Melanie in Manhattan

by Carol Weston

  “And wasn’t it bright blue when blue M&M’s first came out?” Matt asked. I don’t know where Matt learned that, but it was better than dwelling on Valentine’s Day.

  “It was also blue,” Dad added, “when the Yankees won the World Series.”

  Miguel translated for his uncle. “Los yanquis” (Yon Keys). “Béisbol” (Baze Bowl). I knew those words because we’d studied sports in Spanish. I remember because Justin thought the word for outfielder was funny; it’s jardinero (Hhhar D Nair Oh), which also means … gardener! In Spain, of course, no one actually plays baseball—it’s an American game. (Random question: Does that mean Spanish couples never go to first base???)

  Well, we drove down Fifth Avenue to 34th Street and our only choice was to park in an expensive garage. Uncle Angel seemed shocked at the price and said it cost “Un ojo de la cara” (Oon Oh Hho Day La Cah Rah). Mom translated: “An eye from the face.”

  “Ewww!” Matt squealed with delight.

  Miguel gave Matt a big smile, the kind of smile I hoped he’d give me.

  Matt said, “I can jump higher than the Empire State Building!”

  Miguel said, “Is this possible?”

  Matt said, “Yes, because the Empire State Building can’t jump!”

  Miguel laughed, so I did too.

  We walked under the Empire State Building awning, and Miguel and Uncle Angel handed Dad their cameras, and Dad took photos of them pointing up. Inside the marble lobby, we looked at the Art Deco mural and got in a twisty line of tourists speaking different languages.

  Dad mumbled, “We should have ordered tickets online.”

  Mom shrugged. “Lines are part of the New York Experience.”

  Our turn came, and Dad bought tickets for the observation deck and Tony’s Audio Tour, a headset that Dad said would give us “an overview of the view.”

  Uncle Angel nodded. “An overview of the view. Sí.”

  Well, Miguel and his uncle were blown away by the elevator ride alone! Elevators usually show floor numbers like 1, 2, 3 … but this elevator zoomed up so fast that the numbers it showed were 10, 20, 30 …! My ears felt as if they were on an airplane! We rocketed to the 80th floor, then took another elevator to the 86th floor, which is the best for looking around. There are actually 102 stories and a giant antenna.

  Uncle Angel asked, “We see King Kong?” Mom laughed and told us about an ancient movie that shows King Kong on the tippy top of the Empire State Building.

  Finally we arrived at the observation deck, and we all looked out out out and saw, not King Kong, but the whole world at our feet. In miniature!

  Miguel gasped. “It is like the movies, May Lah Nee!”

  “It is!” I agreed. His eyes were wide, and I looked into them and we smiled at each other—at last! For one endless second, it felt like we were on our own private magic-carpet ride. Together, just us. I even wondered if I should give him that kiss I’d been thinking about.

  Up there, it was as if everything else was fuzzy and only Miguel was in focus. His dark eyes and dark hair and soft lips. It seemed like we might step closer together … but then we broke away. Maybe we both feel a little shy or tímido (T Me Dough)? Instead of gazing at each other, we started looking outward, and also down at the colorful metal panels that explain all the sites.

  I pointed to the giant green rectangle of Central Park and the pointy scalloped spire of the Chrysler Building and the graceful distant arch of the George Washington Bridge, which got built in 1931—same year as the Empire State Building. We looked at the toylike trees and itty-bitty Staten Island Ferries and teeny tiny Statue of Liberty (we put quarters in a viewer so we could see her better).

  Miguel asked where the twin towers used to be, and I showed him. I also showed him how they are marked on the panels with dotted black lines.

  The Empire State Building got built really fast—in fourteen months!! When it was done, it was the tallest building in the world. It stayed the tallest in New York all the way until 1972, when the World Trade Center became the tallest. Then everything changed on September 11, 2001, and the Empire State Building became the tallest again. But it wasn’t really a boast anymore. More like a tarnished trophy.

  Miguel looked toward the place that got named Ground Zero, or Zone Zero, as he put it. “Terrorismo (Tear Rrroar Ease Mo). Terrorism. It is sickening, yes?”

  “Yes,” I agreed, but then I couldn’t think of a single other thing to say. How come it was so much easier to write to Miguel than to talk to him?

