The Smell of Old Lady Perfume

by Claudia Guadalupe Martinez

  We sat on the couch watching a television rerun together. Then Angel Jr. came out of his room and plopped himself down next to us.

  “Psst,” he said like he was a secret agent, “I got some information.”

  “What?” Silvia asked. Angel Jr. swore us to secrecy. While he’d been pulling out weeds on the side of the house, Angel Jr. had found an extra cable cord hanging from the neighbor’s outside wall. He’d snuck it under the fence.

  Silvia asked him if that was illegal. He said he’d pay for it by pulling out the neighbor’s weeds. Angel Jr. walked outside. He pushed the cable in from the window, walked back in, and plugged it into the back of the television. He turned it on. It worked!

  We watched TV. We laughed and kidded around without getting caught by Amá. In the middle of it all, Clark and I offered to microwave a bag of popcorn. Silvia followed us into the kitchen. She told us to make some of the kind without salt.

  I didn’t cry for Apá that night.

  CHAPTER

  32

  Another Year

  We finished the project schedule for the after-school program. I was glad I wouldn’t have to be alone around Camila anymore, even though I was going to miss the assignments. Ms. Hamlin ordered us pizza and took group pictures. She gave us special GT shirts as good-bye gifts—never mind that she was our daytime teacher and would still see us until school ended. The GT shirts were blue and white with our names embroidered on them.

  Ms. Hamlin asked our moms to come at four for refreshments and cookies. The other mothers were dressed up in flowered skirts and buttoned blouses. My mom walked in wearing the blue jeans she always wore to work. To me she looked nicer than any of the dressed-up moms.

  Ms. Hamlin gave them a rundown of the program. She even practiced the few Spanish phrases that she’d learned on my amá. Amá smiled politely and shook her head, agreeing with the things Ms. Hamlin said. Ms. Hamlin told her I was one of her most enthusiastic students. I raised my hand more than anyone else.

  After we said goodbye, Amá and I walked to the grocery store. “I thought you could help me shop for your birthday dinner,” she said.

  “What do you want me to cook for you?” It was almost that time, but I hadn’t even been counting the days.

  “I want homemade flour tortillas with chiles rellenos,” I told her.

  “How many do you want?” she asked me.

  “Make fifty. I’m going to eat ten of them!” I told her. We both laughed. Then she called me a little pig. My mouth watered when I thought about the stuffed peppers. She didn’t cook for us much anymore. We fed ourselves after school because of her job. I asked for permission to invite Nora to my birthday dinner. The answer was yes.

  On the morning I turned twelve, my mom played a Pedro Infante record of Las Mañanitas for me to wake up to. It was the official birthday morning song. I didn’t tell anyone at school that it was my birthday. I didn’t even tell Roy. Ms. Hamlin didn’t notice either. That was just how she was. I swore Nora, the only person who knew, to secrecy.

  Nora gave me a friendship bracelet with my name on it. She showed me a matching one with her name on it.

  “It’s to show everyone that we’re best friends forever,” she said.

  That afternoon, they announced the results of our state exams over the school intercom. Everybody did well, but they wanted to let us know there was a kid in our school who actually got the highest score in our grade for the district. Everybody waited for them to say it was Camila. Then the principal read my name over the loud speaker. I’d scored in the ninety-eighth percentile in math and the ninety-ninth percentile in reading and writing.

  “We have two reasons to eat cake now,” my mom said when I got home and told her.

  Nora and I roasted and peeled the peppers for the chiles rellenos. Amá whipped eggs whites until she turned the bowl upside down and nothing fell out. She stuffed the peppers with cheese, dipped them in the egg batter and fried them. Clark helped Silvia frost the cake. Angel Jr. waited outside on his skateboard. When everything was ready, we took the tray of chiles to the dining table where we ate and ate and ate. Nora told my mom how delicious everything was.

  After I had about three chiles, Silvia brought out a cake with twelve candles on top. Angel Jr. lit them. They sang me the Sapo Verde song just like my dad would’ve.

