Everything Within and In Between

by Nikki Barthelmess

  My words come out softly. “Right, but other than me being your granddaughter, like objectively, is Brittany more important than me? Does she matter more?”

  Grandma cocks her head, like she’s confused. “Why are you saying such ridiculous things?”

  I push harder. “Is Brittany a better student? A better kid?” I tamp down my anger at my grandpa’s family who I’ll never know. “Prettier?

  “Ri, why would you—” Grandma stops abruptly. “Oh, I see.”

  “Brittany’s skin is lighter than mine. Does that make her better than me?”

  Grandma’s eyes water. “No one is better than you, baby. No one.”

  Tears fall down Grandma’s cheeks. I wipe my own eyes. I never knew my grandma was rejected and treated badly, for something that wasn’t her fault, by our own people. It’s not fair.

  “You are right.” Grandma looks down at her dark hands on the table. “There is nothing wrong with your skin.”

  We are both quiet as I watch Grandma stare intently at her hands. Her lower lip trembles. “Just like there is nothing wrong with mine.”

  I hesitate because I know this is difficult for Grandma. And I don’t want to push her when I finally have a chance to know why all I have left of Mom is her empty apartment. But this moment feels so big, and I can’t let it end here. We have a chance to make things better. “You had all these experiences I never knew of, and I’ve been oblivious to you being judged and treated badly, but that’s not a reason to do everything you’ve done, to keep me away from my heritage.”

  Grandma sucks in a breath quickly.

  “You wanted me around Brittany, and I love Brittany, I really do. But you made me feel like she was better than Nina, better than me, because she’s white.” My words come out faster. “It made me so confused. It made me feel like I wasn’t good enough, like I’d never truly be good enough, exactly as I am, everything within and in between.”

  Grandma’s shoulders slump and I hate that what I’m saying is hurting her, but she needs to know. She needs to finally see.

  “Learning Spanish made me feel closer to Mom, yeah, but that’s not all our culture means to me.” I lean closer to my Grandma and stare at her intently. “It’s who I am, where my family is from, and it makes me feel like I’m a part of something. I want to do things like celebrate Día de la Independencia by cooking up a storm of our favorite food and honor Grandpa’s memory on Día de los Muertos. I want to learn Spanish, but I also want to do things like that, and I want to do them with you. But if you won’t, then you shouldn’t try to stop me.”

  I exhale, let go of so much. So much that has been holding me back. Holding us back.

  Grandma tilts her head at me, and she blinks a couple of times. Finally, she nods. “I’m so sorry, Ri. I’m so sorry that I haven’t listened. That I’ve made you feel so alone. That I’ve made you feel that you’re not good enough, not perfect, just as you are. There is no excuse.”

  My eyebrows shoot to the top of my head. Grandma may have apologized for keeping me from Mom but this I didn’t expect. We stare at each other quietly, and Grandma takes a tissue out of her pocket, handing it to me. I dab at my eyes.

  “From now on, I will share with you whatever you want to know about my life back in Mexico.”

  Grandma gives me a small smile. “And we can work on your Spanish together. Would you like that? I think I would.”

  My mouth falls open and I stare at her in disbelief. Grandma nods, affirming what she just said.

  Grandma tilts her head and stares at me for a moment. “I am lucky to have such a wonderful granddaughter. I wish Grandpa were here to see what a special young woman you’ve become.”

  I smile at her, really smile. For a moment, I’m happy. This is what I’ve wanted so badly. But then I remember Mom and everything that brought this on. I slump back in my seat.

  I look down at the picture of my family; it hasn’t left my hand. “Do you think you’re still up for telling me more about you and Grandpa . . . and Mom?” I tentatively ask, hoping that she’ll say yes.

  “Of course, baby,” she lifts her chin. “What your grandfather and I had was special. I never knew love, not really, until I met him. My parents were always busy with my brothers—they didn’t seem to have time for a daughter. And part of me wondered if I was prettier—” Grandma stops herself. “But after we fell in love, your grandfather and I married in a small ceremony, rented a tiny apartment, and worked very hard to save all we could as we started the process to get our green cards in America.”

