A short story of sorts
I wrote this a long time ago, i'd really appreciate an audience, I'd appreciate it being read if you would be so kind as to voice your opinion, i would gladly like to read them. Keep in mind it isnt gramatically edited since i wrote it.....and its long.
The Burrrrrito
I crouched onto a rusty bench as the train whizzed by and then quickly halted. The doors slid open as tons of busy body New Yorkers piled off of the tracks. And then it was our turn; my sister and I step on to the Long Island Railroad and sat onto two brown plastic seats near the window. Margarita sat directly across from us.
I remember the day my parents brought Margarita into our home. I was three and my sister Talia had just been born. My parents told me that this strange woman would help around the house and take care of my sister and I everyday of the week. Hiding in the shadow of the doorway stood the petite woman, with long wavy dark hair, which gently lay over her dark tan shoulders as her rough hands, untangle each strand. Her eyes were black and she stood with her arms and her legs crossed. Even these unwelcoming characteristics could not hinder her affectionate beam, which stood out among the shadows.
That same caring smile was still there with us on the railroad that day. Talia got up from the seat next to me and laid her head on Margarita’s lap. In Talia’s eyes, Margarita replaced the role of our mother. Everyday was a new adventure for us, we never knew what the next day would bring. Unfortunately Margarita was only with us during the week, on weekends she would travel on a train back to her home in Brooklyn. After years of pleading, my sister and I were finally allowed to make the journey with Margarita to Brooklyn. I was nine and Talia was six. It was our first time leaving our sheltered home in Woodmere, Long Island. I wasn’t sacred in the least bit. We were going to Margarita’s home, The Land Of Happiness. Margarita was a superhero in our eyes, to see her home and her family was one thing I had always dreamt of seeing.
I looked outside of the window as the train made another stop. Margarita stood up hastily, soon Talia and I followed her lead. We then stepped off our last remnant of home and stepped onto new territory.
Margarita gripped our hands as we stepped off of the train in Brooklyn. I stood in awe at the sight of broken down buildings, graffiti on walls, and dirty people lying all over the filthy streets. “This can’t be the land of happiness! Did we get off at the right stop?” I shrieked at Margarita.
“Don’t be fooled by the outside of a book because the inside is the part that tells the story” Margarita replied with a smile and a wink. I didn’t quite understand her response. What does a book have to do with the land of happiness? If I were to create the land of happiness, books would really be minimal. And cotton candy would be all over town!
After what felt like hours of walking, we finally arrived at her apartment. Our feet gently climbed up each creaking stair. Cracks lined the walls of the hallway leading to her wooden door. I ran my hand against the wall as paint fell to the floor. Margarita lodged the key into the door and shoved it open. The air soon filled with a familiar smell, this is the smell that would linger on her clothing every Monday morning when she would walk me to school. This is the smell that had no definition, but to me it was the smell of Margarita. It was comforting to know that Margaritas home was filled with that smell, it made me feel welcome.
We walked in to a kitchen no bigger then a bathroom in my house, we sat at the small table and Margarita prepared us a little lunch. I took a huge bite of my peanut butter sandwich as the door opened. In walked a tall chubby dark man. He was bigger then any man I had seen before. He crouched inside of the wooden doorway .He was a jolly man who smelled of pizza, which was definitely a smell I could recognize. He rolled into the kitchen rambling off words that I could not understand. But then he saw us.
“ Ah hello little ladies, me nombre is José” he said.
His accent was heavy. And I had a mouth full of peanut butter so I didn’t respond.
“ You sure are fat mister!” Talia blurted
“ Si , yes this I know little one, pero you sure have un loud mouth!” he chuckled back.
Margarita shot Talia a look of disapproval and Talia understood, so she continued to eat her sandwich. As José grabbed a seat next to Talia, the door opened again. In walked about three dark skinned, skinny men, all in red and green soccer uniforms. They were also speaking the language I couldn’t understand, but quicker and louder then José. They grabbed seats from the living room and gobbled up entire watermelon that was sitting on the counter.
Margarita shut my jaw and moved us into another room. She explained to us that she has five nephews and one niece that live with her in this little apartment. She also explained that she did not live in Brooklyn her whole life. She told us she was born in Mexico and she fled to America when she was old enough to make money to support her family back in Mexico. I didn’t quite understand why she had to support her family. I didn’t know much about Mexico, but I knew in America parents support their children. She told us she had a sick father in Mexico and three sisters, one of which who died while giving birth to a child and that she could never visit her family in Mexico because she was an illegal alien and could not travel back in forth. What does that all mean? I saw my family all the time. How could she possibly not be able to see hers? That didn’t seem fair. I sat, befuddled, on the floor gazing at the family portraits that decorated the plain white walls. Talia stood up and gave Margarita a hug.