  Sapo Verde to you, Sapo Verde to you. Sapo Verde, dear Chela…

  A sapo verde was a green toad, and it rhymed with Happy Birthday. It was a special song even if it was made for teasing because Apá’d always sung it just for us.

  “Hurry up and make a wish before the candles melt,” I heard Clark say. I made a wish, but I didn’t tell anyone what it was, or else it wouldn’t come true. I blew hard on the candles. I had to put them all out for the same reason.

  “Yay! You got them all,” Clark chirped.

  My mom brought out a box wrapped in purple tissue paper. It was from everyone, she said. Clark hurried me to open it. He even tore at the paper.

  “Hold your pants!” I told him.

  It was a brand new pair of sneakers. They were white leather—just like all the girls at school were wearing. I took off my red leather ones that were worn down to the gray at the tips from playing soccer. I put on the new ones. They were the best. I walked around the backyard hugging everyone. Right when I got to Angel Jr., he hugged back and told me he hoped I’d stop being a nerd now that I was older.

  I changed back to my old shoes to walk Nora home. When I got back, everyone was sitting around the backyard by my dad’s bench. It was hot as summer outside, but I didn’t complain.

  Amá began with a story about how she was on the girls’ basketball team as a kid. They’d even made it to the big city to play in the championship games.

  “Amá,” Angel Jr. teased, “they didn’t play basketball on the ranchito—you can’t dribble rocks!”

  “Oh yeah? Just bring me a ball,” she said. Clark ran out and got her the basketball. He passed it to her, and she spun it on the tip of her finger.

  “Fancy!” Clark yelled.

  “Showoff,” said Silvia.

  “Uy, Amá knows how to have fun,” I said.

  “That’s nothing!” Amá said. She dribbled the ball and passed. I stumbled as I ran to catch it, squealing with excitement. We giggled and screamed.

  That night I tossed and turned. I dreamt about my dad. My mom rolled him in on a blue wheelchair that had “Property of County Hospital” stamped on the back in white letters. He wore a brand new shirt and asked if we liked it. I said yes, but then started crying because I remembered ugly things. I told him about it. He replied that the ugly things had never happened.

  My dad smiled big. He said it was all a nightmare or maybe a joke. It wasn’t a funny joke at all, but I hugged him. We were happy. We did the things we always did. We went to the park and played soccer. We ate leftover cake and watched a movie late at night. He forgot his glasses, and I read the subtitles for him. Then he told me someone should give me a reading trophy. This dream rolled in my head like a movie that kept getting rewound and played over and over again. When I woke up, I felt like taking a small hammer to my head and banging on it because the dream was gone.

  CHAPTER

  33

  All-School Girl

  Ms. Hamlin pulled me aside in class to tell me that because my test scores were the highest and because I’d made the honor roll all year, I was getting the Outstanding Student in Reading Arts Award for our grade. Nora was getting the Science Award. Camila was getting the Math Award.

  Amá was very excited when I told her. She even offered to buy me a new outfit for the awards assembly. It couldn’t be something wild. It’d be the last new outfit I’d get for a while. I’d have to wear it for church and other special days too. I was grateful, but I didn’t need one. It wouldn’t have been fair anyway. We couldn’t afford new clothes for all of us, and it was also the last day of school for my sister and brothers.

  I decided to
wear something from the pile of clothes I got from Silvia when she cleaned her side of the closet. Silvia took good care of her stuff and most of it was practically new. I pulled on a khaki skirt, a purple-button shirt, and my new sneakers.

  Everyone in my house dressed up.

  “You’d look better with your hair out of your eyes. Can I brush it?” Silvia asked.

  I sat on the floor in front of the red couch and let her do whatever she wanted. She pulled my hair up into a ponytail. Angel Jr. and Clark rolled their eyes at us. They had a big hoot and called us “girls.” I didn’t care; we WERE girls.

