Saturday June 23
Dear Diary,
What I’m about to write may take you by surprise.
Miguel and Angel are spending a nephew-uncle day downtown, just the two of them (visiting the New York Stock Exchange and riding on the Staten Island Ferry), and I don’t feel left out.
I feel sort of relieved. I’m hanging out with Matt in my pajamas, playing with our mice, and it’s fine! Is it strange to feel content with my younger brother instead of older boyfriend, or sort-of boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, or close-but-faraway-regular-friend, or whatever he is?
A few weeks ago, my moods revolved around every e-mail I did or didn’t get. I was on a big roller coaster, or as Miguel said they say in Spanish, a Russian mountain or montaña rusa (Moan Tahn Ya Rrroo Sa). Now Miguel is here, and you’d think I’d want to be out with him every single second instead of inside with Matt and the mice mice mice.
Maybe it’s easier to fall in love than to stay in love. Easier to flirt than to be there for each other 24/7. Easier to think about boys than to hang out with boys. Easier to be a guest than a host. Easier to go crazy about someone who seems to know everything about Spanish and Spain than someone who asks questions about America and English.
Matt must have inherited some of Mom’s mind-reading genes because he said, “You know how Miguel sometimes says things funny? Like one time he said, ‘The drop that made the cup overflow’ instead of ‘The straw that broke the camel’s back’?”
“I guess …”
“Well, he told me that even when people speak a language perfectly, you can usually still tell if they are spies.”
“How?”
“You make them do hard math problems, fast and out loud. Most people can’t do math except in their own language.”
“Oh.” But I wasn’t thinking about spies. I was thinking about the party tonight with Justin and Miguel.
I wish Miguel hadn’t mentioned Suze’s party to Mom and Dad. But they probably think it’s good for Miguel to be included in a genuine American party. Or maybe they want to have an evening off by themselves too.
P.S. Matt showed me his latest crafts project: He’s been rolling paper cigarettes. I said, “Mom and Dad would not approve!!”
He said, “I’m not going to start smoking, Melanie!! I’m going to help Uncle Angel stop smoking.”
He showed me how he used black marker to darken the tips of the fake cigarettes. “I’m making him a pack of safe cigarettes.”
“It won’t work,” I said.
“It won’t hurt,” he replied.
Dear Diary,
Cecily and I have been IMing. I could have called her, but she’s with her dad and, strange but true, lately I’ve been thinking that sometimes when you IM, you can say more (even though you can also get misunderstood).
Here’s the thing: When I’m typing serious stuff, I have to look at my fingers, and that can be hard. But when I’m saying serious stuff in person, I have to look at the other person’s eyes, and that can be even harder!
Anyway, when I signed on and saw Cecily’s screen name, I wrote: u there?
She wrote: yup
I wrote: how’s cheshire your pretty kitty? 
because I love Cheshire and I love making my little cat.
She wrote: fine. At least he was when I left
I typed: i’m confused :-[
She wrote: about chesh?
I wrote: about everything
She wrote: what do u mean?
I wrote: don’t tell sooz, k?
She wrote: :-x which means her lips were sealed.
I wrote: promise?
She wrote: mel, suze and i r friends but u and i r bff’s
I wrote: awwww because it felt really really really good to read that I was her best friend forever. Then I just plain typed: i don’t know who i like … miguel or justin!
I sort of squinted my eyes and stared at the blank screen and was glad I didn’t have to watch her reaction. It was taking her a long time to answer, so finally, to be funny, I corrected my grammar and sent: whom
Another five seconds went by, so I added: sry, do u mind if I talk about miguel?
Up popped Cecily’s reply to my original confession: do u have 2 choose?
don’t i?
i dunno. justin is nice and cute
u don’t think miguel is cute?
i haven’t met him, remember? he’s cute in photos!
in person 2
and u don’t have 2 apologize 4 talking about him :-)
:-)
can’t u b friends with both and c what happens?
harder than it sounds
i’m trying to help!
i know. i can b friends w/ both but i don’t think i can b more than friends w/ both.
how does justin feel?
i don’t know!!! but is it ok if i don’t like miguel in the exact same way i used 2? it makes me feel sad and guilty just 2 write that :-(
of course it’s ok
what changed?
i dunno.
