by Carol Weston
Mom put her hand on my arm. “It's okay, sweet pea. Why don't you write Cecily instead? That should be easier. Besides, in two days we'll see Antonio and Miguel in Madrid, so you can tell him whatever you wanted to write him.”
“We will?” I said, trying to make it sound like it was no big deal.
“You didn't know that?”
“No.” Did everyone else? I think Dad didn't because he looked pretty surprised.
“I must have finalized those plans in Spanish,” Mom said casually. “Antonio is taking Miguel to Madrid to see his grandmother for her birthday, so we're meeting them in the Prado (Pra Dough). It's an art musuem.”
“The Prado!” I tried not to smile toooooooooooo wide.
Then I did write Cecily.
I wrote, Dear Cecily, Spain is wonderful!!! I have a LOT to tell you. XOXO, Mellie.
I was going to add Wish you were here, but then I thought that maybe it's just as well that she's not this time. I did add Say hi to your mom because, since it was a postcard, I figured her mom might accidentally read it.
After that, I was in such a good mood, I offered to play War with Matt while Mom and Dad paid for their cafe. I even taught Matt how to shuffle.
Dad just said, “Who's ready to go exploring?”
“Me,” Matt said.
“Me too,” Mom said.
“Me three,” I said.
We are outta here!
Our first stop will be a big statue of Columbus standing on top of a tall column and pointing out to sea.
3:22 on 3/22!
at the aquarium cafeteria
Dear Diary,
I feel so much lighter!!! It's as if I'd been carrying around a backpack full of books and I just put it down.
Can I tell you something? (Of course I can, you're my diary!)
Today I am LETTING myself think of Miguel, which is tons more fun than trying NOT to think of Miguel.
Miguel, Miguel, Miguel.
A week and a half ago (seems like years ago), Mom's old roommate Lori said that when she was my age, she was “boy crazy.” She asked if I had a boyfriend or “a boy on the brain.” I thought those were stupid questions— not to mention none of her business. Now I think they are okay questions—but still none of her business!
Well, all four of us (it seemed like five because of Miguel) got on a moving sidewalk. It felt as if we were underwater, as if we were moving through a glass tunnel inside the ocean! Behind the glass was a whole busy fishy world. Fish were darting around us and above us. Sharks swam by with their sharp teeth and slitty eyes and pointy snouts.
A teeny bit of me worried that if there was a crack in the glass, we'd get sopped and soaked and bitten and eaten. But when I said so, Dad said, “Melanie, for heaven's sake, quit worrying!” It was weird though. It was as if Dad got in a bad mood right when I got in a good mood.
Matt, meanwhile, was in kid heaven. He loved the jellyfish, which I don't think look like jelly. In Spanish, they're called medusa (May Doo Sa), but I don't think they look like snake-haired ladies either. I think they look like baby parachutes.
We also saw piranhas, which Matt said eat fish, bugs, frogs, and lizards, but rarely people. Matt's favorite fish, an ocean sunfish, looks like a half fish. It is big, but its body ends in the middle. It looks as if a whale has bitten off its butt.
Maybe when I see Miguel again, I'll ask if he has been here. “Aquarium” is almost the same in Spanish. It's ac-quario (Ah Quah Ree Oh).
I just realized something. If Antonio and Mom had gotten married, Miguel and I would be brother and sister—except not really because neither of us would be here at all.
Did I just write that?
I'm glad my parents can't read my mind. They might lecture me about how there are “lots of fish in the sea.” Or they might be mad that they took me halfway around the world and all I can think about is one boy or chico (Cheek Oh).
Then again, maybe Mom knows what that's like. Maybe Dad does too—only in his case, one girl.
Mom said, “Let's go,” but Matt asked, “Why can't we spend all day here?” Dad answered, “I need some fresh air.” He wants us to take a walk on the beach.
Matt said he isn't leaving until he says goodbye to the half fish.
Dad said, “Then make it snappy.”
Matt said, “I can't because it's not a snapper.”
Dad said, “NO'W!”
