going to my grandma, saying, “She wants you!” Finally, my grandma comes over and we both smile. It is in that moment that I remember what I had learned about bees and flowers that day in school. I tell her, “Yo soy una abeja, y tú eres una rosa. No podemos vivir sin la otra.”

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