I didn’t want to write: I started thinking about Justin. Or Miguel likes my family and squirrels as much as he likes me. Or he says “stupendous.” Or I wanted to kiss him but I couldn’t and then he tried to put his arm around me and I turned into a melon. So I wrote:
Miguel is sooo nice! But maybe we’re better as amigos. i’m not ready 2 b so serious w/ someone so far away. Maybe he’s not either? Or maybe Suze is right and i liked that he was far away! Anyway, now that he’s here it’s harder 2 b madly in love every single second
mel, u r complicated!
i know. :-(actually my family *is* madly in love with him! do u think i started liking miguel just 2 carry on the family tradition?
huh?
the hot romance between my mom and his dad?
wut???
remember those gorilla babies who copied their parents?
yeah
was i just copying my mom? falling 4 her bf’s son?
i’m not a shrink but if he’d been a weirdo, u wud never have liked him in the 1st place. trust me!
i trust u. do u think miguel and i were meant 4 each other? Or made 4 each other??
i don’t think anybody is made 4 anybody else. my parents weren’t made 4 each other but i’m glad they made me!
i’m glad 2 :-)
so r u going 2 dump him?
i don’t know if we’re even going out. r we going out or hanging out?
he did NOT fly over 2 see the Statue of Liberty. he came 2 see the Beauty of Melanie LOL
hehe but u know what? he also came becz his parents r separated and r trying to work on their marriage
really?? i didn’t know that. poor miguel!! :-(
maybe he came 2 practice English 2
quizás. that’s maybe in Spanish, right?
sí. but what should i do??
maybe nothing?
what if he tries 2 kiss me?
follow your gut
it’s as confused as my brain!
lol
but really mel if you’re confused, don’t do anything
that’s probably good advice
good????
brillllliant! :-)
don’t worry, k?
k but what about 2night at suze’s w/ miguel and justin both there??
sorry g2g my dad is calling ttyl
k bye
bye
P.S. I feel a little better. I’m glad Cecily would never cut and paste or forward or print out our conversation. If Suze and I ever IMed like that, I bet Suze would show the whole world (or at least Cecily) the first chance she got. But Cecily is a good friend. I’m lucky she’s my best friend!
back home around ten
Dear Diary,
Miguel and I met in Suze’s lobby and went up to her party together in the elevator. It was a long ride and Miguel thought it was funny that the floors jumped from 12 to 14, skipping 13, simply because some people imagine that living on the 13th floor could bring bad luck. “Don’t they realize the 14th floor is the 13th floor?” he asked.
Suze lives on the top floor, in a fancy penthouse with great views from the window.
We live on the second floor, which means no waits for the elevator but no views either. It also means we barely know our neighbors because we never make elevator chitchat.
Anyway, Suze let us in, and Miguel double-kissed her, and I could tell she liked that. A lot of kids from my class were standing around, and pizza arrived and everybody dived in. Suze gobbled two slices and let out a really loud burp, which was truly gross. (Miguel thought so too—I could tell.) I mean, we’re not seven anymore! But Christopher burped back and said, “Aaahhh!” which was doubly gross. Maybe Suze and my old crush are meant for each other!
Suze asked Miguel if they have pizza in Spain. He said yes, but they eat it with a knife and fork. She said, “No offense, but I don’t like spicy Spanish tacos.”
Miguel smiled and said, “No offense, but Mexican food is spicy. Spanish food is not spicy. And in Spain, taco (Tah Coe) is not a food. It is what you call a ‘curse word.’ ”
I felt like applauding! (hee, hee)
A girl named Ashley came up and introduced herself, saying, “Hola, me llamo (Oh La May Yom Oh) Ashley.” She was sort of flirting, and at first I felt jealous, but I tried to remind myself that I don’t own Miguel and he’s not truly my bf anyway. She asked, “Is your name Michael in English?” He laughed and said, “I suppose so.”
Suze must have seen me looking at them because she came over, motioned for me to step aside, then loudly whispered, “I heard about your sleepover with Miguel.” She gave me a sicko smile that was really irritating.