  The whole sixth grade class knew who was getting most of the awards, but we didn’t know who’d win the coveted All-School Girl Trophy. It was the really exciting part of it all. Nora and I felt like we might be close competition for Camila. Each of us was getting at least one other important award. Only the smartest and most popular girl and boy in school ever won, though. We were smart, but Camila was the most popular.

  They rang the bell for us to file into the cafeteria at one-thirty. There were rows and rows of kids everywhere. Everyone had on their nicest clothes. It was crazy noisy. The metal legs of chairs scraped against the tile floors as kids shifted in their seats and whispered excitedly.

  A school banner hung from the ceiling above a pull-out stage along one of the cafeteria walls. There was a podium with a microphone on the left side of the stage and a table right beside it displaying a line of trophies.

  We sat down with our teachers. The teachers clutched folders full of perfect attendance and citizenship certificates for each of their classes. There was a different section roped off for our families. Clark snuck over to sit with my mom even though he was supposed to be with his class.

  The principal turned on the microphone and it screeched, making its own announcement that the awards were about to begin. We quieted down. The principal cleared his throat and called the teachers up, one by one. First, they called out the awards for the pre-kindergarteners, kindergartners, first graders, second graders, third graders, fourth graders and fifth graders. Each time we were closer.

  When they got to our grade they called the citizenship awards and the perfect attendance until they were all done. The principal announced the subject matter awards himself. He pulled out his folder. He called out Nora for Science, Camila for Math, and some kids from other classes for the other subjects. When he called my name, I walked up to the stage and picked up my reading award. I waited to feel the flash of my mom’s camera on me and then sat back down.

  The All-School Trophies were the biggest awards so he waited until the end to announce them. When our principal called out the boy’s name, we weren’t surprised. Roy was always the most popular boy in school. He had also brought up his grades.

  Nora and I crossed our fingers, honestly wished each other luck, and let our feet dance nervously in our white sneakers.

  “And this year’s All-School Girl Award goes to a girl whom we’re all very proud of. She’s in the gifted program and in sports. Many of her fellow students admire her, and her teacher highly recommended her,” the Principal paused, and I crossed my fingers so tight they turned white.

  “Your All-School Girl is Ms. Chela Gonzalez. Come on up here, Chela!”

  I walked up to the stage and stood next to Roy. I looked him in the eye and saw something that I couldn’t name. It made me tingle even though he was just my friend. He squeezed my hand in front of the whole school and congratulated me! Everyone clapped.

  It really was like standing at the top of the tallest building downtown. Except that when I looked out, my dad wasn’t there. I tried not to think of it just then. Clark hugged me when I walked off the stage. I even heard him brag to his friends about his sister. We said good-bye to all our classmates and teachers. We’d already said good-bye in class, but we did it again anyway. Nora, Roy and I even made plans to see each other that summer.

  Amá put her arm around my shoulder and told me she was proud of me as we walked out of the cafeteria. It was one of those times I saw her smile with all her teeth again. I smiled back. I kissed her, and told her I was proud of her too. She’d passed her driving test earlier in the week. We drove home in the pickup and skipped “Mary Service.” Amá asked if we wanted to go to Whataburger, but we were stuffed from the school parties.

  The first thing I saw when we got home was my dad’s old bench sitting on our porch. A million feelings came over me so rapidly that they were hard to fight. It was like tripping and falling into a pit. I sat down. I knew then that my dad really wasn’t coming back. He would never have missed my big day.

  CHAPTER

  34

  gusanitos

  I lay in bed the next morning, thinking about how I was Apá’s shadow once. When anything went wrong, Apá was my strong still oak. I ducked under his branches.

  I stared at my two trophies on the dresser. I tossed and turned in bed. I didn’t want to feel bad for having felt happy. I wanted to tell Apá all about my awards. I wanted to share them with him. I thought about how Apá said “Yes you can” applied to anything.

  I jumped out of bed and showered. My face stared back from the bathroom mirror. I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. The goal was to look as ordinary as possible. My fingers combed through my tangled hair as I walked to my mom’s room.