  Stupid Suze hopped into my head and answered, “Because you weren’t in love, you were obsessed.” Which made me mad at her even though she wasn’t even there.

  I think I’m just not used to discussing such serious subjects. Plus, I wanted to feel like a kid on top of the world—not a grown-up who knows that the world has troubles of its own.

  Miguel and I turned on our audio guides. I listened in English and he listened in Spanish. Matt tagged along and started climbing a railing—until a guard yelled at him. Then Matt taught Miguel the phrase Never Eat Shredded Wheat, since that’s how he’d learned North, East, South, and West. I told him that was dumb.

  The Audio Tour was not dumb. We liked it! It starts with: “How ya doin’?” in a New Yawk accent. The guide, Tony, is a friendly, know-it-all taxi driver. He says the Empire State Building is the “greatest building” in the “greatest city in the world,” then tells the history of New York, explaining sites from the Flatiron Building (a really cool triangular building) to the dock where the Titanic was supposed to arrive (sad sad sad).

  I wish I could have memorized everything Tony said; I wish I could be a five-star tour guide!

  We went to the gift shop and Miguel bought a souvenir mug that cost exactly $10. The cashier said, “All set?” Miguel looked confused. She said, “Cash or plastic?” Miguel looked more confused. Finally she said, “$10.70,” and Miguel said, “Is there a confusion?” Mom explained that everything costs extra because of tax, and Dad added, “Welcome to America.”

  Miguel gave the cashier eleven dollars and she gave him change and Matt explained that a nickel is five cents and a quarter is twenty-five.

  The elevator to the bottom was very crowded and Dad joked, “If we squeeze in a few more people, we can go down even faster!” Fortunately, Mom did not translate. I was squooshed against Miguel (which I didn’t mind) and my ears were popping (which I did). Back on the street, Uncle Angel thanked us for a wonderful experience but said he was hecho polvo (Ay Cho Pole Vo). That means so tired he’d turned to dust. It was past midnight in Spain, so we dropped both Uncle Angel and Miguel at their hotel and went back to being just the four M’s.

  Which felt … disappointing. I don’t know exactly what I’d expected—maybe that Miguel would be staying with us? Or that he would take a picture of me with him on the Empire State Building as he had on the castle in Segovia? Or that he’d kiss me on the forehead as he had in the airport in Madrid?? Or that I’d be brave and kiss him???

  I guess things with Miguel are still up in the air. Which is where he spent most of his day!

  At least he’s on my side of the Atlantic. For now, anyway!

  P.S. When Cecily and I talked about IMing, I’d said things are clearer when you’re actually with someone, person to person. But even face to face, things can feel foggy.

  June 19, 9:30 A.M.

  Dear Diary,

  At around eleven last night, Dad brought me warm milk and asked, “Are you too wound up to wind down?”

  I said, “Yes, but that’s a dorky way to put it.” I didn’t want to tell him what (or who) I was wound up about, though he could probably guess.

  I still can’t believe Miguel is here!

  This morning, Dad already went to work and Uncle Angel has meetings, so Mom, Matt, and I are going to show Miguel around.

  I wish I were old enough to do it myself. I wonder if he wishes that too.

  (everyone’s in line and my job is to save the table)
/>   Dear Diary,

  The Central Park Zoo is tiny compared to the Bronx Zoo, but Miguel thinks it’s cool that there are monkeys right in the middle of busy Manhattan.

  In Spanish, zoo is spelled zoo but rhymes with Toe.

  Monkey is mono (Mo No). Mono also means cute. So if you’re looking at monkeys and say, “Mira, qué monos” (Me Ra Kay Mo Nohs), it means two things: “Look! What monkeys!” and “Look! How cute!”

  Miguel called Matt a “mono mono” and Matt beamed. If I’d called Matt a cute monkey, he’d have bit me.

  Besides the monkeys, we watched:

  • polar bears or osos polares (Oh Sose Po Lar S) swim, flip, and push off from the thick glassy wall with their big white paws.

  • seals or focas (Foe Cahs) wave, clap, salute, bark, and give high fives for fishy rewards.

  • penguins or pingüinos (Peen Gween Ohs) waddle around their chilly stinky habitat making clicky noises in chin-strapped tuxedos. A few rubbed their necks together and sort of kissed with their beaks, which made me wonder:

  We also liked the flying bats or murciélagos (Moor Syell Ug Ose). Miguel told Mom that “bat” in Spanish is the only word that uses every vowel—aeiou—once each. Believe it or not, that made Mom’s day.

