When I Was Puerto Rican - Esmeralda Santiago [30]
“Yes, I guess it does.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to go.”
“Maybe.” He picked up his trowel, slid a thin layer of cement on it, and levelled it on the floor, smoothing and stretching it in arcs that formed half circles, like grey rainbows.
“Look how pretty this is!”
Mami held a yellow blouse with a ruffled collar against her bosom, patted the neckline into shape, and stretched it across her shoulders to check the fit. It was a wonderful color against her skin, making the freckles on her nose look like gold specks.
“I’ll put it away for now. It’s a little small.” She was pregnant again, and her belly pressed against the fabric of her dress and strained the seams that zigzagged down the sides, where bits of flesh showed pale and soft between the stitches. She folded the blouse and pulled a dress out of the box. Delsa and I both grabbed for it, but Mami yanked it out of reach and crossed her arms, crushing it against her.
“Stop that! Let me see what size it is.” She held it up. It was perfect for me. It had red dots on white puffy sleeves, a white bodice, a white skirt with a stripe of red dots at the hem, and two dotted heart-shaped pockets.
“Negi, I think this one is for you.”
I grabbed it and ran to the other end of the room, where Norma was already trying on pink shorts with a matching tee shirt. I stuck my tongue out at Delsa, who sent daggers with her eyes, but only until Mami pulled out a sky-blue dress with ruffles and lace on the collar. Perfect for Delsa.
Tata, Mami’s mother, had sent us a box from New York full of clothes that Mami’s cousins no longer wore. Clothes that were almost new, with no stains or tears or mended seams. Hector, the boy in our family, was the only one to get new pants and shirts, because none of Mami’s New York relatives had boys his age. But for us girls there were shiny patent-leather shoes with the heels hardly worn, saddle shoes that had already been broken in, a red sweater with a bow at the neck and only one button missing, pleated skirts with matching blouses, high heels for Mami, a few nightgowns, and a pair of pajamas that I claimed, because I loved the cowboys and Indians chasing each other across my body, down my arms and legs.
“Our cousins must be rich to give up these things!” Norma said as she tried on a girl’s cotton slip with embroidered flowers across the chest.
“Things like these are not that expensive in New York,” Mami said. “Anyone can afford them.”
She sat on the edge of the bed and unfolded a letter that had been taped to the inside of the box. A crisp ten dollar bill fell out. Hector and Alicia dove for it and wrestled one another to be the first to get it. While they fought, Delsa calmly picked it up and handed it to Mami.
“What does the letter say, Mami?” I asked.
“It says she hopes we like the presents.” She looked up at me, her eyes shiny. “Maybe you could write Tata a letter and tell her we love them.”
“Sure!” I liked writing letters. Especially if they were going far away. I had often written things for Mami, like addresses on envelopes she sent to Tata in New York, or notes for my teachers, which I wrote and she signed.
That night I wrote Tata a letter. It took me a long time, because we were just learning cursive in school, and I had to look up the shapes of some letters on the back of the book Miss Jimenez had given us for penmanship practice. I found it difficult to form the capital E of my first name, with its top and bottom curlicues and uneven-size bulges that faced in what seemed like the wrong direction no matter how many times I wrote it. So I signed it Negi, which I considered to be my real name. When I finished the letter, Mami read it out loud.
“ ‘Dear Tata, We liked the presents you sent us. The dress with the polka dots fits me and Delsa looks pretty in the blue dress. Mami is saving the yellow blouse for after the baby. We love you and thank you for the things you sent. Love, Negi.’ ... You made a mistake....”
“What?”
“You didn’t start with a salutation.”
“Yes I did. See? Dear Tata.