There was no more time, so I followed my family up the escalator. At the top, I looked back.
I wanted to memorize my last look of Lela, Violeta, Tía Yoana, the kids from school, and our neighbors and friends. Part of my heart was staying behind with them, and leaving it hurt like it was being torn apart. I waved and turned away.
I caught up with my family. An airline attendant was checking the passports.
“Ah,” she exclaimed when she saw mine. “A little Yankee going back home?”
My cheeks warmed up. I was leaving my home. But it was also true I was going back to where I’d been born. Would the United States ever feel like my home?
“Everything’s in order,” she said, waving us forward. “Have a safe flight to Buenos Aires.”
“You too,” Mateo said, and in spite of the jumbled emotions, we all laughed.
Lela’s advice of remembering the light rang in my ears. My own promise not to cry was enough for my eyes to stay dry.
But all my best intentions came crashing down as we stepped onto the first airplane.
“How are we sitting?” I asked, standing in the middle of the aisle, trying to figure out the configuration. Each side of the plane had two seats. Who was I going to sit next to?
I’d flown before, but I’d been a baby.
“Mami,” I insisted. “Why am I the one left out?”
Mami looked over her shoulder as she tried to keep Francisco contained and said, “We can’t have the boys sitting by themselves, mi amor.” The look in her eyes begged me to understand, and although I didn’t want to give in, I had no other choice.
My only consolation was that my seat was next to the window. I wanted to see Mendoza for the last time so I could remember it perfectly. Papi said there were beautiful mountains in Utah, where we were going, but I couldn’t imagine anything as majestic as Los Andes.
Finally, the flight attendant said the cabin door was closed, and my heart leaped inside my chest. The plane engines roared, and I heard Francisco exclaim, “We’re moving, Mami!” He giggled. He always laughed when he was nervous.
I crossed my arms tightly, wishing I could hold someone’s hand for the takeoff. From across the aisle, Papi sent me a reassuring smile, but he had to go back to making sure Mateo didn’t kneel on his seat as he looked out the window.
Finally, the airplane rose in the air, and after a few seconds, my ears popped. I unwrapped the piece of gum Mami had given me to chew so my ears wouldn’t hurt. The strong mint made my tongue tingle.
Outside the small window, the sky was bright blue. Cotton-white clouds fell underneath the airplane as we climbed higher and higher, until the mountains looked like ant tracks on my brothers’ nature table. I felt like a ribbon stretched and stretched from my heart to Lela, Estrellita, Violeta, and all those I loved and had left behind. And to the place that had been my home for twelve years.
Papi explained to Mateo how airplanes worked, and the explanation helped me not to panic when I thought about how high in the air we were. Francisco must have been asleep because Mami looked back over the seat in front of me and winked, tiredly. “I’m going to take advantage and nap.”
What was it about parents and naps? How could she miss the spectacle out the window? How could she ignore the anxiousness of not knowing what was waiting for us at the end of our trip?
These questions and more thundered louder than the rumbling engines. To calm my nerves, I started humming “Ninna Nanna,” and soon the song turned into the one I’d started writing that day when I got a ten in English and thought my life was perfect. The lyrics came out in a tumble, inspired by the beauty of the sky and the swirling feelings inside me.
The mountain is hard to climb
When you think you’re all alone.
In the darkness, the wind blowing,
The doubts are louder,
The fear is stronger.
Just then, a rainbow wheel, a glory, appeared on my window. Mrs. Prescott had once told the class about them, but I never imagined anything so magical and beautiful.
I repeated the lyrics of my song over and over until the glory finally dissolved in a bank of clouds. But by then, my chest was warm and the knotted sadness in my stomach didn’t bother me so much anymore.
Soon we were in Buenos Aires. The closest I’d ever been to the capital city was Rosario when we’d visited Papi’s cousins. I’d wanted to catch a peek of the beautiful buildings and expansive parks, but our connection was tight. We had to run to our next gate, and we made it just in time. This airplane was way bigger than the first one. A lot bigger.
This time I was luckier and sat next to Papi and Mateo.
Mami and Francisco sat in a row toward the front of our section, next to a girl who had a companion dog. I never knew dogs could fly on airplanes, and my brothers were sad we hadn’t brought Estrellita with us.
“She’s too old for the trip,” Papi explained again, but I could still hear a hint of sadness in his voice.
Mateo was jealous Francisco got to sit by a dog. He started crying in a mixture of overstimulation, emotional exhaustion, and sadness.
Finally, he fell asleep right after dinner, which he didn’t even touch.
Papi put his headphones on and played a movie. Soon, he was asleep too.
And for my part, I grabbed the tiny strawberry ice-cream cup my brother had ignored and took out the binder of letters from Celestina. I brushed my fingers against the handwriting in Italian and the translation my great-grandmother had typed on a typewriter. For the first time, I wondered why Lela hadn’t learned her mother’s own language.
Besides the language, what else from our heritage had been lost across the ocean and the passing of time?
The lights flicked off, and I turned on the feeble light above my seat to read the first letter.
