Fit to be LOVED

The struggle of a girl to gain her Father's love and approval.

Fit to be loved

Mandi’s tattered fingers coiled around the butchered stumps that now sprouted ashamedly from her sun tanned scalp. Those fingers covertly pulled a little harder after each failure, the yank serving as a release to her evaporating hope. At first the idea seemed quite clever maybe with the boyish haircut her Father would finally begin to love her but instead the haircut had caused her father to slip away even more. Looking like a prize winning boy would never win his love.

                “Pulling your hair won’t make it grow any faster Man-Wannabe-Di”, the venom splashed out of Shrea’s foaming snout.

                  “What do you know?”

                “I know you’re that loser that no one wants around, and why would they when you look like that? Nothing more than an urchin of the street no wonder even your Father hates you”

                Before Shrea’s hyena like laugh could claw up her throat and cackle at her comment, she was on the floor in shock trying to stop the oozing evil emanating from her nose. Unfortunately for me I wound up sitting on my good friend Fredrick the chair outside the principal’s office. An hour later my Father’s roundly compressed veil like shadow blocked the entrance to the office. The ritual had begun.

                “Les go”, was all that Father managed to grumble as he walked by.

“Si Padre.”

Sometimes I desired to hear a stereo blasted roar anything at all to slap the smirk right off from the formless face that belonged to silence. But nothing ever came, not this time or any time before.

The smell of homemade tortillas struck my fourth sense filling it with the tenderness that exuded from the withered hands. I rushed past the façade of smiling faces strung on the walls, towards the inviting bliss. My uneven bars wrapped around her, before she could even grasp me with her petite wings.

“Mija jur skool call, te suspendieron? Wat for dis time?”

“Mama I, um…. I punched a girl and…,”the sound forcing its way up stopped abruptly as the Fatherly shadow from the office entered the kitchen.

“Miranda Jocelynn Gutierrez is der somtin mor dat I shud know?”

“I might have broken her nose.” my voice shriveled in shame as I excreted the truth.

“Why? Wat she do?”

“She…. she said, some really mean things Mama, and well….I... d…d…didn’t control myself,this time... that is all.”

“Mhmm is it dat Chiquilla dat u aways tell me about?”, her lips began to weigh down into that frown of hers. Disappointed in me or disturbed by Shrea? I never seemed to quite grasp the message behind the impassive stare.

“Yes Mama.” Each statement felt like army tanks nestled on my shoulders, now that my father’s burlesque silence was present. His rueful scowl drifted onto the tortillas on the table.

“Vieja ya casi esta la comida o que?” his voice only bothered to come when it was directed to Mama.

“Mandí  sírvele la comida a tu padre por favor.”

“Yes Mama”, as I walked to the wooden table that Father had made, I muttered, “Padre I know that you are needing some help….. I … I was wondering if… well if you would like for me to help you on these days that I won’t be at school.” The fingers had coiled on the stumps once again waiting for the signal.

“Wat ar ju crazi? Dat is a man’s job onlee. Ju ars a gurol an dey do da cleenin’ an cookin’. I will not huv a marimacha in mi casa. Ju understand?”

“Si Padre.” My voice fled along with my body to my navy blue refuge, fingers tugging through the defeat once again. The tears lurking behind the lids, waited to be out of sight in order to attack the flushed face. 

“Por Dios Rojelio! Why can ju never be nis to dat gurol? Ella trata complacerte en todo pero siempre la rechazas. Ju chang to much wit her sins da… da accidente.” The once furious voice had begun to muffle down.

“Ay pero don ju see how she dress an act? She is lik a man all the time. She embarrass me wit mi frenz an I will not huv a gay gurol in mi casa!” his normally booming voice was beginning to attract the force of twenty speakers. “An I don no wui she cri for notin. I don do notin to her?”

“Maybe das da problem! Ju never do notin!” The honey tone grew into a roar.

“Wat do ju want me to do?”

“I don no Rogelio but jur not da onlee guone who loss a son”

“An I don wan ju to loos jur gurol too! I won loos anoder baby. I WON…. LOOS ANODER BABY” her voice tore unleashed a rampaging hurricane.  Food and objects began to fly; the façade on the wall came barring down. The last drop became the puppet master and Mama the stringed toy. Her knees buckled and leading her to the floor with a thud next to the picture of little Mateo.

“Woman if I am to mush a problim den I can leave! I am tire of bein da bad guone. Me voy para que seas feliz con tu hija!”

“ Ay por favor, Leave! Leave already Damit! Yo también estoy cansada de todo”

Father thundered his way past my door into his room and choked the door handle for a second before he violently slapped the air with the door.

“Mama, don’t fight any more, please don’t fight over me. I am fine really look.” My air fought its way in and out my vibrating tube. The attempt at smiling failed and the tears just kept attacking me in front of my Mama.I held Mama and let her drench the oversized front of my black ADIDAS t-shirt. Timidly my eyes scanned the area. On the molting rocking chair lay a few lacerated tortillas and the floor flickered with the glass that peeked from under the lavender pedals that had been ripped away from their nests. In my seventeen years I had never seen Mama this devastated.  Cautiously I retreated my arms and left Mama there with the portrait her baby boy. 

Each step that was taken seemed to cause a horrible trembling spell. My legs refused to move forward but the guilt hauled around for twelve years did the towing for me. I would not deprive my mother of a husband too; I couldn’t steal her dreams of a humble family and I couldn’t steal Mama away from father too. On the last step the door loomed over head, my rattling arms reached for the knob and turned. Inside Padre was swiftly packing his garments into the moss stained suitcase, his shirts unfolded and still on the hanger. 

“Padre please don’t leave, Mama needs you. Le prometo que me comportare. Puedo ayudar mas and I won’t fight any more and I,” Guilt dug into my shoulders and plunged me to my knees.” I… can try harder and be the boy that I stole from you. But por favor Padre don’t let me be the one to push you away from mama too. Ella no merece pagar mis pecados. Stay and ……… and I will do anything I can turn into the perfect child for you just don’t leave!”

A calloused hand reached down and lifted my chin away from the floor. Then tactfully wrapped itself around me. My confounded eyes fell upon the face of the man who for twelve years hadn’t hugged me and on his rotund face there I found a steady stream winding its way around the newly explored territory.

“Mija da day of da accident I may huv loss my boy but I also los my Baby gurol.”