Piecing Me Together(52)

Mr. Flores calls out to us that it’s time to go on to the next activity. He walks past our desks to collect the cards. He looks at us, like he knows we weren’t doing the assignment. Like he knows we really needed to talk about something else.





71


redimir

to redeem

At the end of Spanish class Mr. Flores asks if I can stay and talk with him. He makes small talk with me while everyone gathers their things and leaves the classroom. “Well, I have to say, I’m very proud of you for what you’re doing for Natasha Ramsey,” Mr. Flores says. “I’ll be there for sure. And I’m giving extra credit to students who go. I’ll announce that tomorrow,” he tells me. “The art department is also encouraging students to go.”

“Thanks.”

Mr. Flores closes the door once everyone is out of the room. “I wanted to talk to you about the study abroad program,” he says. “I’ve really been thinking about what you said. And I wanted to let you know I am so sorry I overlooked you.”

It feels strange hearing these words from a teacher.

“I wanted to let you know I spoke with Mrs. Parker and shared your concerns. I told her I agreed with you. I also asked if I could secure you a spot for next year, and she said yes.”

“Wait. Really? She said yes?” I want him to repeat it. Just to make sure I heard him right.

“Really,” Mr. Flores says. “And so, as long as you continue to meet the requirements, you have a guaranteed spot for next spring.”

“Thank you, Mr. Flores. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. You did this.”





72


perdón

forgiveness

How I Know Sam Is My Friend We ride the bus to and from school together.

When Mr. Flores tells us to choose a partner, he says we can’t be partners because we’re together all the time.

When something is funny, we laugh loud and long even if that means we’re the only ones laughing.

When something is sad, we don’t hide our tears from each other.

When we misunderstand each other, we listen again. And again.





73


microfono abierto

open mic

Mom comes home. She sees me sitting with Lee Lee and Sam at the table. Her smile can barely be contained on her face. I look at her, begging her to leave, not to embarrass me. She disappears into her room.

The three of us keep planning.

E.J. is going to deejay at the event while people file in and in between each performance. Mia is in charge of any donations made or art purchased. Maxine said she’d help out with that. Mia and Maxine also took over promotion for the event, and all of us have been passing out flyers at Northside and St. Francis. We took flyers to the Native American Youth and Family Center, too. Josiah agreed to set up a live stream of the open mic for people who can’t come. He has a few people from St. Francis coming to live tweet during the show. Sam is our greeter. She’ll make sure guests have programs and direct them to the art exhibit.

“Are we forgetting anything?” I ask.

“What about people who aren’t performing a poem or showcasing their art?” Sam asks. “I know that being in the audience is participating, but I don’t know. Maybe we can think of something for people like me to do.”

“What if we have poems printed out that people can read if they want?” I ask.

Lee Lee pulls out a folder from her book bag. “Yeah, people can choose from any of these. Mrs. Baker has been giving us poems as examples to use when we write our own.” She flips through the handouts and pulls out a few. “These are some of my favorites,” she says. She hands a stack to Sam.

Sam looks them over. “I’d love to read one of these,” she says. She reads through each poem as Lee Lee cleans off the table and I make lunch. When I set the sandwiches on the table, I ask Sam if she found one. She says, “I think so,” and holds up a poem by Martín Espada. “It’s called ‘How We Could Have Lived or Died This Way,’” she says.

“I love that one,” Lee Lee says.

I ask to see the poem and then read it to myself. “Yeah, this is perfect.”





74


la gente

the people

The gallery is full of family, friends, and community members. Everyone from Woman to Woman is here because Sabrina made this an official monthly outing. I try to get Jasmine and Mercedes to sign up for the open mic, but they are acting shy. Mr. Flores says he’ll read and so does Hannah, who I am surprised to see here. We haven’t talked since that day in the cafeteria. Bailey and Kira choose a poem to read together. And Maxine convinces Gina to do the same. They stand on the side, practicing before the show starts.

I don’t realize how many people are actually here until I stand at the front of the room, which we’ve designated as the stage. From here, I see Dad and Mom, their eyes beaming with pride. I see Andrew, who brought some of his colleagues. Mrs. Parker is here too, with her daughter and son-in-law.

And then Lee Lee grabs my hand and says, “Look.” With her eyes she points to the door. Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey are here. “We can start now,” she says.

“Wait a minute.” I get my camera and take a photo of the crowd. This one, I will not rip or reconfigure. This one, I will leave whole.