Querida Nonna Rosa,
Mamma says we won’t be able to post this letter until we arrive in Rosario, but I don’t want to forget one detail. Already, the day we left seems a thousand years ago, and I hardly remember the smell of the ocean when we arrived at the port. After so long in this cabin, my nose is immune to the scents of so many cramped in a tiny space. I only notice how bad I stink when Babbo and I go up to walk around the main deck. The other day he pointed at Polaris and said that soon I wouldn’t get to see it anymore. Every night after that, I wished on that star that this trip would be worth it. That my family might find somewhere to live and love in peace. Tonight, I couldn’t see it anymore, but I know it’s still there.
Mamma won’t let the boys go up on deck because she’s afraid they’ll fall overboard. But considering they can’t run around, Giovanni and Andrea have been angels. At night we sing to pass the time, and I’ve met a few other girls. Lina is from Trento, and sometimes it’s hard to understand each other. If I don’t understand the people from my own country, how am I ever going to understand the people in our new home?
Spanish sounds a little similar to Neapolitan, but when a girl from Andalucía was talking with her mother, I couldn’t understand a single word of what they said. It’s the same with the family from Lebanon whose daughter is about my age. I know her name is Nafiza, but we only communicate through signs and facial expressions.
At least when we sing together, everyone’s heart can understand the feelings in the music.
Other than singing and sharing stories in the evening, there’s not a lot to do. Last night some women were talking about health checks at the port. Mamma has been sick a lot, and now I worry for her.
All night and day, I have been restless, but when I saw the ocean, my heart calmed down. I wish we were staying close to the port when we arrive in Argentina. But Babbo says we’ll have to travel north from Buenos Aires to meet his cousins in Rosario. Mamma says we’ll be far from the ocean, but that there’s a river so wide it seems like a sweet water sea. I wonder if I will like it there. I’m not happy that we’ll arrive in winter when at home, the lemon trees were blooming already.
I miss you already, Nonna. As soon as you get this letter, write to me.
With love,
Celestina
I read the letter a couple of times, trying to imagine traveling across the world without any entertainment, having to wait weeks and months for news from back home. This trip was long, but we’d be at our new home within hours. And at least my brothers were entertained with the mini TVs on the back of the seats.
But I could understand how Celestina felt about the language. I’d studied English for years, but would my efforts be enough?
The rest of the trip, I watched a movie and tried to not read the subtitles.
Like Papi, I fell asleep halfway through. I startled when he shook my arm softly to wake me. “We arrived in Miami, pajarita. One more flight and a short four-hour drive, and we’ll be home. And then you can sing like a little bird to your heart’s content.”
He meant to sound cheerful, but I winced, dreading the rest of trip. After sitting for ten hours with only a couple of bathroom breaks, my body was sore. I couldn’t imagine another long flight and then a drive.
“When I grow up, I’ll invent a teleporter,” Mateo said, although he’d slept the whole time and had sprawled across the three seats like he was sleeping on a feather bed.
“Sign me up as your first customer,” an old man said from the seat behind us.
Papi and I laughed, and Mateo flashed a toothless smile at me, his eyes sparkling.
The excitement in my brother’s eyes turned into awe when we saw the multitude of people standing in line to go through customs.
True, it wasn’t like in Celestina’s letters, with doctors inspecting the newly arrived travelers and immigrants—I’d read a couple more about her arrival in Argentina. But Francisco was sniffling like he always did when we went on a trip, and he looked like a little wet bird. I tried to imagine what I would’ve done if my brother didn’t pass the health inspection and we had to go back to Argentina. Even though I hadn’t wanted to leave my life behind, we’d traveled too far to turn back now.
My parents had worked so hard for this, and being the oldest in my family, I had to be a good example.
I was trying to be at my best when it was our turn for the immigrations officer to go through our papers. When he saw my American passport, he said something I didn’t catch. He had reddish hair and a mustache that wiggled when he talked.
“What?” I asked, inching closer so I could hear him better.
He repeated his words, and I looked at my mom in a panic. Could it be that my ears weren’t working anymore? I had no trouble understanding movies or the flight attendants on the airplane.
Mami laughed and said in Spanish, “He asked why you didn’t go through the American citizen line.”
My heart jumped in my mouth when I thought I’d done something wrong. My first moments in the United States, and I was already messing up.
But the officer laughed, and said slowly, “Welcome home.”
This time I understood him.
“Thank you,” I said, and with flaming cheeks followed my family across the line that meant we were finally in the United States.
The next leg of the trip was the most exhausting yet. Francisco’s sniffles had progressed into a cold that made his ears hurt. Mami and Papi took turns sitting with him, walking along the airplane aisle, and when we finally landed in the Salt Lake City airport, Mateo clapped, echoing everyone’s feelings of relief.
Francisco had fallen asleep just as we landed, and Papi held him. Mami and I lugged the backpacks and carry-ons until we found a trolley.
But our trials weren’t over. Although most of our luggage arrived safe and sound, an hour went by and there was still no sign of my blue suitcase with its red ribbon. Papi declared, “I’ll make the report so we can get going.”
“Let’s wait a little longer, Papi!” I begged.
“Mi amor,” Mami said in an exhausted voice. “The shuttle can’t wait for us any longer. It’s still a long drive, and we’d like to arrive in the daytime.”
