It wasn't my idea His face starts to crumple into a cry Ride I say He drops the book as I lift him up I hear Mom ask You didn't tell her did you Tell me what He's almost too heavy but I hoist Memito over my head onto my shoulders We march toward weavings and clay pots and volcano pictures all pretty but not home We march up up up Up the hill of this tilted house
TWO I SET MEMITO DOWN in a room I don't recognize The walls are in the same places but everything on them has changed On both sides of the TV hang curtains of cloth each zigzagged with sunshiney yellow and fiery orange On the bookshelf sit two tall pots with red and green painted animals chasing each other around the sides Dad leans over the computer desk and hangs a photo of people I've never seen before My whole family he says I guess he means his parents and brothers and sisters since me and Memito and Mom aren't in it Where'd the baby pictures go I ask Mom nods toward a cardboard box They're online anyway anyway We'll make a photo book sometime Sometime Sometime always means never Hold that side for me would you Qui My nickname sounds like key but I'm not a key player or a key factor I'm not keyed up or keyed in If anything I'm off key especially today
I hold one end of the large painting Mom is trying to hang It's a lake surrounded by volcanoes Lake Atitlán Dad lifts his arms as if he might hug the painting though it's too big for that The most lovely spot in the world No importa la distancia siempre habrá un mismo cielo que nos una Looking at me he translates Distance does not matter Always the same sky unites us I'm glad we finally framed this Mom says This room needed a revamp It looks nice and all but I miss the baby photos and the picture of the Golden Gate Bridge that came from Target Only Dad's guitar in its hanger is the same Memito doesn't mind he's rolling a toy truck back and forth I liked it before I say Me too Mom says looking around but I always felt bad that this stuff was in boxes It feels like a new house That was my point Is it time to get out the package Dad asks Mom his eyes twinkling at me Wait right here she says She brings in a white box the packing tape already cut From your Abuela for your first day at your new school Abuela is my dad's mom She sends birthday cards and letters to my parents but none of our Guatemalan relatives send gifts We send them gifts like Crayola crayons that are hard to get there and American brand jeans Starting junior high Dad shakes his head I remember my first day of upper school I wore a new white shirt and
polished shoes At your age I learned to tie my own tie Twelve now You want to stand out and show everyone who you are Actually I'm hoping to not stand out To not embarrass myself Everybody knows that standing out in seventh grade is bad as in disastrously monstrously don't be ridiculously bad especially the first day I swallow hard and fold back the cardboard flaps A thick colorful fabric unfolds in my lap Tropical birds dazzle my eyes It seems like a tunic or a long poncho Yellow Yellow animals run in a wide stripe across a blue background and below them a banner of red diamonds Wow I whisper It's totally beautiful And totally out of the question No one in the history of seventh grade has ever worn something like this to school at least not in Bur Oak Texas It is a huipil m’ija handmade on a backstrap loom See the birds Quetzals They represent freedom since they die in captivity You'll see one on the Guatemalan flag Dad I I look to Mom for help but she just smiles I can't wear this His face sags I mean it's great but You don't want to look especial Dad's voice is soft like a velvet balloon and rises at the end Sweetheart I know it's not what the other kids wear Finally Mom takes my side But Or not It could be a conversation piece A what
