Page 65 of A Me and You Thing
I nod my head, knowing I need to get going. I want to object, announce that I’m not a girl, I am a woman, but I saynada.Mis ojosare heavy, my blink slow, and I long to stay in bed. I have no energy.
My wardrobe choices are few. An ugly wool dress or jeans. The cold air creeping insidela casamakes me decide quickly. I throw on my jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and splash my face with coldagua. I slip onzapatosthat are slightly too big and cumbersome for my feet, but they’ll have to do. They’re the onlyzapatosI own.Mipelois so long, I place it in a bun to keep it out of my face. I tie a scarf aroundmi cabeza, as I have been commanded to do. I’m not allowed to leavela casawithout it. Actually, I’m not allowed to be without itnunca, at all.
Lo odio. I hate it, hate it, hate it. It’s itchy and uncomfortable.Tíasays I attract unwanted attention fromhombresif I wearmipelodown. So up it stays.
UnlessTíaandTíoaren’t around. Then I letmipelofly wild and free. It feelsmuy bueno. Okay, so I only do it while I’m indoors, away from pryingojos. Still, I imagine the wind inmipeloand allow myself to believe it feelsasombroso. So amazing.
Mi cabezais foggy and my thoughts are blank as I go through the motions of preparing breakfast. It’s what I do. Every morning.La misma cosa.Same thing. Same, same, same. No thought needed.
I remove the dry corn seeds that have been boiling for most of the night in salty water from the stovetop. The corn seeds are now soft. I drain them and put them through the mill, making a corn flour. I add a bit ofagua, enough to make a paste. I keep combining the flour andaguauntil I have a sticky dough.
Then I begin to form balls out of the dough, about the size of tennis balls, until I have a large bowlful and can see that they are fairly even in size.Tíaused to slapmismanosif I got one wrong. I'd remake each one until she wascontenta. Now I’m better at it than her.
Next, I place a ball of dough on a cut out plastic circle that acts as my guide. Then I flatten and flatten and flatten until it reaches the desired size. Smack-flip. Smack-flip. Over and over until my shoulders ache. Then I cook them on the large wood-fired stove top. I keep themcalientein the oven while I make thegallo pinto—fried rice and beans.
I head outside in the chilly morning air. Dawn is just barely breaking. The morning light is soft. I go to gatherloshuevosas the hens squawk at me. I lull them until they are calm. I quickly grablos huevosand take them inside to scramble. The morning rush will soon begin.
I lay out the tortillas, add a scoop ofgallo pinto, a scoop of scrambledhuevos, a slice of salty cheese calledcuajada, and a dash of chili sauce. Then I fold the tortillas in half and wrap each one in aluminum foil.
Breakfast is done, butmidíahas just begun. Clean up thecocinaand wash the dishes. Milk cows. Deliver freshlechefor pick up. Feed pigs, goats, and chickens. Muck stalls. Work in garden. Pull weeds. Harvest vegetables. Prepare lunch. Clean up thecocina. Cleanlacasa. Wash clothes. Milk cows again. Deliver freshlechefor late afternoon pick up. Prepare dinner. Clean up thecocina.
Over and over and over again.
I have no thoughts.Nada. I am a machine. I work, I eat, I sleep. There isn’t time for anything else. An imaginary switch in my brain has turned to off. I’m in survival mode. I just want to get throughmidíaso I can collapse on my bed and fall into the world of dreamless sleep.
Por la noche, I sit by the warmfuegowithTíaandTío. They’re old, tired. I know I’m a huge help to them. I don’t know how they would manage without me. This knowledge gets me throughmi día.
“Gracias,Niña.Work very hard.”Tío’swrinkled face smiles at me.
I nod and smile. I would be lost without them, with nowhere to go and no roof overmicabeza.
“Sí,Niña. Prayers have answer.”Tíacups hermanosinto a prayer position and looks up at the sky.
Hermanosare gnarled, the joints on her fingers, large and round. They cause her a lot of pain and she has a hard time doing the simplest of tasks.
“Come,”Tíasays, pointing to thesillanext to her. “Sientate.” She holds out hermanos, leans back, closes herojos, and rests hercabeza.
I perch myself on the edge of thesillaand begin to massage hermanos, as I often dopor la noche. It brings her a great deal of relief at the end of the day.
After thirty minutes or so, she pats me onmicabeza. “Gracias,Niña. Get sleep now. Much to domañana.”
“Buenes noches,” I say as I leave the room. They will fall asleep in theirsillasby thefuegoas usual, and retire to their beds lateenla noche.
Before I go to bed, I stare out my window at the dark and rainynoche. The fog hangs heavily in the mountain air. It’s so beautiful, stirring something inmi corazón. But the outside world makes me thankful toTíaandTíofor giving me acasa.La nocheis cold, filled with shadows and shapes.
I tuck myself into my warm bed and sleep until anotherdíabegins all too soon. I do not dream. I do not wish. I do not yearn, hanker, or long for a different life. There is no other life for me.
This is it.
There is no me. I don’t exist. I live to work, to serve, to function.
Trabajo. Work, work, work. All day. Every day.
I amNiña.
Chapter Twenty-two
Niña