  Oops, everyone is back with lemonade or limonada (Lee Moan Ah Da).

  P.S. Matt just asked Miguel, “Where do bats go to pee?” “Where?” Miguel asked. “The bat room!” Matt howled. “Come with me, okay?”

  Off they’ve now gone to the bat room, ho ho ho, Matt babbling the whole way about how a little brown bat can eat one thousand bugs in an hour.

  I wish I could talk with Miguel the way my family does. Matt made Miguel laugh just by telling him that elbows in English are called funny bones. Miguel asked, “And knees?” Matt said, “Knees are just knees!” and they laughed some more. Ha ha ha ho ho ho. Everything is soooo funny.

  All I wanted was for things with Miguel not to change. But even Miguel’s voice is changing. It’s deeper, and it cracks sometimes.

  I guess I’m changing too. I’m taller, and today I’m wearing a bra. It’s a little uncomfortable, though.

  Dear Diary,

  Outside the zoo, a small crowd of people gathered, and we joined them and looked up toward a brick archway. Music filled the air, and bronze animals started moving in a circle. A penguin played a drum; kangaroos played horns; an elephant played the accordion; a bear banged a tambourine; a hippo played the violin; and on top, two monkeys rang a big bell.

  “Mono,” Monkey Boy said, since he’s proud of his new word.

  “This is …?” Miguel asked.

  “The Delacorte Clock,” Mom said. “It does this every half hour. When Matt was in a stroller and Mel was in pigtails, they adored this clock.”

  “Pigtails?” Miguel asked.

  I shot Mom a look that said: “Please don’t explain!” Too late. She’d already picked up her hair in two high bunches.

  Sometimes she doesn’t get it! After Spring Fling, she met Justin and said, “I’ve heard a lot about you,” when it would have been much better not to say anything!!

  Miguel smiled and said, “I like it. Me gusta” (May Goo Stah). I wasn’t sure if he meant the clock or the pigtails.

  We left the zoo and walked south, past artists drawing flattering charcoal portraits of tourists, artists drawing insulting caricatures of tourists, people selling shirts to tourists, and horse-drawn carriages giving rides to tourists.

  Who knew New York was so STUFFED with tourists?

  An old black horse made me think of Black Beauty. I looked at Mom and whispered, “Carriage ride?” She whispered, “Too expensive.” (No surprise.) So we just watched carriages clip-clop by. One had a couple in it, but they weren’t being very couple-y. The man was taking photos of the park on his side, and the woman was taking a video of the park on her side.

  Next stop: the Plaza. We went up the red carpet, held on to the gold stair rail, pushed through the revolving door, and walked under the big chandelier to the Palm Court, where dressed-up people can have tea and listen to harp music. I showed Miguel the big painting of Eloise, who lived at the Plaza with Nanny; her dog, Weenie; and her turtle, Skipperdee. I love Eloise, but Miguel didn’t even know who she was. You can be famous in one country and unknown in another! Even though it was a little embarrassing, everyone had to wait for me to go to the Plaza’s bathroom, since I’d been writing when I was supposed to have gone at the zoo. (I prefer fancy bathrooms anyway!)

  Next we crossed Fifth Avenue, passed the FAO Schwartz clock, and headed north. Mom and Matt were walking ahead, and Miguel and I were behind. I wanted to say something deep or romantic, but somehow I started telling him about how Cecily’s cat likes to bite the end of toilet paper rolls, then race through the apartment with tp flying behind him. I also told him about how Cheshire once licked some water—but it was sparkling water—and it made him sneeze sneeze sneeze!

  My stories made Miguel laugh, and that felt good.

  Mom smiled at us and said, “I hope your shoes are comfortable, Miguel, because in New York, everyone gets lots of exercise without even trying.”

  At the corner of East 70th Street, we reached a mansion that used to belong to a rich guy named Frick. Mom took me once last fall. The Frick is loaded with masterpieces, but it’s small—so it’s not overwhelming like the Met. The problem? You have to be ten to be allowed in.

  When Mom planned Miguel’s day, she forgot that Monkey Boy is not even eight!

