Reach Out

Author’s Note: All words in Spanish will be translated into English in the endnotes. All translations are by way of the Google Translate feature from the search engine.  

  Reach Out

           Are you there, God? It’s me, Mya…

Mya’s forlorn thoughts were relentless. Mya stared down her bookshelf trying to not think about the last week. She could not avoid the thoughts of her abuelito[i] Miguel and his sudden death two weeks ago. Moving day, the day after tomorrow would be the start of a new life living with her grieving abuela[ii] in the family home.  

“Mija[iii], hora de la cena[iv]!” Mya’s mother, Estela, called from down the hallway, helping Mya to rid herself of the depressing thoughts that had begun to wrap around her mind like a python. 

“Mamá que viene[v]!” Mya replied, rising from the floor. Wiping her dirty tiny hands against her equally dirty faded jeans. 

Mya entered the kitchen to see her mother and grandmother sitting at the table, plates of food set with extra bowls of rice, beans, carne asada, and a hand towel covering homemade tortillas. Under normal circumstances, this would be a delicious meal just by the smell, causing Mya to drool with eager anticipation for her abuelita’s handmade from scratch tortillas fresh from the stovetop flat pan. Unfortunately for Mya and her family, the present circumstances were less than serene. 

“Where’s Albert and Isa?” Mya inquired after her older and younger sibling as she sat down in front of the only place setting left open.  

Mya’s grandmother said nothing, but her mother’s sigh was full of exasperation. Mya waited patiently. She did not have to wait long, “Mijo[vi] is working overtime and Isa is at Jenna’s house for dinner,” Mya saw her mother’s face was grim, aggravation only revealed behind her eyes.

Mya watched as her grandmother placed a now full plate of food in front of her mother first and then her, unchanged in her silence. Mya’s heart hurt again at the sight of her grandmother’s somber expression.

“Abuelita[vii], ¿cómo te sientes?[viii]” Mya asked her grandmother, trying to get her to at least say something. Mya’s grandmother looked up, nodding slightly.

“Sí, nieta, estoy bien[ix],” her grandmother paused to take a drink of her coffee, before asking in English, “Are you okay, Mija?”

Mya nodded. She felt fine, but her heart hurt, and she knew that’s what her grandmother was actually asking her, “Si abuelita. I’m fine. Just sad,” she said the last part through the sudden strong urge to shed tears.  Her grandmother smiled a sad smile. Mya knew her grief was beyond her own. Even at that moment, Mya wished she would help her grandmother feel better.

“That’s good mi bebé[x],” she said before taking a small bite of her food. Mya watched her grandmother’s tiny, wrinkled hands use a rolled tortilla as a type of spoon to scoop up beans to eat. Mya never took the time before to examine her grandmother in detail beyond what she saw day to day. Mya’s grandmother was a small framed petite woman who stood barely above five feet tall. Like her mother and herself, they inherited her grandmother’s small stature. 

“How much more do you have to go, love?” Mya’s mother Jesenia, trying to lighten the mood, asked between mouthfuls of carne asada[xi].

“Not too much more momma. Just my books, clothes, and my collections,” Mya thought back to where she left off. She was dreading the books because of the weight and what she called her “collections” would come in second for weight. Her “collections” randomly included an assortment of coins (old, new, foreign, rare), old cards from her late father Eliseo, who died in a car crash five years ago, and her recently passed grandfather that featured old and rare baseball heroes such as Babe Ruth and Willie Mays. Mya never enjoyed collecting cards but kept them for their sentimental value. The cards were the only thing she had of the most influential men in her life to date. 

Okay, amar[xii], just make sure you’re ready to go before Friday,” Mya nodded toward her mother’s repeated reminder of the big move.  The big move that she was dreading. Her entire family was dreading the move.

“I will be mama,” and Mya would be, begrudgingly.

After Dinner Mya helped her mother clean up before trudging down the hall to her room where her moving mess still lay ominously throughout her room.  Boxes full and empty, placed strategically by the wall, were an organized mess and Mya loved it. Sighing heavily, Mya moved back to the bookshelves that lined the walls on either side where her desk and computer once stood proudly in her corner of study and play, examining her next move. Small books first? Or large? Or forget the books for now and go to her collections to sort through and arrange them in boxes? Mya sat down, frustrated, on her unmade bed with a unicorn pained on the head and footboards she’s owned since she was six and still loved all things related to a white horse with a magical horn atop its forehead.

A sudden knock on her door made her cut off her thoughts. Mya looked up to see her grandmother open the door slowly, peeking in, “Can I come in mija?”

Mya smiled, “Of course! ven en abuelita[xiii],” moving over to make room for her grandmother to sit down comfortably.