  I stare at the picture. Grandma must have been devastated after Grandpa died. She loved him so much.

  “Your grandfather had an aunt and uncle who lived in California. They were not like the rest of his family; they were kind to me. His uncle died before your mother was born and his aunt died when your mom was very young, but they helped us with the process. Soon after we moved to California, we learned we were going to be parents.” Grandma’s eyes water as she smiles. “I’d never been happier in my life.”

  Grandma flips through the pictures until she lands on one that makes her laugh. Her smile is so big, I peek over to see what she’s looking at. A picture of a toddler with black pigtails, sitting on a bicycle with training wheels and a pink bow on the handlebars.

  “Your mother loved this bike.” Grandma hands me the picture. “Grandpa and I saved and saved to get it for her for Christmas that year. Back then we couldn’t get a job that could even cover all our bills.”

  Grandma smiles, pride lighting up her face. “But your grandpa took night classes to learn English, and then picked up extra work, after he quit his job picking strawberries in the fields. Even after he started working as a janitor, he continued to put together furniture with some of his friends. They would stand outside the stores and wait until someone would pick them up from the parking lots to hire them for furniture assembly or yard work. I’ve told you about that, yes?”

  Only vaguely, but I nod.

  “We worked so hard back then. He always did.” Grandma heaves a deep sigh as she flips through more pictures before landing on one of Mom, where she looked around fourteen or so.

  “That is why it was so difficult, for your grandfather especially, when your mother started to act out. He had sacrificed so much for our family. Once we married, his parents cut him off financially and mostly stopped speaking to him. And when we arrived here, we endured how so many people in this country thought they were better than us. Though it wasn’t the same as it was for me in Mexico, in a way, I was used to it. Your grandfather was not.

  “Slowly, all we wanted was to be seen as ‘American’—like we belonged here just as much as everyone else—so we pushed our past behind us. Now, I see how what Grandpa and I did must have hurt your mom like it hurt you. Though when she was a teenager, she always seemed like she knew exactly who she was.”

  Grandma hands me another photo. My mom is wearing a low-cut shirt and tight jeans. She’s got several silver bracelets on each wrist and a look of defiance on her smirking face.

  “After your grandfather passed, I see that I became even more set on becoming what I considered to be ‘American.’ I am not defending my actions, only explaining them to you. I stopped talking to people in our neighborhood as much, like you pointed out, and I switched churches.” Grandma frowns, looking down. “It felt like it was what your grandfather would have wanted. I had lost so much already and so I held on to our dream even more tightly.”

  I gnaw on my lip, holding back the emotion as I stare at Mom’s picture. If I focus on who my mom was then, maybe I won’t have to think about who she is now. “What was she like?”

  Grandma closes her eyes. “Oh, she was smart, so smart that she always had a retort when someone gave her a hard time.” Grandma smiles sadly. “She was sweet. If I was having a bad day, she’d pull me in a big hug, kiss me on the cheek, and tell me she loved me so much.”

  I wrap my arms around myself. Hearing Grandma talk abou
t Mom this way hurts. It hurts because I can see my grandma’s pain in her pinched expression. Grandma opens her eyes.

  “She got into trouble with her friends. First, she was thrown out of places for being too rowdy. I thought she was just being a teenager. A regular rebellious teenager.” Grandma looks at me. “That’s what I told your grandfather. It wasn’t your mother’s fault or concern that we had given up so much to be here with her. She wanted to be like her friends—to go to the movies and stay out late. She didn’t want a lecture every night about how she was throwing her life away. She just wanted to have fun.”

  My mouth parts. Grandma, saying all those things? I can hardly imagine it.

  “I know, I know what you’re thinking. Your grandfather and I argued so much about your mother, me telling him to go easier on her. But their fights were worse. He would scream at her, and she would scream back telling him she hated him. There were times when they wouldn’t speak for days. This house often felt like a war zone.”

  Grandma looks at me pointedly. “Sound familiar?”