  A fancy-looking bottle with a delicate pump left behind by Abuelita sat on Amá’s dresser. I sprayed it on. I wore it like a person wears a feeling. It wasn’t that I wanted to be sad. I wore it to remember.

  “Amá, I’m going now,” I yelled as I pulled the door closed behind me. I’d told Amá that I was going to church to thank Diosito and that I’d come right back. She’d worry and maybe even take off her chancla when she realized it was only a half-truth, but it was too late. I walked out with my trophies in my backpack. I walked out with my head tucked low. I walked out with the smell of sadness.

  I crossed the street into the church. I sat in one of the front pews and said a quick prayer until someone came up beside me. It was Miss Mickey. She said that she expected to see me back at “Mary Service” on Monday. I nodded, and she walked to the back of the church. I crossed myself. I walked out the side door and stood outside watching the cars drive by.

  When the bus pulled up, and the bus driver pulled open the doors, I almost backed out. But his withered hands, grasping onto the steering wheel, looked like Apá’s. They made me think that he was good. I pulled a carefully folded dollar from my back pocket and boarded the bus that I wasn’t allowed to ride by myself.

  We rode toward Everest Cemetery. It didn’t seem like the kind of place where anyone would ever rest. It had fields of grass from one end to the other. It was the kind of place that made me want to kick around a soccer ball. I didn’t have a soccer ball, so I sat by Apá’s grave at the edge of the cemetery.

  The flowers came as if by magic. The dust winds braced themselves and blew. The flowers floated grave to grave until they fell all around me. I didn’t take them. I didn’t wish for them to come. They just made their way. The winds blew, and I sat surrounded by flowers until the words came too.

  “This is the kind of thing you don’t tell anyone. You don’t say it because you might just end up in that building next to the hospital with all the crazies. I won that award. You were right. It felt so good, but when I looked out at all the faces I didn’t see you. I still expected to.

  “The day they brought you here, I told them this wasn’t where you wanted to be. You told us. You told us you wanted to be in El Florido. You told us you wanted to be in the water or in the hills. I waited for you to come home. I waited outside until even the sun fell asleep, and Silvia made me come inside. I kept thinking that what happened to you might’ve been a bad dream or sick joke.

  “I know you would’ve been there if you could’ve. I still wanted you to know, so I came to the cemetery and put down my thirsty roots.

  “Amá still cries, you know. She is hot oil in a pan, just wai
ting for the slightest touch to hiss and bubble. She cries without making a sound. But the other day, I saw her smile like I hadn’t in a long time. She was so proud.

  “Clark also cries like when he still didn’t have a name. But he cries less and less. Silvia is not as mean anymore, and Angel Jr. isn’t so eager to leave and forget. I know it’s not right to forget, as much as it kills us.

  “No, that’s not rain. I’m crying. Yes. I cry too. Don’t tease me and make me laugh. I just want to lay here and listen for your heartbeat. I want to wait with you until the gusanitos think I am part of the soil too. I’m not disgusted by worms. You brought them home in the tequila lollipops from Juarez. Remember how we used to go to Juarez? Remember how we ate warm tortillas rolled up with salt, and you bought us pistachio ice cream?

  “We were so happy. Now I’m sad when I’m sad, and sometimes I’m sad when I’m happy. I close my eyes, and you are exactly as you were. I can hear your voice.

  “‘Cuando me muera no quiero que me lloren.’

  “You didn’t want us to cry when you died. I don’t think you meant just then. I think you knew we would cry just then. Maybe you meant you didn’t want us to cry now.

  “What’s that you say? Yes, it’s dark. I don’t want to open my eyes yet. Can you see me, Apá? Are your eyes shut too? What’s that you say? I am you, and you are me.”

  I am also me.

  That’s why I can’t stay.

  I have to get up.

  I have to go home.

  I got up. I walked looking at my toes. I understood that my dad wanted us to be happy. I understood because I was him, and he was me.

  I looked up. The sun shone; maybe it had always been that way.