I said, “It wasn’t like that.” Cecily might have told Suze about my plans with Miguel, but she would never have twisted things around or started a rumor.
“Mel, I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“Suze, he’s a friend of my whole family.” She smirked as if she didn’t believe me, so I added, “You think you know everything, but I think you should butt out of my business.”
She arched one eyebrow. “You have a business? You’re a businesswoman?”
I couldn’t believe we were getting into a fight—at her party! But she was making me so so so mad! “I just mean: my friends are my business, not yours.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your attitude,” I said. My heart was hammering inside me. “You’ve been trying to steal Cecily, and you asked Justin if he liked me, and now you’re assuming stuff about Miguel.” Even though I was upset, I was still trying to speak quietly, which was more than I can say for Suze. Instead of whispering, she was talking in her regular voice. I wished she had a volume knob that I could turn down—or off!
“Trying to steal Cecily?! First of all, she’s a person not a thing, so she’s not stealable. Second, she’s allowed to have friends besides you. Third—wait, why am I even defending myself? You’re the one who always acts like you have better things to do than to talk to me. Which is fine. It’s a free country. But still, your attitude can be annoying, you know.”
“What are you talking about?” I definitely hadn’t expected her to call me annoying.
“You’re always avoiding me. I invite you to a party, and you make it seem like you’re doing me this huge favor just showing up. I’m not a horrible person.”
“I never said you were a horrible person.” (Not to her face anyway!)
“You act like you think it.”
I had no clue what to say, so I just poured myself some juice.
“Look,” Suze continued, “I moved here and I didn’t know anybody. Our class is pretty small, and some of the nicest kids were already your friends. That doesn’t mean I was trying to take them away from you. Everything is not about you, you know.”
Now I was truly speechless. Or in shock or something.
“Really, Melanie,” she continued, “I’m nice to you! If I didn’t like you, I would not have invited you tonight. And I would have asked Justin out without asking you first. Remember?”
I should have said: “How could I forget?” Or: “You didn’t ask me thoughtfully. You asked me trickily!” Instead, I mumbled, “I guess.”
She made a face as if to say, “See!”
I asked, “So did you ask him out?”
She lowered her voice—finally. “Yeah. He said no. But he’s supposed to come tonight—on the late side. I bet he will show up because I told him you’d be here.” My heart did a flip-flop and I hoped she couldn’t tell. “I still think he likes you.”
“Really? Why? Did he say anything?” I couldn’t believe Suze had somehow gotten me to change the subject from her meanness to Justin’s niceness.
“I just think so.” Suze leaned forward, glanced at Miguel, and said, “Even though you said you didn’t like Justin, I think you do and don’t want to admit it, not even to yourself. No offense. I mean, you know you better than I know you.”
It was the kind of oozy comment that would usually drive me insane, but this time it didn’t. Because I knew she had a tiny point.
“Have you heard from Cecily?” I asked.
“No. She gets back in three days,” Suze said. “Maybe we can all go shopping.”
“Maybe.” But I knew I wasn’t going to be the one to call her. The doorbell rang, and Suze flounced off to let more people in.
I wasn’t sure if I’d actually want to go shopping with Cecily and Suze, but I did like feeling included. And I figured maybe I could tryyyy to appreciate Suze’s okay side. She must have one or Cecily wouldn’t like her, right?
Well, since I’d thought the party would be more awkward than fun, I’d asked Mom to pick us up early—at 8:30. Of course I didn’t know Justin would be arriving late!
I found Miguel and told him we had to go. He double-kissed all the girls and they ate it up, especially Ashley, who said, “Adiós, Michael,” and giggled. I thanked Suze and she said, “I’ll call you.”
I said, “Okay,” which felt weird. Then we left and she closed the door behind us.
In the hallway, Miguel said, “That was a fun fiesta,” and I agreed. I was half disappointed not to have seen Justin, but half relieved that Justin and Miguel hadn’t met.
We were in front of the elevators, and I pressed the down button. The doors popped open and guess who walked out?
“Bad timing!” I said.