  “So, what changed then?”

  “Your mom got in with the wrong crowd. Once it was clear she wouldn’t stop drinking on her own, we scrounged every penny, swallowed our pride and even accepted money from some friends from church, and sent her to rehab. She came out of the program saying she’d learned so much. Promising she’d stay sober. But it didn’t last. When we found the empty bottles in her closet, your grandfather screamed and screamed. He told your mom what a disappointment she was, and she ran away. When she eventually came home, I was afraid we’d lose her to foster care if things went back to how they were before. Or worse, that she’d run again and never come back. Every time your grandfather was tough on your mom, I comforted her, tried to give her a break.”

  Grandma pulls the memory box toward her, leaving her hands on the metal as she says, “But Marisol got worse and worse. She dated older men who were nothing but trouble. She fought other girls while drunk in public. When she got pregnant at only seventeen, I believed she’d turn her life around. For you. The nine months you were in her belly was the longest time I had seen her sober, and I hoped she would be able to keep going after you were born. But your mom . . .” Grandma looks down at the box.

  “She couldn’t.”

  Grandma nods solemnly. “I used to disagree with your grandfather about keeping your mom away. She’s my daughter, and I thought she needed help. But every time I tried, she’d lie.”

  I imagine a younger Grandma spending her nights worrying about Mom. Wondering where she was. What would happen to her.

  Grandma’s chin quivers and her voice comes out forceful, like she’s trying to be strong. “Let me tell you one thing, Ri. Some people say addiction is a disease that the person can’t help, and others say it’s just someone who isn’t strong or smart enough to make the right choices. I used to think, your grandpa thought, it was the weak person. It was a stupid person who would choose to wreck their body, who would risk everything to chase a feeling that would not last.”

  Guilt twists my insides up, my secret eats at me. Hearing Grandma say all this about alcohol, I can only imagine what she’d say if she knew I’ve tried cocaine.

  Grandma’s eyes well. “I don’t know that I believe that anymore. Maybe it is both, bad choices and a disease. But I have to believe we have some say in the matter. We always have a choice, even if it’s a hard one. Even sometimes when choosing right seems impossible.”

  I blink several times. I liked coke so much after trying it just once. Maybe I don’t feel like I need it, but it could only be a matter of time. Maybe you never truly know what you’re predisposed to until it’s too late. And now that I know addiction runs in my family, the stakes seem even higher.

  After seeing the truth of Mom with my own eyes, I know that I can’t do what she did. I won’t hurt people I care about like she has. I’ll have to stay away from cocaine, completely, and watch my drinking habits to be safe. Still, I keep my mouth closed.

  Grandma’s face twists as she remembers. “We’d struggled for years with her. We’d tried everything, but already we were seeing how her choices were hurting you. Eventually, your grandpa was convinced your mom wouldn’t change unless we gave her an ultimatum. He told her to leave you with us, for her own good. And yours. He told her to only come back when she was sober.”

  Grandma sniffs. “It broke my heart to send her away, but we hoped she would get her life together for you. Once your grandpa knew he was going to die, he made me promise I’d honor his memory by keeping you safe, and that meant keeping you away from your mother. He said we, you and me, would be all we had now.”

  Grandma closes her eyes, her voice guttural. “I couldn’t lose you too.”

  Every fight I’ve ever had with Grandma about my future and what I need to do to achieve it—college, grades, extracurriculars—seems different to me now. She thought she went too easy on my mom and look what happened to her. Grandma didn’t want the same thing to happen to me.

  “I made a lot of mistakes, Ri,” she says, “with you.”

  My throat constricts. I’m getting the apologies, the truth, and everything I’ve ever wanted from Grandma. But she doesn’t know what I’ve done. No matter how hard fessing up will be, I won’t keep this a secret any longer.

  “I’ve been lying to you about more than just Mom.” I say quickly, before I lose my nerve. “I’ve been lost. I was lying, not only to you, but to myself too. I’ve been trying so hard to figure out who I am, and I just wanted to feel okay in my own skin for once. To have fun. To feel free.” I stop because even though all of these things are true, I don’t want to make excuses. “I tried cocaine at a party recently.”

