Ofie (María Ofelia Cruz) Character Analysis

“If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them we’ve got us some Martians […] We hired extraterrestrials […] Excellent help. You don’t have to pay them. You don’t have to feed them. All you do is reboot them at night and they’re ready to go in the morning.”

It’s only as he’s headed upstairs again that it hits him. If the girls are going to be attending Bridgeport, how can they be a secret? He’s about to go back downstairs and confront his parents, but then he remembers the promise he made to himself. No questions. No worries. Let those girls come up with their own explanation. It should be easier being Mexican than being an alien from outer space.

But remembering his mom’s worried look at his dad’s bowed head, Tyler wonders if maybe being Martian is a lot easier to explain than being Mexican in Vermont.

It is difficult to be the one different from my sisters. Some boys at my old school made fun of me, calling me an “illegal alien.” What is illegal about me? Only that I was born on the wrong side of a border? As for “alien,” I asked the teacher’s helper, and she explained that an alien is a creature from outer space who does not even belong on this earth! So, where am I supposed to go?

Even at home, I feel so alone sometimes. I cannot tell Papá about the boys making fun because he would pull us out of school, especially now that he is so protective after you left. I cannot speak to my little sisters, as I don’t want to worry them any more than they are. […] And how could any of them understand why I feel so lonely? I am not like my sisters, who are little American girls as they were born here and they don’t know anything else.

“Mari, it is not a good idea for you to send those letters,” he began. Then, very gently, he explained how we are not legal in this country. How Mexicans getting mail might alert la migra to raid a certain address.

“But, Papá, a lot of Americans have Spanish names! Look at Luby. Look at Ofie!”

Papá just kept shaking his head. I think that having to live secretly for years in this country has made him imagine danger where it doesn’t exist. “You can save them until you see your mother again,” he said. “How wonderful it will be for her to sit down and read them over and know all the things that happened while she was away.” […] I don’t think he allows himself to miss you as much as he really does, Mamá, or we would all be too sad to continue […]

“I meant to say hi to the girls,” Mom explains.

Tyler puts his head in his hands so he doesn’t have to see anything but his bowl of cereal. Too late he remembers his mother has told him this is rude. Horses have blinkers, not humans. But sometimes, Tyler hates to tell her, sometimes he would just as soon see less, not more, of the world around him, a world full of accidents, bad luck, and Mom’s good ideas.

But maybe because he just got home yesterday, his mom doesn’t say anything about his blinkers. Instead she starts in on the sappy stuff that always makes Tyler cave in to her good ideas. “They don’t seem to have a mother and they’re just cooped up in that trailer. It’d be really nice if you maybe just popped in and made them feel welcome.”

But Tyler has to admit that watching the stars by himself makes him miss Gramps even more. Especially now that Tyler feels so confused about how his parents are maybe breaking the law. He can’t talk to Mom, who would just lecture about freedom and justice and liberty for all, and Dad would feel bad that he can’t do all the work himself, and Ben is never around anymore, and Sara is a blabbermouth, and Grandma would get upset that Gramps can’t help out because he’s dead. That covers all the adults in his family, and Tyler wouldn’t dare mention what’s going on to anyone who isn’t related. As it is, he thinks the farm is already being watched by Homeland Security.

“It’s ‘La Golondrina,’” Mari explains. “That song I told you about,” she reminds Tyler. “You sing it when you are far away from your homeland and the people you love.” And then she beings to sing and her sisters join in. Tyler doesn’t understand all the Spanish words, something about a swallow looking for something. But for once, not knowing the words doesn’t matter. Just listening to the lonesome tune captures Tyler’s feelings when he is missing Gramps or Ben.

So, this is what the three Marías feel, so far from home! And to think that Tyler has made them feel even more lonesome with his unfriendliness and spying. He wishes he had words that would let them know he is sorry, that they do belong here.

If only those were things Tyler could give her! Instead, that afternoon in the crowded store, Tyler helps his mom pick out a little boxed set of stationery, as Mari is always writing letters, and for Ofie and Luby, a puzzle with puppies and coloring books and crayons. He finds the gifts Mr. Cruz asked for, and from himself, he decides on a package of glow-in-the-dark stars Mari can paste to the ceiling in the trailer. That’ll bring a smile to her face. Christmas tears are just the worst unless they’re the kind that spring to your eyes when you are so touched, your happiness has to borrow from your sadness. As he stands in the checkout line with his mom and Sara, Tyler is amazed how thinking of making Mari happy has lifted the dark cloud that was hanging over his own holiday.

It started when Ofie announced that she was not moving to México. This came up when you were caught and Papá was preparing us for the eventuality that we might be deported.

Papá seemed to be waking up from a long dream that started eight years ago when he and Mamá came to this country. His shoulder slumped as if he were carrying a heavy load.