At least boy crazy is halfway normal. Fish crazy is … unpoco locol
By the way, the word fish is pez: Pess in Spanish, Peth in lispy Spanish. But that's only when it's swimming! Once you've fished a fish and it's dead and ready to get eaten, it's not “fish” or pez anymore. It's “fished” or pescado (Pess Cod Oh).
Some people think Spaniards lisp a lot because they had a king who lisped. Mom said that's a myth.
(that's someone who studies languages)
P.S. I found out that in Spain women keep their names when they get married, and kids use both their parents' names. If Miguel and I had a girl, her name in Spain could be, for instance, Olivia Ramon Martin, which I think sounds very pretty. Matt said that if he and Lily had a boy, his name in America could be Martin Martin. I told Matt that sounds S 2 Pee Dough, but he said he liked it.
same day
Dear Diary,
On the beach, Matt and I waved to Lily and Cecily. But Dad got out a map and showed us that we were waving to Italy—not New York. Barcelona is on the Mediterranean Sea—not the Atlantic Ocean.
Sea in Spanish is mar, pronounced like Mars without the zzz.
“The mar is friendly, isn't it?” Matt asked.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Look, it's waving!” Matt said, and cracked up.
I rolled my eyes and kept walking. The air smelled salty, and the sun was warm on my shoulders, and the sand squished under my toes. It felt more like summer vacation than spring break. I looked at the sea and part of me wanted to get wet, but part of me wanted to stay dry. Sometimes I feel that way about growing up—like part of me can't wait to be older, but part of me wants to be eleven forever.
We came to this big rope sculpture, like a giant friendly spiderweb, and climbed on it. Matt reached the tip-top and bellowed, “Ahoy, mates! Land ho! Land ho!”
We also walked around the narrow winding streets of the old quarter—the Barrio Gotico (Bah Rrree Oh Go T Co). We even saw the big stone staircase where Columbus officially told Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand about his discoveries (even if he didn't know what he'd discovered).
He had to report to Queen Isabella because she gave him the money to sail west when no one else would. At first everyone had thought Columbus's idea was dumb. Dumb because what if you couldn't get there from here? And what if there were sea monsters who ate up ships and sailors?
But Queen Isabella took the risk and Columbus took the money. He hired about ninety brave crewmen to go with him out to sea on the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria.
It turned out to be good for the queen because Spain wound up with a ton of gold and land. Good for Columbus too because he got promoted from captain to admiral!
Mom said she admired Admiral Columbus for thinking outside the box.
Matt said, “What box?”
Mom said, “He thought for himself. He did things his way.”
I tested out the words “admirable admiral, admirable admiral, admirable admiral” and told Matt it was a tongue twister. Then we both started saying it over and over.
We are now in the Picasso Museum or Mwseo (Moo Say Oh).
Picasso spent a lot of time in France but was born in Malaga, Spain. He thought outside of boxes too. His dad taught art—like my mom. Picasso was a natural born artista (R T Sta). Even when he was little, his doodles of doves and bulls were amazingly good. By the time he died at age 92, he had painted tons of paintings in tons of styles—and made ceramics and sculptures. Mom said lots of people consider Picasso (Pee Ca So in Spanish) the best painter of the twentieth century. T
hat's the whole entire 1900s!
You know how some of his paintings are of blue people or pink people or big people or pointy people or monkey-face people or people with mismatched eyes or broken-up bodies? Well, this museum is full of his early stuff and it is not all abstract. We saw an oil painting of his mom that was completely lifelike.
Picasso once said, “I could paint like a master when I was young. It took me all my life to learn to paint like a child.”
When he really was a child, Picasso doodled right in his schoolbooks. I don't know if he got in trouble, but now those books are under glass! I saw one that had a drawing of bulls mating!
Matt keeps acting inappropriate. For example, he whispered, “Look, that's a boy horse! You can tell!”
Dad got annoyed (he's been a grouch since breakfast), so Mom gave us paper and colored pencils and told us to pick a painting and sketch it. Matt worked on one of a pretty lady with a minotaur (that's a man with the head of a bull). I worked on one of a pretty lady wearing a mantilla or Mon Tee Ya (that's a kind of veil).
