Wish Upon a Stray

by Yamile Saied Méndez

  Papi walked toward us from the boys’ room. His eyes were squinty with sleep, and his hair was poking in every direction. He’d been waiting up to make sure I was okay. My heart swelled with love for my parents. Lela was right, and in spite of the sadness, I could see that I was so blessed.

  I placed the laptop on the counter, blew a kiss to Lela, and hugged my parents.

  “Good night, Mimilia,” Papi said. “Tomorrow will be a new and exciting day.”

  I nodded but, in my heart, I was … bereft.

  That was a word I’d studied for a test but whose meaning I had never really known before now.

  I went back to my room in the attic, which was so special and fancy that I felt bad for wishing I was in my room in Mendoza instead, with my cat by my side.

  After brushing my teeth, I got under the covers in the same clothes I’d traveled in. The bed was soft and fluffy. The image of my cat, alone as she got ready to leave this world, crushed my heart. But the tears wouldn’t come.

  I remembered the circular rainbow, the glory, I’d seen from the airplane.

  Maybe that had been Estrellita’s soul saying goodbye to me? Was it true, what Lela said, that those we love are never far? Even if that was the case, how would Estrellita find me when I was in a whole different country?

  I finally knew what wish to make. “I wish for my friend to find her way to me.”

  Outside, in the glow of the streetlamp, I saw the willow branches dancing to the music of the wind. A dog barked and howled as if it were singing the same songs as the trees. I couldn’t help it. Half asleep, I continued writing the song I’d started the day of the English test:

  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 extend your hand and you’ll find

  Those you love are never far.

  Across oceans, mountains, rivers,

  Years or worlds apart,

  In spite of death,

  Love knows no end.

  The bonds can stretch,

  But they won’t break unless you forget

  That those you love are never far.

  When I woke up, the room was so dark and quiet it took me a second to remember where I was. The flight, losing my luggage, Mrs. Campbell’s visit, the Bodens’ welcome, and Lela’s news of Estrellita’s death came back with a rush.

  It hadn’t been a nightmare, then.

  Last night, I had wished for my kitty to make her way back to me somehow, and I thought I would dream about her. That I’d get a chance to say goodbye for good. But my sleep had been so heavy that I didn’t remember dreaming anything.

  I tried to imagine what Celestina would have done in my place. I pulled the binder from under my pillow to reread the second letter.

  Nonna Rosa,

  The seasons here are not the same as back home. It feels like instead of crossing the Atlantic, the boat traveled to another world. Everything is so different. The heat is sticky, and the mosquitoes … You wouldn’t believe the state of my poor legs. But the fireflies! When I first saw them, I immediately thought of you. They’re magical.

  The Argentines have a drink called mate that they all love. The first time I sipped it, I didn’t know how hot the water would be and it scalded my lips, my tongue, and my throat. I haven’t been able to taste any food. Mama had a good laugh about that, but I’m so angry no one warned me. Like they say here, I feel like a toad from another pond, and although I’m surrounded by people, I feel so lonely.

  I miss you, dear Nonna.

  Love,

  Celestina

  There were no answers in this letter, but I felt so bad for my great-grandma, not being able to eat anything after she got scalded with the mate. In all my nebulous memories of her, the mate was always her loyal companion. I wondered how long it had taken her to fall in love with it.

  I brushed my teeth and tried to comb my hair with my fingers. I wondered if that knock on the door last night had been the airline dropping off my luggage like they’d promised, and I went downstairs in search of food and some needed good news.

  Papi was in the kitchen. I could see the island had become the family’s gathering place already.

  “How are you feeling, pajarita?”

  The knot came back to my throat, but I had promised not to cry. Besides, I didn’t want to start my first proper day in the United States in a bad way.

  “I’m … okay,” I said. “Just hungry.”

  “Breakfast is ready for you.” He pointed at the doughnuts and hot mate cocido with milk on the counter.

  The taste of the familiar tea comforted me, but even though the sugar-dusted doughnut looked tempting, it was too greasy for my taste. I couldn’t take more than a bite. Maybe one day like Celestina my taste buds would adjust?

