I hear the door open, but I pretend that I am asleep.
“Maya, it’s time to get up or you’ll be late for the bus. Maya, wake up,” Mom orders. “You don’t want to be late on your first day of school, do you?”
This time I decide to answer her because if I don’t, she’ll never leave the room. I roll over on my left side so that she can see my face. Mom is standing a few feet away from me wearing one of her professor outfits. Boring and plain. “I’m already awake, Mom,” I answer sarcastically.
“I have a faculty meeting this morning so I have to get going. But I’ll see you after school. Call me at my office when you get home, okay, m’ija? Oh, I almost forgot. Juanita called. She said to tell you she’d meet you by the lockers.”
I pretend not to care as Mom reaches down and gives me a light kiss on the cheek. Then she’s gone and I’m left all to myself again. Lately, it seems like I’m always alone. Ever since Dad left, things have been different. Even my mom looks different. She has giant bags under her eyes. I always used to think she was pretty, but now she looks like a witch. Maybe she deserves to look that way. It’s all her fault, anyway. If she’d only paid more attention to Dad, like Grandma said, maybe we’d all still be together.
I think back to my summer in New Mexico. It was the worst summer vacation of my life. We had gone to stay at Grandma’s in Santa Fe for a month. When Grandma met us at the airport, I could tell she suspected something strange was going on because she kept asking why Dad hadn’t come with us. Mom made up an excuse, but I could tell Grandma didn’t believe her. I don’t know why Mom lied. I guess she was afraid.
The next evening, while I was in the bedroom playing video games, I overheard Mom talking with Grandma.
“Mom, there’s something I need to tell you. I know it’s going to be hard on you, but you have to try to understand.”
I quickly turned up the volume on the television set so they would think I couldn’t hear them. Then I went over to the doorway and sat on the floor to listen to them. The door was barely open, but I could still make out Grandma’s face. I heard her say, “Madre de Dios, hija, what is it?”
Then, I heard my mother answer her in a shaky voice, “Armando and I have decided to divorce.”
There was a moment of silence before Grandma finally spoke again. “Estás loca?” she shouted. “You can’t do that! It’s against the church, against God.” I noticed that Grandma’s face had become deathly pale.
“I’m sorry, Mom, but that’s the way it is. We’ve already filed.”
Grandma’s voice suddenly grew louder. “I knew that this would happen sooner or later when you both went to live in California.”
“Mom, it has nothing to do with that.”
“Cómo que no!” Grandma protested. “The minute you left Santa Fe you started to change, going to college, paying more attention to books than to your own husband.” There were tears in Grandma’s eyes now and her body was slumped down in the armchair.
“Oh, Mom, you know that’s not true,” Mom said in a defeated voice.
“Just look at all your friends here, Sonia. They’re happy being married and having kids. Why can’t you be more like them?”
There was a long, awkward pause before I heard Mom answer Grandma in a weary tone I’d never heard her use before. “Mom, going to college has nothing to do with this. It’s just that, well, Armando and I have grown apart for some time now. We’re not the same people anymore.”
“It’s you, Sonia! You’re the one to blame,” Grandma said sharply. “If you had behaved more like a married woman.”
“No, that’s not true, Mom. You have to try to understand. Look at all my aunts. You’re always saying how miserable their marriages are, that they all should have gotten a divorce years ago. Do you want me to end up like them?”
Grandma was yelling now. “I don’t care about them. I care about you and m’ija. Anyway, the Church doesn’t allow divorces. I’m so ashamed. What am I going to tell the family?”
“Tell them the truth, Mom.”
“No, Sonia. I won’t let you disgrace us. I want you to leave my home now. I don’t want a sinvergüenza in my home. M’ija can stay here, but not you.”
Then I saw Grandma get up and walk out of the room crying.
The next thing I heard were my mother’s sobs. I wanted to run to her side and put my arms around her, but I couldn’t. I sat there frozen, tears streaming down my face.
The next morning we repacked our bags and went to stay at Tía Lola’s house. Grandma begged me to stay with her, but I told her that I had to go wherever Mom went.
During the weeks that followed, Tía Lola tried to get Grandma to be reasonable and talk to Mom, but it was useless. Grandma was old and stubborn. We ended up staying away from Grandma’s house and avoiding family gatherings. For the first time in my life, I started to hate New Mexico. I hated everything about it, and I was glad when it came time to go home. At the airport, Mom cried more than usual when it was time to say goodbye. I knew that it was because Grandma hadn’t said goodbye to us. Tía Lola explained to my mom that Grandma thought divorce only happened to gringos. She said that in time, Grandma would adjust to the idea. When we arrived back home in Laguna, I felt like my entire summer had been ruined and I started spending more time in my room.
Now that summer is over, the house seems emptier than before I went to Santa Fe and I feel lonelier than ever. I start to feel the tears coming, but it’s getting late, so I force myself out of bed, determined not to let myself cry again. In the shower, I turn the water on as hot as I can stand and let it fall soothingly all over my body. I dread going to school this morning. It’s hard to feel excited about being a junior at Roosevelt this year. I can‘t imagine what I’m going to tell my friends. I feel so ashamed. I’ve been avoiding calling Juanita and Rina. Maybe they won’t find out about my dad. Maybe I can pretend that everything is the same as before.
When I get out of the shower, I stare at the new clothes my mom bought me in Santa Fe. I feel my eyes start to get watery. Why is it that I cry for any little thing now?
I make it to the bus stop exactly as the school bus pulls up. Almost all the seats are taken and I end up having to sit next to some nerdy guys who look like freshman. Ankiza is not on the bus this morning, and I wonder if her dad drove her to school. I think about last year and my first day at Roosevelt High. Dad was so excited, he drove me to school. On the way over, we stopped for doughnuts and Dad made a joke about how he should have been a cop instead of an engineer, since he loved doughnuts so much. We both laughed so much.
I really miss Dad. If he were here now, I know I wouldn’t be sitting on this stupid bus on my first day of school, listening to these dumb freshmen. I can’t stand them. They act like dummies. I’m sure glad I’m a junior.