Branches Book

BRANCHES

At first, she stares at me confused and in wonder. Then, when she realizes I wasn’t joking, she cries, “¡Ay te quiero mucho mi hija!” And my soul smiles. I know she loves me because I can feel it. I feel it when she takes me to and from school every day. I feel it when she spends her days sewing clothes for my Barbie dolls. I feel it when she saves me from my mother’s scolding. I feel it when she loses sleep from taking care of me when I feel sick. I love her because she makes me feel loved. I go over to my toy box and pull out all my Barbie dolls and my toy stethoscope. I travel into my own world of imagination and play doctor for hours. When I re-enter reality, the sun has set and it’s dark outside. I go over to the room that I share with my abuelita. As I walk through the door, I see her laying down on her back, silently crying. Worried and confused, I ask her what’s wrong, but like the other times I’ve caught her crying, she answers the same way. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” A Rose Named María I always rose before the sun. However, I woke up earlier than usual. I could feel waves of energy travel through my body. It was my wedding day. On the way to the church, I saw the neighborhood children play with empty soda bottles. Seeing them made me remember my own childhood memories when I used to wear bright colored ribbons in my long braided hair and spend my days taking care of my family’s livestock. I never went to school, but I did learn how to write my name: María Garica Grijalva. Looking at the kids running and laughing, memories of my late brother, Pablo, also returned. I felt a small ache in my heart. It had only been a year since he died, but then again, it had already been a year. I wish I had a picture of him because I cried every time I realized I had forgotten his eyes, smile, or voice. I did, however, remember his overconfident nature. He was too proud to admit he was ever scared. That’s why he went alone to feed the bull when he was asked to. Our father trusted the bull and trusted Pablo. But Pablo was a stranger to the bull, and the bull grew nervous as Pablo approached him with maíz. It all happened so fast, and Pablo was too slow to dodge the bull’s impaling horns. We couldn’t find him a medic, and even if we could, I hardly think we would have been able to afford it. I lost my brother – my only sibling – that fateful day. Tlacolula, Mexico had been the only home I had ever known. Yes, it was a poor town with nothing but dirt roads. Yes, we often only had stale tortillas and black beans to eat. Yes, we had no plumbing and used oil lamps for light because we rarely had electricity. Yes, my feet were permanently covered by blisters from walking in broken huaraches – but it was still home. And I married a handsome man who was the first man to ever tell me he loved me. His name was Joaquin Lopez Cruz, and we were both fifteen. I was

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