“No. Just-in-time Justin timing!”
His eyes were smiling, and mine smiled back, but I didn’t want to smile too much with Miguel right there.
Justin got out of the elevator and Miguel got in, but that seemed abrupt, so I said, “Wait, Miguel. Come out. I want you to meet Justin.”
Miguel came out and extended his hand—which Justin was not expecting. “Hello. I am Miguel.”
“Miguel!” Justin said, and shook his hand. “Suze said you’d be here: The Boyfriend from Barcelona.”
“Valencia,” Miguel corrected, though neither of us commented on the other B word. I could, however, feel myself getting pinker by the second.
“Melanie told our whole class about Spain,” Justin said. “The bonfires and the bullfight.”
Guess whose mouth once again stopped working?
“Perhaps you will visit my country someday,” Miguel said.
“Perhaps,” Justin said, and smiled at me because kids don’t usually say the word “perhaps.”
I just stood there, quiet as MouseMouse.
Then Christopher came out of Suze’s apartment and joined us in the narrow hallway. He asked Miguel what he liked best about New York. Miguel said, “Above the ground, the skyscrapers. Beneath the ground, the subway.” He described riding in the front subway car and looking into the huge black tunnel.
Funny. Tonight’s party and our subway ride were the only truly unplanned parts of Miguel’s whole trip. And he loved them. I’d always thought of the subway as a way to get somewhere, not an amazing experience.
Miguel was describing everything we saw underground and said, “It was stupen— No, it was awesome! It was cool!”
Everyone laughed.
“Did Mel’s family take you to a Mets game?” Christopher asked, and he and Miguel started discussing béisbol.
I took a step toward Justin and finally got my mouth to work, but barely. You won’t believe what it said. This is what it said: “Suze mentioned that you have a girlfriend too.” I don’t know what made it say that! It was worse than standing there mute.
“Girlfriend?”
“From camp?”
He looked at me like I was crazy, so I mumbled, “Never mind,” and tried to become invisible. Which didn’t work.
I wish wish wished I had just gone down in the elevator that Justin came up in!
“Oh! Wait! I know what you mean!” he finally said.
“I told Suze I had a special friend at camp who is a girl. And I do. My sister!”
“Your sister?” I didn’t want Justin or Miguel to be able to read my face.
“My sister, Katie.” Justin leaned toward me. “Suze is okay, but you know how loud she can be. I didn’t think it was any of her business if I did or didn’t have a girlfriend.”
Another elevator came and Christopher got in. “C’mon, Melanie. C’mon, Miguel.”
We got in, and I called out to Justin, “Have a great rest-of-the-summer.”
“Maybe I’ll see you,” he said.
I didn’t answer. But inside I smiled.
Dear Diary,
“I’m going to the corner,” Mom said. “We’re out of milk.” Mom and Dad like milk in their morning coffee.
“It’s pretty late.”
“It’s summer.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
On the corner, we saw a man with a scraggly beard and a shopping cart full of books, plastic bags, empty cans, and blankets. He was wearing too many clothes for a warm night, but Mom said he doesn’t have a home (or closet) to put them in. She said homelessness is a problem that can’t be easily fixed but that when I’m older, I can volunteer at a soup kitchen in our neighborhood. I watched as the man searched inside a garbage can and found part of a sandwich that someone else had thrown away. Since we were buying food, Mom bought him a bagel and an apple. He said, “God bless you.”
New York has millions of people in it, not even counting all the tourists. And some of them are a lot less lucky than others.
Sadly,
M.
Sunday June 24
Dear Diary,
This morning Uncle Angel wanted to go to church in Harlem.
“Church?” Matt said, because it’s not like we usually go to church.
“Harlem?” I said, because it’s not like we usually go to Harlem.
“Do we have to?” we both asked Mom and Dad, and they said yes, because it was Miguel and Angel’s last day here. Mom even started singing a jazz song called “Take the A Train.”
We got up early and met Uncle Angel and Miguel and went up to West 138th Street to hear a gospel service at the most famous church in Harlem, the Abyssinian Baptist Church. According to Uncle Angel’s guidebook, the ABC was founded in 1808.