“You are my family Maggaweeta,” she whispered.
A couple minutes later Margarita took Talia and I out on the town. We rode another train and arrived in a place named Coney Island. Now this place was definitely the land of happiness, if I’ve ever seen one. There were rides everywhere and plenty of cotton candy. Margarita bought us hot dogs at the Original Nathan’s and then placed us on every ride in all of Coney Island.
After we rode each ride four hundred times, Margarita saw someone and stopped walking. There stood a skinny tall very pretty young woman accompanied by a suave young man. Margarita began talking to her in a different language, which I later learned was Spanish. And then she introduced us, in English. The girl’s name was Ophelia and she was the one niece that lived with margarita and she did not speak one word of English. We said goodbye to Ophelia and then swished onto the water flume one more time. Margarita bought us some more souvenirs and then we headed back to Brooklyn.
The streets of Brooklyn were scary to a sheltered nine year old from Long Island, but the shadow of Margarita in front of us made me feel safe. We stopped into the pizza place where José worked, and later a grocery store where another nephew worked. Margarita told us how it incredibly difficult for her family to find good jobs in Brooklyn because they were not legal citizens. They were all so young and had left their home just as she did in order to live freely and work. Margarita was getting money from my parents for taking care of Talia and I but she took care of her nephews everyday at home and never received anything except knowing that they were healthy and happy. Talia could not grasp the concept that Margarita had another family and clamped onto her side as always. Talia was too young to understand what Margarita went through. Margarita cuddled with Talia as we strolled down the filth filled streets. She bought us some more food, clothing and other unnecessary gifts. After spoiling us to no end we arrived back at her home, which was ironically comforting to me. Talia and I took showers and put on our pajamas.
All of a sudden the crowd of nephews trampled into the kitchen grabbing pots and pans and all kinds of ingredients. They started preparing dinner, soon the smell of tomatoes and peppers consumed the air. This smelled better then any meal I had smelled before. It smelled new and different. I crept into the kitchen and cast my eyes upon the delectable sauces and meats. All with such foreign smell and appearance, the yellows, greens and reds mixing together in the heat of the stove. Each boy took little flour tortillas and placed them straight on the grill as they stuffed their faces with the meats and spices. I sat in awe as I hid out of their vision, but then to my surprise a head popped up behind the wall I was hiding behind.
“ Are you hungry little girl? I will fix you up some burrrrrito” a skinny boy with a huge grin asked.
“Well, I ate already, but it looks really interesting”
“ Come, I give you un burrrrrito, it taste vedy good and you will like”
“but --- but what is a burrrrrrrrrrrrrito?”
“ Ahhh, just you wait” he smirked back at me and popped back into the kitchen, before I could respond.
I watched as all the boys, Margarita and Ophelia crammed into the little kitchen table. They all looked happy, all telling stories of their days at work, in their own language. The atmosphere was filled with laughter and enjoyment as they talk. I thought about how similar this feeling of happiness was. I had my own same feeling when I ate dinner in my home. It was the feeling of family, and of culture. But, Margarita and her family were not in their home, nor were they with their immediate family, yet they seemed to be complete. I now realize that my family had their own culture. And that the feeling of completeness was their every time we were all together sitting at the dinner table, with Margarita.
The next day Talia and I packed up our things and went back to Woodmere. To the town we knew, the clean streets with the Mercedes cars lining the driveways and elaborately decorated homes. But it looked and felt different to me.
Later that week our parents told us that we were going to move to Florida. But moving away would mean that we would never see Margarita again.
“What?” I yelled, “ I don’t want to be an alien mom, I don’t want to be an alien!”
“ What are you talking about Shiri?” She answered, “You are not an alien. We are not moving to mars, just to Florida. We will come and visit Margarita every summer.”
At that moment in time I realized what an impact Margarita had on my family. She was not just the Woman hired to do my parents dirty work. She wasn’t just the woman who would buy us candy and goodies and clothes. She was part of our family. But she also showed me what family is. Family is not just something you are born into, but it is something that you are born with. You can appreciate family when you are close to them, and you can appreciate family when you are far from them. No matter what type of situation you are in, your family is always there and will always keep you motivated to go on.
Margarita never had any of her own children, nor did she get the chance to create her own family. But she will always be a part of my family, and I will always remember her as the woman who showed me the story to a book that I never read. A book filled with culture, with family, and with love. And she will always be a chapter in my book, of my childhood and how she made me who I am today.