Return to Sender

“Tiger, honey, I know it’s not easy. But sometimes in life…”

Any sentence Mom started with the words sometimes in life was not going to end in good news. “…we have to accept things that we can’t change.” She looked thoughtful, even a little sad. “But what we do with what we get makes us who we are.” It sounded like a riddle. Like something Reverend Hollister might say in a sermon.

“But it’d be like Gramps dying all over again!” Tyler was crying, even though he didn’t want to cry. Gramps’s ashes were scattered up in the garden by the old house Grandma still lived in. How could they leave him behind? And what about Grandma? Where would she go?

“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.

“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.”

I love what one of the presidents before you, Mr. Abraham Lincoln, said: “United we stand, divided we fall.”

Mr. B. explained that this statement is now true for our whole world. He is always teaching us about saving the planet. We are all connected, he says, like an intricate spiderweb. If we dirty the air here in the United States, it will eventually blow over to Canada and maybe kill a bunch of people there. If some factory poisons a river in Mexico, it will flow into Texas and people will die there.

I even thought of my own example! Those swallows that Tyler says fly to Mexico for the fall and winter. Just a week ago, they all left. Suddenly, the backyard was so quiet. I miss them so, and I worry that something might happen to them on the way to Mexico.

“Are you my friend?” I asked in a trembly voice that was the opposite of brave and bold.

Tyler just shrugged, which I knew meant he wasn’t sure anymore. […] “It’s because of what the boys said on the bus, right?” […]

It took him a moment to look up. In his blue eyes I saw little pieces of the beautiful blue summer sky that was now gone until next year. “Just tell me one thing, okay? DO you have the documents my dad said Mexicans have to have to work here?”

Mr. President, I could not tell a lie, just like another of the presidents who went before you, Mr. George Washington, after he cut down the cherry tree. I told Tyler the truth.

[…] “I know it’s not your fault, Mari,” he [said…, “but] I’d rather lose the farm than not be loyal to my country.”

It still hurts not to have Gramps around. Everything on the farm […] feels doubly empty without him. But no one, except Grandma, wants to talk about missing Gramps. The best way to get over his grandfather’s death is not to dwell on it, Tyler’s mother told him.

But Tyler doesn’t want to get over Gramps’s death. Forgetting about his death means also forgetting about his life, and then Gramps would really be dead. On the other hand, Tyler doesn’t want to upset Grandma, and at any little mention of Gramps, she melts into tears. There’s got to be a happier way to stay in touch with Gramps. And the stars are the closest Tyler has come, even though they are millions of light-years away.

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.

[Tyler’s] parents return, long-faced from the confrontation at Grandma’s house. Grandma has told her children that if they try to move her out of her house, she’ll run away, which is kind of funny, Grandma running away from home to protest being forced to leave her home.

Except that it’s not funny, Tyler thinks, wishing he could travel to another galaxy. He’d pick a planet with lots of farms and no borders or bullies bossing you around. His grandmother has told him that’s what heaven is like. But Tyler doesn’t want to have to die to go there, although it might be nice to join his grandfather and get to eavesdrop on the rest of the family plotting and planning on the earth below—without getting in trouble with his mother.

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.

Up in the front seat, his parents are complaining about some old guy who always writes letters to the editor. This time his letter was about how a church group shouldn’t be allowed to peddle their refreshments at town meeting, as this country believes in separation of church and state “Grandma sure found her way around that one!” Mom is saying.

Tyler’s grandma and her friends agreed not to put up any sign that they were from the church. But in the icing of her sheet cake, Grandma traced a church, then stuck a little American flag atop the steeple.

Just a few weeks back, Mari told him how her uncle Felipe was a kind of hero to her family. “He ran away from the farm so as not to lead the police to the rest of us,” she explained. But doesn’t that make him a fugitive, not a hero? According to Mari, Felipe is back in Las Margaritas, but already planning to return to keep helping Abuelote and Abuelota and the whole family. Tyler can’t help feeling glad at the thought that his favorite of the three workers might be coming back, even though he knows full well that Felipe doesn’t have a legal right to be in this country.

“It’s treason’s what it is!” An old man’s angry voice breaks into Tyler’s thoughts.

Mr. Rossetti’s motion is voted down almost unanimously. For the first time ever, Tyler feels he has been part of the making of history. Not because he carried the flag and led everyone in saying the Pledge of Allegiance, but because he has seen democracy in action. People speaking up and reminding each other of the most noble and generous principles that are the foundation of being an American as well as a good person. Mr. Bicknell summed it up best: “We’re all born human beings. But we have to earn that e at the end of human with our action so we can truly call ourselves humane beings.”

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.

Cargo?! Tyler can’t believe a human being would think of another human being that way! But he knows what Mari means about the demonstrations. It’s all over the news. In cities around the country, there have been big marches by people in favor of changing the laws to help immigrants. Just in Los Angelos, thousands upon thousands of people took to the street. Then, a week before Tyler’s 4-H club is supposed to go on its trip, there’s a national strike. People who support immigrants are asked to stay home from work. In D.C. there’s a huge protest march. The camera sweeps over the crowd waving American and Mexican flags and chanting “¡Sí, se puede!” which Tyler proudly translates for his family. Yes, we can! Yes, we can!

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.

Mari is someone he can talk to about stuff he can’t even talk to Grandma or Mr. Rossetti about. Growing-up stuff like how what used to seem simple is suddenly much more complicated. His mom has told him that being an adult is about navigating your way through choices and challenges using the North Star of your heart and conscience.

“But you’re not alone, Tiger, honey,” Mom has told him. […] “Your family, your parents, your teachers, we’re all here to help and guide you, mostly by example.”

That’s the problem. The examples his parents are giving him are sometimes confusing and contradictory. Like how you can be a patriot and break the law. Or how you can say no eavesdropping, then listen at Sara’s door to make sure she hasn’t snuck in her new boyfriend, Mateo, a Spanish exchange student.

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