His book says a lot about Harlem. How Duke Ellington and Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong made music, and Langston Hughes wrote poems, and Fidel Castro and the Beatles visited, and Bill Clinton has an office there.
I realize race and religion are both touchy subjects, but if I can’t be honest in my own diary, where can I be honest?
So here goes: Where I live, there are more white people than black people. In Harlem, there are more black people than white people. We were the minority!
Actually, I don’t know why I’m even writing “white” and “black.” We’re all different shades of beige and brown. No one’s white or black. Miguel and Uncle Angel have been amazed at how if you look around New York, you see all different colors of skin and hair and eyes. You hear lots of Spanish too!
As for religion, in school we’re always learning about people who believe in God but who, next thing you know, start a big war with people who believe in God in a different way.
Well, I’m not completely sure what I believe. But I don’t think God would want people to be constantly fighting over Him (or Her).
I also hope that He—or She—wouldn’t mind that on most Sunday mornings, I’m in bed fast asleep.
Today at 9:00 A.M., we were in the ABC. It was packed! It is a very popular church. And welcoming. A man held open the red door for us, and a lady wearing a white dress and white gloves ushered us in, and a man next to me shared his open songbook when everyone started singing.
The singing was beautiful! Organ music filled the room, and dozens of men and women wearing flowing crimson robes were standing and swaying and clapping in the choir loft above the preacher. Their voices were so rich and spirited it made me want to sing along!
The preacher had a great voice too. Dad said he was the Reverend Dr. Calvin O. Butts III. I could tell that Matt was dying to make a joke. For once, though, he didn’t. Which made me kind of proud of Little DumDum.
Dr. Butts stood in front of the big stained-glass windows and said nobody’s perfect but everyone can try to be inclusive even if you once felt excluded. He said the church is a community and a home where everyone can belong. “The doors of the church are always open. If you are a visitor and this is your first time here, we are glad you came and please stand up.”
Matt hopped up! Mom, Dad, Angel, and Miguel did too! If I’d had a sign that said I DON’T KNOW THESE PEOPLE, I would have held it, but I didn’t. And since everyone was looking anyway, I realized I had to stand up. So I did.
The lady in front of me, an older black woman with a pretty pink hat, turned and said “Welcome,” and held out her right hand for me to shake. A man behind me smiled with dark eyes and extended his hand. So did the man next to me. And another lady in front of me. Everyone was shaking my hand and smiling kindly and welcoming me, and suddenly it wasn’t embarrassing, it was sort of warm and comforting.
To tell you the truth, I’d walked into the church feeling a tiny bit alone, maybe because it’s Miguel’s last day here. But after the reverend talked about us all as brothers and sisters and family and everyone shook my hand, well, I felt less alone. More like smothered, but in a good way. Like a pork chop in apple sauce!
The reverend was also saying that everyone has a gift and that we can be generous and give what we can to help others in need. People started saying “Amen” and “That’s right.” Even the people up in the back balconies.
“You have to figure out what you have to offer,” Dr. Butts continued. “Some of you may have the gift of time. Or the gift of singing. Or the gift of cooking. Or the gift of writing.”
Was he talking to me? Do I have the gift of writing? And if so, am I supposed to figure out how to be generous with that gift?
Maybe. Maybe I’m not supposed to just send IMs and e-mails and worry about them. Maybe I’m supposed to realize the world isn’t only me and my friends. It’s huge. In fact, there are whole worlds I didn’t even know of right here in Manhattan!
I bet I’ll always obsess about friends and boys. But maybe I can obsess a teensy weensy bit less. And instead of getting so upset, maybe I can keep trying to remember how lucky I am.
“God has smiled on me,” the chorus started singing. “God’s been good to me.” I listened and reminded myself that I’ve been very fortunate, even though I sometimes forget.
For instance, I’m not homeless. Some people don’t have a family who cares about them, but I definitely do. When Mom and Dad take us places, or even when they just make pancakes or drop us off and pick us up, those are grown-up ways of showing love.
And many of the grown-ups in the pews today probably have never been to Europe, but I’ve even been to Haarlem, the pretty town in Holland that gave our Harlem its name.
