THE NEXT NIGHT over our candlelit dinner—we still had no electricity—my parents told us that we were moving to America. I acted surprised.
“America! So are we going to meet movie stars? And cowboys?” Sarita asked. “Oooh! Can we go to Disney World?”
“Don’t be so stupid, Sari,” I said. “We can’t even afford to pay the electric bill; how do you expect us to go to Disney World?”
If looks could kill, I would have been buried in La Recoleta Cemetery with Evita Perón. I’m not sure whose glare was more deadly, Mamá’s or Papá’s. I felt bad when I saw Sari’s lower lip start to quiver. What I said was the truth, but she was only seven. Why not let her dream a little?
“Someday we’ll go to Disney World, querida,” Mamá said. “But probably not right away.”
“You promise, though? We’ll definitely go someday?” Sari sniffed.
Mamá and Papá exchanged glances.
“We promise. Someday,” Papá said gruffly.
Yeah, like when you’re sixty, I wanted to say, but this time I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut.
“So when are we leaving?” I asked.
“As soon as we can get the visas and make the arrangements,” Mamá said. “It takes longer since 9/11. I want you to work very hard on your English lessons in the meantime. The school year runs differently in America—not from March to December like here in Argentina. So if we get the visas in time, we’ll leave when you have your winter break in July, then you’ll start school at the beginning of their school year in September.”
“So I won’t even get a summer holiday?” I asked.
“No,” Mamá said. “Because it will be winter in New York in December, not summer. The school year runs until the following June, and then you’ll have a long vacation during the American summer.”
Estupendo. Not only did I have to leave my country and start in a new school, but I had to live through a neverending school year in order to do it. Still. It could have been worse. We could have stayed in Argentina and ended up living in a villa mísera. Given the alternative, going to school for a few extra months didn’t seem like the end of the world. Although, said the cynical, pessimistic voice inside me, that depends on the school, doesn’t it?
I told that voice to be quiet, because I had enough to worry about.
The following month was incredibly busy. We spent hours on line at the American Embassy, waiting to be interviewed for our visas. Sarita alternated between hyperactive excitement and whiny boredom, and I was always waiting for the moment when Papá would explode in front of all the other hopeful immigrants. Mamá and I took turns leaving the line to take Sari for walks, or to read to her from the English storybooks we took out of the library. We were all trying to practice our English as much as we could. Our conversations at home ended up being strange mixtures of Spanglish, where we’d start a sentence in English, then switch to Spanish when we didn’t know the word. I was copying out words of vocabulary every night, trying to memorize at least forty new words a day. Roberto was doing the same, and we’d test each other as we walked to the park after school.
When our summer break started in mid-December and the date of his departure drew near, we spent even more time together, as much as we could. He met me outside my apartment one day with an “Adjectives for People” list that he’d gotten off the Internet.
“‘Loco,’” I said. “Kind of how this is all starting to make me feel. Here’s one…‘beautiful.’”
“‘Guapa,’” Roberto said. “Like you, Dani.”
I felt my cheeks flushing. “I’m sure you won’t even miss me when you see all the ‘beautiful’ girls in Miami.”
“Well, here’s another word for you. They will all look ‘ugly’ to me, because they aren’t you.”
“‘Feo,’” I said. “But I bet they won’t. Still, it’s nice of you to say.”
I sighed, looking around the familiar streets, where we’d walked so many times before.
“Even though I know leaving Argentina is the right thing, I’m still ‘sad’ that we have to do it.”
“‘Triste,’” Roberto said. “Me too. ‘Sad’ to leave Argentina. ‘Sad’ to leave my home and my friends. ‘Sad’ to leave you, Dani.”
He took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Still, mi amor. It’s not going to be all bad, is it? Maybe we should try to think of the parts that are going to be ‘interesting.’ And ‘exciting.’”
“‘Interesante y emocionante,’” I said. “I know. There’s a part of me that is excited to see what the future holds. Like do you ever wonder if life in America will really be like it looks on the TV shows?”
Roberto laughed. “I’m pretty sure the people in your high school won’t be as perfect looking. And if I’m wrong, I want to know about it right away so I can tell my parents to move to New York!”
His family was leaving the next day. Our remaining time together was so short and precious: so many memories to try to cram into a brief space. We reached our bench and I sat with my head on his shoulder, relishing the feel of his arm around me, the sensation of his lips brushing against my hair and my forehead. A nagging voice inside said I should be at home, helping Papá to look after Sarita while my mother was at work. I ignored the voice because I wanted this time with Roberto, I needed it, because for all I knew I would never have moments like this again.
The branches of the ombú tree reached over us like a mother’s arms, as if to hug us to our native soil.
“Do you think we’ll ever belong again, the way we do here?” I asked, between kisses. “Or do you think in America, we’ll always be extranjeros? I mean, don’t you hate what they call you on the visa—an ‘alien,’ like you come from outer space or something?”
Roberto attempted to soothe me with more kisses. He took his fingers and tried to smooth away the furrows in my brow.
“Dani, you worry too much.”
“Yes, well, I think it’s an inherited trait.”
He laughed. “Well, try to relax. Do yoga. Meditate. Kiss me.”
“I would kiss you with pleasure. Problem is, you aren’t going to be around, are you?”
“True. And I don’t want you kissing anyone else. So it’ll have to be yoga or meditation.” His lips met mine gently, and he brushed a loose strand of hair off my face. “Just try not to worry so much, querida. We’ll adjust.”
I threw my arms around his neck and burst into sobs. I couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t see him anymore, wouldn’t feel his arms around me, or his lips on mine.
“Oh, Roberto…what will I do without you?”
“You’ll survive, Dani. The same way I’ll have to learn to live without you.”
Roberto walked me back to my apartment. I must have looked like a vampire; my eyes were so red from crying.
“Well, I guess this is it, Dani,” he said when we reached the corner where we always said our good-byes. My sight blurred with tears once more.
“You will…write me…won’t you?”
He lifted my chin, so I was looking at him instead of the cracks in the sidewalk, where I’d focused to hide my tears.
“You think I’m going to walk away right now and you’ll never hear from me again? Hah! You should be so lucky, Daniela Bensimon…You can’t get rid of Roberto Saban that easily.”
I let out a really unattractive snort of laughter through my tears, but that didn’t seem to bother Beto. He wiped my tears away with his thumbs and kissed me again, for once not caring if my father happened to see.
“Just to make sure you don’t forget me, I got you this,” he said, taking a small box out of his pocket.
I opened it, and there on a thin silver chain was a small heart pendant.
“I had to fight with my father to let me have some of my Bar Mitzvah money to buy it,” he said. “Not that my Bar Mitzvah money is worth a fraction of what it used to be.”
He took it out of the box and helped me fasten it around my neck.
“Thank you, querido,” I said. “I wish I could have bought you something.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I have the pictures.”
The week before, Beto had dragged me into one of those instant photo booths and we’d taken our picture together. The machine took four photos and he ripped the strip in half so we each had two.
“Hasta la vista, mi amor,” Roberto said, and walked away down the street, looking back over his shoulder and blowing me one last kiss before he turned the corner out of sight.
I stood on the street, watching the empty space where I’d last seen him, feeling like my heart was breaking. Then I wiped my tears on my sleeve and headed home to rescue Sarita from Papá.