Mom said Picasso liked painting women, and Dad mumbled that he liked women in general—”another Don Juan.” I couldn't tell if Dad was sort of criticizing Picasso, or somehow Antonio.
Mom started naming Picasso's girlfriends and wives: Fernande, Eva, Olga, Marie-Therese, Dora, Francoise, Jacqueline.
“That's a lot of ladies!” Matt said.
“He was not a one-woman guy,” Mom agreed.
Quiet Questions: Is Mom a one-man woman?
Is Miguel a one-girl guy?
Is Dad mad?
While I have been writing in you, Matt has been copying a second painting. It's of Columbus on his column.
“That stinks!” I said. “It looks like he's going to fall. You made him look scared of heights.”
Matt stuck out his tongue and said, “Yeah, well, I know who you like.”
I did not say anything. I just clamped my hand on his hoca. You know what he did? He licked me! Since I did not want nasty little-boy saliva on my palm, I let go.
“Miguel!” Matt blurted out. “You like Miguel!”
“You're locol” I said.
“I could tell him,” Matt the Brat said. But out of the blue, Matt the Brother said the very same words in a nice way. “Really, Mellie, I could tell him. It could help.”
I said.
Now I don't know whether to worry about Miguel liking me or about Matt telling Miguel that I like him.
Dear Diary,
We are upstairs looking at a bunch of paintings Picasso did in 1957 based on a masterpiece Velazquez (Vuh Lahs Kez) did 300 years earlier. In Madrid, we will see the real live masterpiece—with Miguel!! Mom arranged for us all to meet in front of it. Tomorrow!!! The masterpiece is called Las Meninas (Lahs May Nee Noss) or, in English, Maids of Honor or Ladies in Waiting.
Am I a lady in waiting???
I am now gluing in two postcards side by side because it is so cool how Velazquez and Picasso painted the same scene so differently.
Picasso painted it about fifty times, in his own Picasso-y way.
Velazquez painted it only once, toward the end of his life. His main job was to paint King Philip IV and his family. But Philip or Felipe (Fay Leap A) was a pale, big-nosed, funny-looking guy with bad hair, so even Velazquez could not make him look majestic.
Mom said that in Las Meninas, Velazquez “did something daring.” Instead of painting a nice respectful close-up of the king and queen, he painted himself painting the king and queen. It's really a painting of Velazquez in his studio with a five-year-old royal girl in a puffed-out skirt, a countess, a dwarf, maids, and a dog. Maybe they were there because they had a question for the king. Or maybe they just liked hanging around watching Velazquez paint. (There was no TV back then.) “Look carefully,” Mom said, pointing to a replica of the Velazquez painting. “See the reflection of the royal couple in the mirror in the back of the painting—?”
Matt interrupted. “But what's so daring?”
“Think of it,” Mom said in Art Teacher Mode. “He painted himself giant and handsome, and he painted the king and queen small and blurry.”
“They do look pretty puny,” Matt said.
“And fuzzy,” I added.
“See the dwarf?” Mom said. “Dwarves sometimes lived at palaces and waited on royalty.”
“How come?” I asked.
“Because people didn't think royal children should have to look up to anybody,” Dad answered. “Es-pecifically not servants.” He said “especifically” the Antonio way.
“Exactly!” Mom continued, “I love this painting, and this sneak peek inside Velazquez's studio is much more interesting than yet another formal portrait.”
Do diaries give sneak peeks too? Scrapbooks have mostly happy photos, as though every day is perfect. But diaries capture the commotion of real life.
Matt said, “I'm going to do a Martin painting of the Picasso painting of the Velazquez painting.”
Mom laughed. “Go to it.” She said other artists had copied Las Meninas too.
Meanwhile Mom and Dad and I looked at all the ways Picasso had painted the scene. He analyzed the Velazquez painting from every possible angle, backward and forward, top to bottom.
You know what? I think I've been analyzing my time with Miguel every which way too.