Soon it was time for the offering. A brass bowl got passed around so people could put in money for the church and for sick or hungry people. I was sitting between Dad and Mom, and Dad reached into his pocket and put a ten-dollar bill in the shiny bowl. He was about to pass it directly to Mom.
“Wait,” I whispered, and dug deep down inside my pocket. I pulled out three crinkled-up dollar bills (which was all I had) and added it to the little pile of money.
Mom nodded at me, and Dad put his arm around me and gave my shoulder a squeeze. You know what? It felt good. And Dad’s arm didn’t make me nervous or anxious or jumpy at all.
After church, we went out for a farewell lunch at Sylvia’s. We ate delicious ribs, beans, crunchy fried chicken, corn bread, corn on the cob, and sweet potato pie. (Miguel also liked the collard greens—yuk!) And we got to meet Sylvia! She’s as nice as can be, but she’s only my height, which, for a grown-up, is short!
We also stopped by the Apollo Theater. It is a landmark, which means it can get fixed up but not torn down. Inside we saw pictures of musicians who have performed there: Stevie Wonder, Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie, Aretha Franklin, Nat King Cole, and Frankie Lyman. Mom started singing “Unforgettable,” so I gave her a poke, but then Dad started singing, “Why do fools fall in love?” and I had to poke him too.
Finally, we walked along a historic street called Striver’s Row. It is on West 139th Street between Frederick Douglass and Adam Clayton Powell Jr. boulevards. Mom and Dad wanted Uncle Angel and Miguel to see Striver’s Row because the red brick houses were built in 1890 and it’s in Uncle Angel’s guidebook.
“Why is it called Striver’s Row?” Matt asked.
“Because striving is what it’s all about,” Dad said. “Working hard and doing your best. It’s not Achiever’s Row or Got Rich Row. Life isn’t just about getting but reaching and growing. Giving your all and giving back.”
Wow. Had the sermon inspired Dad too?
I guess we can all work harder and aim higher and think bigger.
I’ll probably sleep in next Sunday, but I’m glad I went to church and to Harlem today.
P.S. Uncle Angel and Miguel are doing last-minute shopping, and we’re about to drive them to the airport. Matt just finished making the pretend pack of cigarettes.
Dear Diary,
It was a close one!
On the way to JFK, Mom wanted to stop at the Queens Museum of Art to see the Panorama of the City of New York. Dad said that was crazy. Mom said it was not. Dad said that you have to get to the airport early for international flights, and there was no more time for tourism. Mom pleaded. Dad gave in—but grouchily.
Well, the Panorama is a huge huge huge scale model of all five boroughs. It was originally built for a world’s fair. It’s like a mini New York, with lights that go on and off. We circled it and pointed out everything we’d visited.
Draped over the World Trade Center is a red-white-and-blue ribbon laced in a loose figure eight, probably because the idea of removing the twin towers was too sad or triste (Tree Stay). But everything changes—especially cities—and someday there may be a model of the Freedom Tower.
After twenty minutes, Dad announced, “Miranda, you and the kids can do whatever you like, but I’m taking Miguel and Angel to the airport right now.”
“Me too!” I said and we all followed Dad down a gigundous elevator and walked outside to see the shining steel Unisphere, the largest globe in the world.
Uncle Angel lit a cigarette and Matt rushed over and gave him the fake pack. He said, “I made these because real cigarettes are bad for you.” Miguel translated, and at first Uncle Angel looked confused, but then he looked half amused, half touched. He even gave Matt double cheek kisses, which Matt did not expect.
“That’s where you guys are going,” Matt said, pointing to Spain on the Unisphere.
“Not if we don’t leave ASAP!” Dad said.
“What means ASAP?” Uncle Angel asked.
I said, “As Soon As Possible.”
Well, the traffic to JFK, which had been fine, turned terrible, and Dad was cranky and cursed twice and even muttered, “You should have listened, Miranda!”