  At the word cocaine, Grandma’s head whips up, her eyes wide with shock.

  I rush to keep talking. “I thought it wasn’t a big deal. I thought it was just me having fun. But after seeing Mom, after hearing all her excuses, all her lies . . .” I’m unable to finish the thought.

  Grandma stares up at the ceiling for a few beats, and then she lowers her face slowly to meet my eye. I will never, for as long as I live, forget the way she looks at me.

  Grandma’s eyes are wild with pain. Her lips tremble. “Drugs? Drugs, Ri? How could you be so . . .” Grandma heaves, tears finally falling from her eyes and sliding down her cheeks. She looks toward the hall. She can’t even look at me.

  I inhale so fast it hurts.

  I knew telling Grandma would be hard. I knew she’d be crushed. But I had no idea how much seeing how I’ve hurt her would hurt me.

  “I’m so sorry, Grandma,” I croak. “Please. Please. I’m so sorry.”

  Grandma stands and turns her back toward me. She starts toward the hall.

  A sob crashes out of me. “Don’t, Grandma. Don’t shut me out. Please don’t . . .” I choke on my tears.

  Grandma whips around and rushes toward me. She sits back down beside me and takes my hands into hers.

  “You can’t become like her, baby.” She holds my hands so tight it hurts. “You can’t . . . you can’t throw everything away. What I’ve worked for—” Grandma stops abruptly. “No, not what I’ve worked for. Who you are. Our family. You are all I have.”

  I flinch as Grandma’s hold on my hands tightens even more. Her grip loosens and her voice softens. “We are all we have. And I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you, like I lost your mother.”

  I launch myself into her arms. “Can you forgive me, Grandma?” I ask, my voice coming out as small as I feel.

  Grandma holds my shaking body and caresses my hair. “Of course, baby.” She pulls away from me and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Of course, I will forgive you, so long as you never, ever, so long as you live, touch drugs again.”

  I nod, over and over. “Never again.”

  “Good. And I think, I should be asking for forgiveness too. I tried to do everything right.” Grandma sighs. “I was terrified of you becoming your mother, but what I didn�
��t see is that I pushed you away like your grandfather and I pushed her away. I made our sacrifices the reason for everything, rather than seeing you for who you are. I didn’t listen. Not just about your mom and everything you wanted to learn from me. I have tried to force you to do things my way, when I can see now how much that has been hurting you.”

  I wipe my face and take a deep breath, exhausted from all the feeling, the pain, and the relief. Grandma sits up straighter “I see now. I see what my interfering in your life has cost you, and I’m so sorry. You choose your friends, as long as they don’t do drugs. You do have to go to university,” Grandma smiles wryly at that, “no exception. But maybe you choose where, and what you want to study. That should be your choice too.”

  I sit up, almost afraid to believe, and nod vigorously. “Agreed.”

  “Good.” Grandma leans over and wraps me in another hug. So much has passed between us—frustration, anger, lies, and betrayal. But here, at our table in our home, the place where she and I tore everything down but have begun to build it back up, I have hope. Hope that we can make our relationship better. Hope that she and I can see who each other are for real and love one another even more for it. Minutes pass by as she holds me and I listen to the comforting sounds of her heartbeat, strong and steady.

  I’m not sure how much time has passed, but my stomach interrupts with a loud grumble.

  Grandma laughs, “I think that is a sign that I should get dinner started. Why don’t I make your favorite? It’s been that kind of day.”

  I lean my arms back on the table after she leaves our embrace. Grandma reaches over to close the memory box.

  “Wait.” I look down at the photo of my young mom for another moment before stacking it on top of the ones of my grandparents and her as a baby. I slide them back to Grandma but keep close the one of her pregnant with me. “I think you should hold on to these two, for now. But can I keep this one?

  Grandma nods. “Of course, baby.”

  She puts the other two photos inside the box and closes it. But I don’t want that to be the end of this conversation.