My brothers sent me looks of sympathy, and when I sighed as loudly as I could and nodded, Mami said, “Thank you. I knew I could count on you.”
With a heavy heart, I helped Papi fill out the paperwork.
I looked at the uncooperative luggage carousel with resentment. What would I do if my suitcase didn’t arrive in time for me to start school next week?
I didn’t want to add to our family’s worries, so I zipped my lips. But the special shirt Violeta had given me was in there.
What would Celestina do in my place?
I didn’t want to waste the wish I kept in my pocket for my luggage, but my mood darkened as the shuttle drove to our new home, Red Ledges City. I looked at the mountains on both sides of the highway and understood why my parents had said this place looked like Mendoza. The mountains looked familiar but different at the same time.
Francisco slept for most of the ride, and our parents chatted with the shuttle driver excitedly. I tried to keep up with their conversation, but my head started pounding.
Mateo grabbed my hand. His was sweaty, and I tried to understand what was going on in his little head. He ended up falling asleep and resting his head on my shoulder, and I closed my eyes for a second.
Papi’s gasp woke me up. “Look at that!”
On both sides of the highway, the red rock formations seemed like the surface of Mars. The pictures I’d seen online hadn’t done them justice. The shuttle exited the highway, and it slowed down in a neighborhood of quaint little cottages under enormous trees. The sunset made the mountains glow red.
The driver turned onto a wide street where a trio of kids along with a little tan dog walked toward us: two boys and a girl. She had the reddest hair I’d seen in my life and seemed to be hitting imaginary drums with the thin sticks she carried. One of the boys played air guitar, and the three of them burst into laughter. The boy in a black shirt waved at the driver, and we soon lost sight of them.
Finally, the driver announced, “Welcome home!” The van stopped in front of a pink two-story house, surrounded by trees and bramble bushes gone wild.
“I feel some Sleeping Beauty vibes,” Mami said, smiling.
“We’re just missing the turrets and buttresses. We have the princess,” Papi said, looking in my direction.
Before I could add anything, Francisco woke up, suddenly alert.
“My favorite color!” he yelled, and unbuckled his seat belt in a swift move. He got out of the van so fast I just saw a blur of movement.
“Dibs on the rooms!” Mateo yelled, following Francisco and looking over his shoulder at me.
I stuck my tongue out at him.
An older woman who reminded me of Lela was waiting at the door. Her face broke into a giant smile when she saw us.
Although her accent in Spanish was different from ours, I finally understood someone who wasn’t my family.
“Welcome home, Pilar and family!” she said.
Our new house looked more like that of the good witch in a forest than a royal castle. Up close, the unmistakable whiff of fresh paint tickled my nose. A white porch wrapped around the house and in one corner an ancient-looking swing moved with the breeze, like a dog wagging its tail with happiness to welcome its family home.
The house had been waiting for us. Maybe I was tired from the trip, but my heart swelled with emotion.
I could hear my brothers running all over the house, as if the energy they had contained through more than twenty-four hours of sitting on planes, waiting at airports, and sitting again in the van was fizz from a shaken soda can.
Instead of joining them, I sat on the swing and looked up toward the mountains. The weeping willow’s branches danced above me, and the leaves made a sound like waves crashing against the shore. I remembered how much Celestina loved the sea. What had she thought of her new house when she finally arrived in Rosario? Had it all been worth traveling across the Atlantic in a cramped boat for two weeks?<
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Papi and Mami chatted with the woman, Mrs. Campbell, who was the college liaison for new faculty. They trailed her into the house, and I stayed out on the porch to check out the neighborhood.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the little tan dog I’d seen before, but this time without the kids. It had a squishy little face and the perkiest ears I’d ever seen. It darted toward the neighbor’s backyard before I could call to it. The houses here had no fences—each green yard blended into the next. No iron bars over the windows and doors. I hoped the kids I’d seen lived nearby. Every house had at least two floors. I remembered that in English the floors of a building were called stories.
Why? Was it because each floor had its own tale to tell?
What would my story be in this house? What kind of history would I leave behind?
My stomach growled. Without a functioning phone—no data—I had no idea what time it was. But judging by the sounds of my belly, and in spite of how light the sky still was, I sensed it was close to seven p.m. Ten in Mendoza. Dinnertime.
I was sure I could adjust to the three-hour difference quickly, but traveling north had also meant a change of seasons. Here in Utah, the hot, dry air felt like January in Mendoza—summer vacation, not the start of the school year. Now I would have to go from closing in on finals to starting a year all over again. It would be ages before I got a vacation. But I couldn’t wait to go to school and make friends!
I headed toward the kitchen in search of food. The clock on the far wall pointed at six fifty-five. I had been right!
Mrs. Campbell was telling my parents, “While you’re on campus, I’ll show Miguel and the kids around town. First thing, we’ll get groceries, sign the kids up at school, and go see the neighborhood. What do you think?”
The boys, still revved up, yelled, “Yes!” and jumped in place.
I couldn’t believe how wired my brothers were; I was beat! The hours of travel and the emotional roller coaster were taking a toll on me, and I stifled a yawn.
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