  “What are we going to do?” I asked.

  “Have a hot dog?” Matt suggested.

  Mom bought us hot dogs from a hot dog man under an umbrella. I got mine with ketchup; Miguel did too. I think he was a little surprised that we ate them standing up—Spanish lunches are often two-course (or even three-course) sit-down meals.

  “Delicioso” (Day Lee See Oh So), Miguel said, and Mom offered him another one. He accepted and asked, “You know how we say ‘hot dog’?” I shook my head. “Hot puppy! ¡Perrito caliente!” (Pair E Toe Cahl E N Tay). Matt cracked up. “And you know how we say ‘children’ in slang?”

  “¿Niños?” (Nee Nyose), I asked.

  “Mocosos (Mo Co Sohs). It means ‘Snotty noses.’ ”

  “Ewwwwwww!” Matt shouted, happy as can be.

  A lady with long legs followed by a puppy with short legs scowled at Matt as though he were a problem child—which, of course, he is.

  Mom looked worried. “Matt, listen carefully. Can you pretend to be ten?”

  “Sí,” Matt said.

  “No monkey business,” Mom added.

  “But I’m a mono mono!” Matt started scratching his armpits and ooh-ooh-oohing.

  “I need you to be a serious boy,” Mom said. “We’ll stay just a few minutes, but I’d hate for Miguel to miss the Frick. It has three Vermeers!” To us, she added, “I hope Matt doesn’t get ants in his pants.”

  Miguel looked alarmed. “Ants?”

  Mom laughed. “It’s an expression! It means: I hope he doesn’t get restless—antsy.”

  Inside, she showed her membership card, and the man asked how old we were. Mom said, “Twelve, eleven, and ten.” He eyed Matt suspiciously, but Matt flashed his Angel Boy Smile, and the man waved us in.

  “Behave,” Mom whispered again, and handed us Art-Phone audio guides. Miguel’s was in español (S Pon Yole).

  We walked through the peaceful courtyard with its trickling fountain, then entered the big room.

  “The kids sometimes play a museum game,” Mom started explaining. I nearly died because I didn’t think Mom even knew about Point Out the Naked People.

  “A game?” Miguel said.

  “Yes. Sometimes I ask them, ‘If you could have one painting in this room, which would you choose?’ ” Oh, phew! That museum game! “Everyone walks around, then we meet in the middle, and I say, ‘One two three,’ and we all point to our favorite.”

  “Let’s play,” Matt said.

  “Ready?” M
om said.

  We walked around, then met in the middle. “All right,” Mom said. “Uno dos tres.”

  We were pointing in different directions, and I said, “You go first, Mom.”

  “I love the Rembrandt self-portrait.” We walked over to it.

  “You’re supposed to say why,” I said.

  “Because he looks kind and real and sad and wise.”

  “If you could save only one painting in the whole world, would this be the one?” Matt asked.

  “What would happen to the others?” Mom said.

  “I don’t know. Fire? A flood? Turpentine?”

  She looked pained, so Matt changed the question. “I just mean: Is this your top favorite painting of all time?”

  “I think so.” Mom turned to Miguel and said, “Doesn’t Rembrandt have a wonderful face? I always say hello to him when I come here. I like to think of him as an old friend. Maybe a grandfather.”

  Grandpa Rembrandt.

  I looked to see if Miguel thought Mom was crazy—loca (Low Cah)—but he just smiled. Mom continued, “I like to think he’s saying, ‘And what have you been up to since you last came to see me?’ ” She laughed. “Okay, someone else’s turn. Matt, you go.”

  Matt said, “Same as Mom.”

  “Copycat!” I rolled my eyes. “How about you, Miguel?”

  “I have picked Felipe IV” (Fay Leap Ay Qua Tro).

  “Velázquez’s Philip IV,” Mom said. “Why?”

  “I like seeing our king in your country.” Maybe since Mom is an art teacher, Miguel added, “And I like the gold in his cloak and the orange in his hair.”

  I gave Miguel a smile and I think he winked. But maybe it was just a funny blink? I wanted to ask him, but then I realized that you can’t ask a boy if he winked at you or not.

  “And you, May Lah Nee?” Miguel asked. For a second, I started picturing myself giving him a little kiss right then and there, but of course I had nowhere near enough guts. Besides, we were with my family!