  While I finished my tea, I asked, “Did my luggage arrive, Papi?”

  “Not yet,” Papi said as he wiped the counter. “The airline can’t find it, I’m afraid.”

  I sighed in frustration. Why did the airline have to lose my suitcase? It wasn’t fair!

  As if he could read my thoughts, Papi added, “Last night, the Bodens brought some clothes you can wear in the meantime.”

  “That’s so nice of them!” I said, determining right then to try to win Ashley Jane’s friendship. But first, I had to practice saying her name. Ashley Jane. Jane with a j-j-j. Not sh.

  “I still hope I get my suitcase, Pa,” I said. “I hadn’t worn most of the clothes I packed! They were the ones for the trip to Córdoba and a shirt that Violeta gave me.”

  “I’m sure it’ll turn up,” he said.

  I could hear the boys chattering in their room but sat up on my stool. “Where’s Mami?”

  “She’s already at the college, signing forms.”

  I looked at the clock on the wall. It was one.

  “Is that clock right?” I asked, blinking and squinting my eyes over and over. “How can it be one p.m.?”

  Papi nodded. “Mami waited for you, in case you needed to talk to her, but she had to leave so she wouldn’t be late. Besides, you looked so tired, she didn’t want to wake you. Now, how do you feel about going to school to sign you up? Or would you rather stay home?”

  I’d rather go back to my home, the real one.

  The thought took me by surprise.

  Before I could decide how to answer, someone knocked on the door.

  “I’ll get it!” Mateo said, dashing for the door.

  “Maybe it’s Henry and John-William again!” Francisco exclaimed, running after him.

  My jaw dropped at the way my brother pronounced the j in John. Perfectly. Not even twenty-four hours in this country and his accent was already much better than mine. How was this fair?

  Mateo and Francisco opened the door. Monserrat was on the other side.

  Mrs. Campbell smiled when she saw me.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked in Spanish. “Your mami told me about your cat. I’m so sorry.”

  I sighed, trying to relieve the heaviness in my chest.

  Shake it off, shake it off, I sang to myself, and in spite of the sadness, the song still cheered me a bit.

  “Pajarita,” Papi said, collecting my empty tea mug from the countertop. “Do you want to stay? We can do this tomorrow.”

  “No, Papi. Let me go change,” I said. “I won’t be long.”

  Before heading to my room, I grabbed the bulging plastic bag that sat at the foot of the steep staircase.

  Finally! Clean clothes. I rummaged in the bag and found a pair of jeans that were just the right amount of worn in the knees to be fashionable and a T-shirt that said RED LEDGES BATTLE OF THE BANDS. It all looked almost new. I couldn’t believe the Bodens’ generosity.

  After a quick shower, I dressed and stood in front of the full-length mirror behind the closet door. The clothes fit me perfectly. But af
ter the months of winter, the trip, and the bad news, I was so pale I looked almost yellow. Dark circles rimmed my eyes.

  “Ready to go?” Papi called from the kitchen.

  I pinched my cheeks to give them some color and headed downstairs.

  “Nice outfit, Mimilia!” Mateo said.

  I wasn’t sure that a compliment from a six-year-old who still put his shoes on the wrong feet was what I needed, but by this point, I was desperate for some good vibes to boost my confidence.

  The boys climbed into the back seat of Mrs. Campbell’s car, a small Bug car with a flower-shaped air freshener dangling from the mirror. Papi locked up behind me. In the daytime, our house still looked charming.

  At the house across the street, I saw Ashley Jane looking out the window, and I waved. She must have not seen me because she didn’t wave back. But then, it seemed like she was looking past me anyhow. I turned to look over my shoulder and saw that same tan dog for the fourth time now. It was sitting under the willow tree. Staring at me, black ears perked in my direction. I suspected it had been waiting for me. But it was such a ridiculous idea that I shooed it away.

  I wished I hadn’t overslept and wasted the morning. I could’ve befriended the dog. Or even better, my neighbor.