The very next morning, Ofie asked, “Papá, necesito dinero for my lunch porque hoy sirven grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Papá […] stopped in his tracks. “En espanol,” he reminded her. […]

Ofie folded her arms and stood her ground. “I’m American. I speak English.”

Papá gave her several slow nods. “Bueno, americanita, tendràs que comprar tu almuerzo con tu proprio dinero.”

“That’s not fair,” Ofie cried. […] The little American girl had understood every word of Papá’s Spanish!

Ofie and Luby have spoken with you on the phone, so you probably have noticed how they’re forgetting their Spanish. Sometimes I even have to translate between Papá and them, imagine! Papá gets upset, but we can’t really blame them. All they know is the United Sates, and they spend their days at school or at Grandma’s house, speaking English. Of course, if Mamá were here, it would be different. She always was so proud of México and told us many stories about her life there. Papá works so hard, and when he gets home, all he wants to do is throw himself down on the couch and watch the Spanish channels. It makes him feel happy to be hearing his own language and seeing people who look like us even if they’re only on TV.

They already have a real grandmother back in Mexico […] And yet, all three girls still call Tyler’s grandmother Grandma, and they love visiting her. A lot of times, when Grandma picks up Tyler from work, she brings the girls along. Grandpa, they’ve started calling Mr. Rossetti.

Talk about surprises: Mr. Rossetti with Mexican granddaughters!

“They aren’t Mexican. They were born here, fair and square!” Mr. Rossetti will correct anyone who gets it wrong. No one has corrected him on this point. Ofie and Luby are under strict instructions not to let on that Mari was born in Mexico. For that matter, they’re not supposed to admit that their father and uncle don’t have the permission papers they need to be here legally. “The least said the better,” Mom has instructed Grandma and the girls.

We spent the rest of the time walking around the city. Even Sara didn’t complain or ask to go shopping. But we didn’t see any demonstrators like we had seen on television. The streets were calm and full of people enjoying the beautiful spring weather. Everywhere there were so many flowers, like Nature was celebrating its quinceañera.

At first, Mamá clung to my hand, afraid she’d be picked up. But soon, she, too, relaxed as if she realized this was not just the capital of one country, but the home of everyone who loves freedom.

One of the places we visited was this stone wall engraved with the names of thousands upon thousands of soldiers who fought and died in a war not long ago. The stone was black and shiny, so you could see your reflection as well as the blooming trees and the clouds in the sky.

I meant to do it on Sunday, but my sisters called me down for a special program about swallows on TV. They know swallows are my favorite animal because of the song “La Golondrina.”

I didn’t realize there was so much to know about them! How they fly for days and days, eating and even making babies as they fly, so desperate are they to get where they are going. How they bring good luck to farmers when they nest in their barns (Tyler says his grandfather would never let anyone disturb a swallow’s nest, even when the milk inspector said there was too much of their poop around.) Best of all is how, like my own family, swallows have two homes, one in North America and one in South America.

But before we leave Vermont on Sunday, I want to go by the farm one last time. I want to see it in the early morning when the sun is coming up, how it sits so pretty in the gentle swell of the valley. […] I want to watch the cows, black and white like scrambled puzzle pieces, coming in from the pasture to be milked, the swallows diving in and out of the open doors so fast that it’s hard to follow their every move. And I want to see a boy coming out of the barn, hauling his new show calf that he is going to name Margarita after our hometown in Mexico.

And then, I can leave, yes I can because the place and all the people I’ve grown to love will all be stored inside me and here on your pages dear Diary.

What’s funny, well, not so funny, is that a yar ago, I just wouldn’t have accepted the idea of not living here. It kind of drove me crazy, if you want to know the truth. My parents had to ship me off to my aunt and uncle’s just to get my mind off the worry.

But now, I don’t know. I still think this has to be one of the most beautiful places on earth—like you yourself said. But somehow, though the idea of not farming still makes me real sad, I can accept it a lot better. Maybe losing Gramps helped me practice losing? Or just knowing what you and your family have gone through makes me feel like it could be a lot worse. Also, I guess I’m seeing other sides that might be fun, like having more time for things I love besides farming.

We sat quietly savoring the name like it was a taste in our mouths. Stars and Swallows. Estrellas y Golondrinas.

“In a few weeks, they’ll be back,” Abuelote broke the silence. It took me a second to realize what he was talking about.

“We wait and wait,” Abuelota agreed. “And our hearts are not complete till we see those golondrinas coming back, filling the sky.”

“As numerous as stars,” Abuelito observed.

I knew then how much my grandparents had missed us, how a part of their very own hearts had been missing until now. How we were the ones they had been waiting for.

We all grew quiet again, looking up, feeling the specialness of this night before we would fly apart.

Tu amiga, para siempre and forever, too,
Mari