“Mija,” her grandmother started after sitting down next to Mya.  Mya watched as her grandmother took a moment to collect her thoughts before speaking, “I know you miss your abuelito. I miss him too,” she paused, her voice quivering as tears form around her light brown eyes. She continued, “Been together since we were young and married when we were dieciocho[xiv], just niños[xv] really….” Mya placed a warm hand on her grandmother’s soft wrinkled hand. A hand Mya knew was full of experience, loving devotion to her family that never seemed to end.

“Fifty-seven years is a long time,” her grandmother continued, “but mija, I would do it all over again if I can be with my Miguel again,” Mya wrapped her arms around her grandmother as she shed hot grieving tears, almost bittersweet.

“I know abuelita. At least abuelito isn’t hurting anymore,” Mya replied calmly. Mya thought back to her grandfather’s fight with pancreatic cancer.  He had been in terrible pain. He had refused chemotherapy and radiation due to his advanced age when he learned how it would affect his body. Mya’s grandmother did not argue, because she knew the decision, albeit not the one she wanted, was final. For six weeks, he lay in bed in hospice care until the day he died, holding his wife’s hand. Mya had been at school when he passed. During fourth period, she was called to the office and informed that her mother would soon pick her up. Mya did not need to ask why, because she already knew.  Her grandfather died. The funeral, held a week later at the cemetery, was a blur to Mya, barely recalling her grandmother’s silent tears and her mother’s loud sobs. She barely recognized her siblings nearby or how they were taking their grandfather’s passing. Mya didn’t want to think about it because she knew Albert and Isa were not close to their grandparents as she had been. Her thoughts ceased when her grandmother spoke softly.

“I know. I know,” she let her voice stop there. 

“Do you need anything abuelita?” Mya asked lovingly, wanting to do anything to help her grandmother feel better, even if was short-term.

Smiling up at her grandchild she replied, “No mija. Keep doing what you’re doing,” she paused, looking around thoughtfully, “I see you see have un poco por delante[xvi],” she smiled, and Mya nodded.

“Si. I should be done with packing everything by tomorrow,” Mya calculated in her that she had until eleven tonight and then all day tomorrow before the big day on Friday. 

“That’s good corazón mío[xvii],” Mya watched as her grandmother rose from her seat on the bed and walked to the door. Turning around she smiled warmly at Mya, “Good night mija. See you in the morning. Te amo[xviii]”

“Buenas noches abuelita. Yo también te quiero[xix],” Mya said just before her grandmother quietly shut her bedroom door.

Mya watched as the last of the large furniture was placed in the moving van, frowning. This was it. Last time living in the same city as where she was born and raised. Her mother and brother were making sure the house was completely empty before exiting. Isa, who sat next to her in the family truck, paid little attention to the goings-on. Mya felt drained and did not dare start an argument with her younger sibling. Not today of all days. Mya watched her mother and brother exit the house holding two suitcases and an old trophy that belonged to her father during his college football years. Mya’s eyes fell to the sign on the lawn that broadcasted their family home as for sale, a stab to the heart made Mya tear up. 

“Thank you, God. Thanks an awful lot….” Mya muttered under her breath as she wiped the tears away. She didn’t care that Isa sat next to her. She was thankful that she was here despite the situation. Even though she did not like the idea of the move, it was for the best. They could be with their grandmother in the family home, together for as long as the family lived. Mya watched as her mother got into the driver’s seat and her older brother climbed in the moving van. He would follow behind their mother with the moving van, a somber look on his face. Even though he was nineteen years old, he had agreed to live with them until he found a job close to their new home that was a legacy and testament of their family’s struggles during the hardest times and still rising above the hardships to own a home on land that is theirs.   

su verdadero hogar[xx].

THE END

[ii] Meaning grandma

[iii] Mija is an affectionate term for a girl or daughter.

[iv] hora de la cena translates to time for dinner.

[v] Translates to “Coming mama”

[vi] Mijo is the male version of Mija. 

[vii] Means Granny

[viii] Mya asked her grandmother in Spanish how she is feeling.

[ix] Her grandmother said Yes, I’m okay.

[x] Translates to “my baby”

[xi] carne asada, according to the Google search, says that, “NOUN

(in Mexican cooking) beef that has been marinated and grilled, typically served

sliced in thin strips as a main course or as a filling in tacos, burritos, etc.”

[xii] Amar means love. It’s meant to be affectionate.

[xiii] ven en abuelita translates to come in granny.

[xiv] Number eighteen

[xv] Niños means more than one child involved.

[xvi] a little left to go

[xvii] My heart

[xviii] I love you

[xix] Translates to “good night granny. I love you too.”

[xx] Their real home