  “Let’s go,” Francisco urged me. Everyone was looking at me. And when I turned back, the dog wasn’t there anymore. I hoped that along with the annoying voice in my mind, I wasn’t imagining things.

  I got in the car, and Monserrat headed into town.

  It was so nice of her to drive us, but I wondered how we’d all get to school. We didn’t know anyone we could carpool with. Unless the Bodens … but no. Ashley was going into seventh.

  We stopped in front of an enormous gray building. At first, I thought it was Mami’s college, where she was going to teach, and then I saw the sign that read Red Ledges Elementary. I followed Papi and Mrs. Campbell inside, trying to keep my brothers in check and wondering why red and read were pronounced the same way. The more I learned about English, the less sense it made.

  Mrs. Campbell’s phone rang, and when she looked at her screen, she tsked. “Miguel, something came up at the college with one of my other international professors.”

  Papi placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll take care of this, Montserrat. Don’t worry.”

  “I hate to leave you stranded …”

  “We’ll take the bus,” Francisco said. “We take the bus everywhere. Don’t we, Mimilia?”

  Mrs. Campbell smiled and ruffled his hair. “I know it seems impossible to comprehend, but there are no public buses in Red Ledges. Only school buses.”

  “How do people get around?” I asked.

  “They drive,” she said. “The students ride bikes or their scooters. Or they walk.”

  Mateo’s eyebrows rose all the way to his hairline, looking as unconvinced as I felt. He didn’t know how to ride a bike yet. The first time he tried, he’d fallen on a rosebush, and he hadn’t wanted to do it again. As for me, I felt a pang when I realized that I’d have to depend on being driven around to see my friends—the ones I’d meet soon. As soon as school started.

  “How are we getting back home?” I asked.

  “I’ll be right back,” Montserrat said. “Thirty minutes max. Oh! And I’m hoping that my granddaughter Tirzah can meet us later. She said she was on her way.”

  She kissed us goodbye, and when we walked into the school, I was still soaring with the possibility of meeting a potential friend.

  Schools had the same scent of freshly sharpened pencils and new paper everywhere, it seemed.

  A woman with beautiful brown curly hair welcomed us.

  “New students?” she said, smiling at my brothers, who’d gone skittish as soon as she had seen them.

  “Yes, two new students,” Papi said.

  Mateo looked at me with bright eyes. “I wish we could go here together, Mimilia. This place is way bigger than my kindergarten back home.”

  Francisco took his hand and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

  My heart grew ten sizes. They were so lucky to have each other!

  “Welcome to Red Ledges Elementary!” the woman said. She grabbed a jar with foil-wrapped chocolates and offered it to me. “Take a Kiss, darling.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking a candy, and passed the container to my brothers.

  Papi took a candy too, and armed with a pen he’d brought from Mendoza, he started filling out a stack of papers.

  Luckily, in the office there was a saltwater fish tank, and soon my brothers were entranced following Nemo and Dory around.

  When I heard kids’ voices, I looked up and saw three kids coming down the hallway. Two boys and a girl. One of the boys was tall and thin and had messy light brown hair sticking out in all directions. His jeans were ripped on the knees, and he had a black T-shirt that read Caifanes. The other boy had dark skin like mine and curly black hair. He wore a Barcelona jersey and soccer shorts and a smirk on his face that said troublemaker. The girl was as tall as the first boy, with freckled light skin, and I definitely recognized her bright red hair from the day before. Today, she wore pink pants and a white shirt with a unicorn on it.

  Even though yesterday seemed like a million years ago, this had to be the three kids who were walking in the middle of the road with the little dog.

  Could this girl be Mrs. Campbell’s granddaughter?

  She and her friends looked so cool. I’d never had any issues making new friends before, but now I felt tongue-tied.

  They came in the office, and the secretary broke out in a grin. “Hi, kids. Thanks for visiting me.”

  The girl went straight for the bowl of chocolates, both boys on her heels. “Of course!”

