She Says Nothing

Vignette - Bilingual (English - Spanish)

My mother walks with tragedy. With pain. With doubt. En mala humor, in a bad mood, she paces around the kitchen moaning and groaning, crying and sighing, searching and doubting, moaning and groaning, crying and sighing, searching and doubting. I want to go shopping, but she needs to get money from daddy first.

 

-- Mama, why are you so sad? I ask.

 

She says nothing. Silencio like the bird laying dead after a gun shot. In her eyes I'm just the little girl who asks too much; the little girl who pokes her little nose in places where it shouldn't be in.

She says nothing. She takes my hand instead.

 

-- Vamonos. Let's go.

 

Together we go to the streets of windy Chicago. Sad music blares from the boom boxes of people passing by, carrying them like burdens. Street vendors stand on sidewalks selling cold hot dogs and warm sodas. An old man sits on his porch and plays his guitar, singing a broken story through his broken music. The wind slaps my face harshly as though I'm a bad child.

 

My mother, she says nothing. She is a woman perdida, a lost woman; a woman who was once wild and free like the queen of the stallions de las calles -- of the streets. Until one day the beast came and cruelly took away all her freedom. Now he owns her as a greedy collector would keep his most prized possession. He leaves her in the house with me while he goes to work in the alley. She tells me that he collects money and plays games with it.

 

My mother who was the wild woman is now a quiet woman. Quiet like a mouse.

 

-- Mama, are we going shopping?

 

-- No Chiquita, not yet. Necessito dinero, I need money.

 

We go to the alley. The smell of burned burritos and churros linger in the air. The sky above me seems dark with sounds of thunder; my mother once told me that it's a bad omen.

 

-- Stay here Chiquita.

 

She goes to the door. I wait with the smell of burned burritos and churros and the bad omen from the sky. Screams and curses broke the silence. Sounds of banging and yelling. Then crying. Then whimpering. Then crying. Then whimpering.

 

Soon she comes out con lagrimas -- with tears. She comes out with contusiones -- with bruises. She curses at the sky. She grabs my hand.

 

-- Vamonos. Let's go.

 

Together we go to the streets of windy Chicago. The wind slaps my face harshly again. But I don't know what I did wrong. No es mi culpa, it's not my fault. I look up at the sky and God is up there, watching me with the bad omen of dark clouds and rumbling thunder.

 

We go home and my mother leaves me in the hallway outside the kitchen. My mother walks with tragedy. With pain. With doubt. I want to go shopping, but she needs to get money from daddy first.

 

-- Mama, why are you so sad? I ask.

 

She says nothing.

Author's Note

This is a Vignette that I did last year.

Reviews

[AK]

This is the kind of writing that one does not easily forget. It's honest and painful and human.
I visited Chicago several years ago to visit my daughter and the wind slapped me around a bit too.
Thanks for sharing this.

[Indigoshadows]

NOTE: This review is given based solely off my peronal opinions and experiences. I give all reviews to help uplift and edify the writer constructively. If you would like to discuss this review, please feel free to send me a message.
ADMIRATIONS: I feel like you hit the voice of the child/narrator very well, and it didn't seemed forced. Also the repititions throughout the piece were thoughtfully placed, not becoming overwhelming at all. I could hear and feel the different moods that shifted in the piece... loud to quiet and quiet to loud. You were successful at creating a masterful work with very little.
CRITICISMS:
1. I loved how it was bilingual, but I'd consider taking out some of the english translations. Be bold and just leave the some of the spanish as it is.
2. The other thing is I think you mispelled this: " Shounds of banging and yelling."
OVERALL:
It was unique and interesting. I love the simpleness and the complications.

[Rachael]

This is really lovely. The use of repitition builds both the mood, and the feeling that this sort of scene is also repititive; that this is something the child character and the mother experience regularly.
"The wind slaps my face harshly as though I'm a bad child" This line in particular introduces a child's feelings of guilt in a subtle and poetic way. The other part I loved was the reference to the way the mother used to be, "a wild woman". Cheers, I really enjoyed this.

[jodi sharp]

i love that your poem is bilingual

[larryb]

Kind a cool it kept my interest though