The only funny part of the car ride was when Matt sneezed and Uncle Angel asked if he was constipated. Matt repeated, “Constipated??” and Mom explained to us that constipado (Cone Stee Pa Dough) means to be stuffed-up or have a cold. Even Dad laughed a little, but then went back to being mad at every single other car on the highway.
Somehow we made it to the airport and parked. Dad and Uncle Angel strode ahead, Mom followed holding Matt’s hand, and Miguel and I were last. We were all walking as fast as we could, and we accompanied Uncle Angel and Miguel as far as we were allowed. At the last minuto I said, “Miguel?”
“¿Sí, señorita?”
Deep down, I think we both knew that we liked each other but that it could be ages before we’d see each other again. We were almost out of time, so I just plain blurted out, “Is it going to be hard to stay close when we are far apart?”
“May Lah Nee, we can always be friends. Special friends, true?”
“True. Forever friends.”
“Amigos para siempre (Ah Me Gose Pa Ra Syem Pray). And we will see each other again someday. Don’t you think?”
“Sí.” I looked up into his chocolate eyes.
Suddenly, even though I hadn’t planned it, and even though I had to go on tiptoe, I kissed him—right on the forehead! It was not the kiss I had been imagining. But I liked it. I did. It was a quick kiss and I didn’t close my eyes; I kept them open so I could see his smile.
For me, the kiss was partly a handshake agreement. I wanted to seal the deal that we would stay friends forever. I don’t know if our love was real, but I want our friendship to be.
For me, the kiss was also partly a goodbye kiss. In some ways, I knew we were setting each other free. He would always be welcome in my home, but I wasn’t going to carry a torch to light the way anymore.
We caught up to Matt and the grown-ups and I said, “I hope things work out with your dad and mom.”
“Gracias.”
“What if they don’t?” I asked, then immediately wished I hadn’t.
“I don’t know, May Lah Nee. I wish it could be the way it was. But if they remain separate, then at least I still have a mother and a father.”
Next thing you know, Mom, Dad, Matt, and I were waving adiós adiós adiós to Miguel and Uncle Angel as they hurried toward their gate. Matt and I kept waving and waving long after the grown-ups stopped. Miguel was waving too. We three kept waving until Miguel finally disappeared—until he was just a dot in the universe.
I took a deep breath, turned around, then we four M’s walked back through the airport toward our car.
“Whoa! Check it out!” Matt pointed up at a dozen silvery helium balloons floating on the ceiling of the airport terminal. One said “We’ll miss you”; one said “Welcome”; one said “I love you”; one said “Bon voyage.”
They were all mixed up, which is how I feel a lot too.
P.S. In the car ride back, Mom said nice things about Miguel and Angel, and Dad did too, but he also said, “Having guests is a lot of work.” Mom and I gave each other a little look because, after all, our apartment is about to be full of more guests for Dad’s surprise party.
P.P.S.
Dear Diary,
When you read a book, the author has figured everything out for you.
But when you write a diary—or live your life—you have to figure it out for yourself. It’s like you are the author.
So allow me to introduce myselves: Melanie, Melanie, Melanie.
Lately I’ve been thinking about how many me’s there are. We all have so many selves and sides!
I’m a daughter, sister, best friend, regular friend, almost sixth grader, sort of ex-girlfriend, sort of ex-enemy, traveler, diary keeper, New Yorker, and former mice owner.
If you noticed that I said “former mice owner,” it’s because Mom said the mice always smell terrible, and Dad said, “Dogs are good because they say, ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ and cats are good because they say, ‘Relax! Read a book!’ but mice just make more mice.”
Somehow we knew we couldn’t keep them all anymore. Even Matt knew.
Not that he and I didn’t protest about it!
Well, Suze called, and I told her about our mice issues, and she said her aunt is a science teacher and could maybe take them. Then she called her aunt, and the aunt said she could give some to her summer students as pets, and she could keep the others to use in her classroom for experiments, but she assured us, “not mean experiments.”
So yesterday we gave them to her. All zillion of them.
Except MouseMouse, which Matt gets to keep. And his (or her) brother (or sister) Ahoy, which Matt gave to Lily.
Mom said maybe we can get another pet sometime, but just one, not a pair. She also said change is good. Which might be true.