  “Thank you for the Kisses, Mandy!” the boy with the ripped jeans said.

  “Yeah, thanks,” the other one echoed.

  Mandy smiled again. “I know you’re going to love middle school, but my days won’t be the same without you. What brought you here? My Kisses?”

  The girl smiled and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “We came to meet my grandma, but I don’t know where she is. Have you s—” Then her eyes fell on me and her face lit up. “Are you the new girl? María?”

  Every word in either English or Spanish vanished from my mind. I probably looked like one of the fish—fishes?—in the tank, opening and closing my mouth. The more I tried to rehearse how to start a sentence, the less sense I made.

  Then she gave me a small smile that looked like she felt bad for me. My cheeks went hot. “¿Eres la nueva chica? ¿Es tu nombre María?” she said in a similar accent to Mrs. Campbell’s. The way she said the ch sound reminded me of the TV series from Spain that Violeta and I loved to watch.

  I knew it wasn’t a big deal that she’d called me María. How would she know I used both first and middle names? But still I couldn’t help feeling a rush of annoyance.

  Papi sent me a look, and finally, I replied in what I hoped was my best English, “How do you do? I’m María Emilia actually. Are you Montserrat’s daughter?”

  The words sounded so stiff and my accent so … thick, now my whole body seemed to be in flames.

  The girl looked at me encouragingly, but the boy with the Caifanes shirt hid his face behind his hand, and I had the suspicion he was laughing at me. I swallowed my embarrassment and just focused on the girl, who switched to English. “I’m Tirzah. Nice to meet you! We wanted to welcome you at the house, but it got so late and I had to go back home. And yes, I’m Montserrat’s granddaughter.”

  I realized my mistake and blushed.

  The tall boy was looking at me through narrowed eyes, and when I looked in his direction, he asked in Spanish, “Where are you from? I can’t place your accent.”

  “I’m from Argentina.” A little voice reminded me I had an American passport, but I didn’t want to get into details.

  He scoffed. “Are you sure? You don’t sound like you’re from Argentina.”

 
I was stunned. It was the first time in my life my identity had been challenged.

  Maybe he sensed how offended I felt because he shrugged and said, “My mom and I love the Argentinian telenovelas, and my dad is a rock en español aficionado, and you sound nothing like the Argentinians—”

  “It’s Argentines,” I said, putting a hand up to stop him. I knew Argentinian or even Argentinean was correct too, but I didn’t like the way they sounded. Argentine—rhymes with valentine—sounded way better. “You mean I don’t sound like a porteña, someone from Buenos Aires. But I know where I was born and raised. In any case, I say I’m from Argentina, and who are you to suggest I’m not? Where are you from by the way?”

  He raised his chin and said, “I’m from Mexico. Any problems with that?”

  “Why would I have a problem with that? But how would you feel if I said you don’t sound like El Chavo del Ocho? Of course people from the same country have different accents. Like Tirzah speaks like she’s from Spain, and she sounds different from my second cousin Cecilia, who lives in Las Islas Canarias. Does that make her any less Spanish?”

  He glared at me and started saying something, but Tirzah cut in. “It’s okay, Donovan.” Then she smiled in my direction and said, “Actually, I’m from Brazil. My whole family is. I have an accent from Spain because of Duolingo.”

  I had felt so energized arguing in Spanish, but I deflated at having assumed something about Tirzah myself. Why did I have to be so confrontational with the first kids my age I’d met?

  “Beto is from Nicaragua,” Tirzah said, and the other boy waved at me, bobbing his head up and down. I thought he was greeting me until I saw the two thin cables of his headphones. “He moved here two years ago. We used to have Lucas in our group. He was born in Uruguay but grew up in Italy. He moved to Salt Lake over the summer.”

  Beto kept nodding at me, but Donovan was looking at my brothers, who were still mesmerized by the fish.

  There was an awkward silence, and then my dad exclaimed, “I’m done!” He handed the papers to Mandy, who had been following our conversation in Spanish like she was a spectator at a tennis match.