I've thought about how he put his sweater around me and, for half a second, his arm around me. I've thought about every one of those double kisses. I've thought about how our fingers touched in the popcorn. And how close we sat in the car. I've thought about how he called me May Lah Nee and said I was a good student and that I was funny. I've pictured how he offered me food on toothpicks and how he agreed that I look like an actress and how we watched the fireworks and bonfires.
I've gone over and over all those memories, and now I'm worried that I'm wearing them down and using them up! At first, every single time I'd think of one of those double kisses, I'd practically melt. Then, when Mom and Dad explained about gallantry, I practically wept. And now, when I think of everything Miguel and I said, it no longer makes me sigh or cry or want to die (another almost poem). It just makes me want to see him again and make new memories.
March 23 morning
DD,
We're up in the air. Mom and Dad are reading, and Matt is sitting in between them, coloring on a barf bag.
Last night in our big hotel room in Barcelona, Matt and I shared one double bed and Mom and Dad shared another double bed. Matt fell asleep right away, but Mom and Dad whisper-argued for a really long time. They must have thought I was asleep too, but they'd jumped to conclusions.
I couldn't understand everything they were saying (even though it was in English), but I did hear Dad say that it was news to him that we were going to see Antonio again, and that three days and nights should have been plenty. Mom said the second visit should not have come as a surprise. “I made it clear to you all along that Antonio would also be in Madrid.”
“Clear as mud,” Dad whispered.
“What is the big deal anyway?” Mom said.
“This is a business trip and a family vacation—not a getaway for you and your old boyfriend.”
“Oh, honestly, Marc!”
“I am being honest, sweetheart. Are you?”
“You know I am! And it's thanks to Antonio that we got to see a part of Spain that most tourists never—”
“Well, I'm forever grateful. But Madrid we could have handled on our own.”
Mom and Dad went on and on. If their children weren't two feet away, they probably would have been shouting instead of whispering.
My bed was comfortable, but it was uncomfortable lying in the dark listening to them fight. I felt so alone, I almost woke up Matt the Brat.
I didn't even know whose side to be on! Had Mom mentioned that we'd see Antonio in Madrid? Maybe. Back in New York, she had talked a lot about the trip, but I didn't pay attention to every detail. Dad probably didn't either. (I hadn't even
known that Antonio had a son!)
I feel bad for Mom and Dad, but guilty too because:
Trust me, feeling bad and guilty and glad (and excited and worried) all at the same time makes it hard to fall asleep.
I must have, though, because at seven this morning, room service woke us all up, knock knock knock, ready or not. But we had not ordered room service!! The hotel man realized his mistake and sort of backed out, saying, “Sorrrrry.”
If you think that helped Dad start the day better, you are mistaken!
Next thing you know, we were checking out of the hotel and checking in at the airport to fly to Madrid, the capital of Spain.
Matt and I had just started playing hide-and-seek when suddenly it was time to board! We couldn't find Matt anywhere. Dad said I should have known better than to play hide-and-seek before takeoff. (Everything is always my fault.) Fortunately Matt wandered back in the exact nick of time.
I guess Dad is mad mostly because we are seeing Antonio and Miguel this afternoon, and he can't be there because of his meeting with the client in Madrid which, he told Mom, “is the real reason we came here, remember?”
I felt like whispering, “Don't worry, Dad. I'll keep an eye on them.” But what if I am too distracted to be a good spy?
Flying to Madrid is way faster than driving. We're almost almost there!
PS. I'm still deciding what to say to MigueL I might ask him if he likes Picasso.
Dear Diary,
Matt is doing his pigeon-chasing thing. We're in Madrid's main square, La Plaza Mayor (La Pla Tha My Your in lithpy Thpanish). It has archways around it and a statue of a guy on horseback. Matt giggled and said, “I wonder if it's a boy horse or a girl horse.” Mom frowned, so I told Matt to shut his boca.
Dad said he should take Matt to Brussels someday. He said it has a gorgeous square and a famous fountain statue of a little boy peeing. “Manneken Pis,” Dad said. “You'd love it.”
“I would!” Matt agreed.