by Carol Weston
“A marble?” I made a face. It's not as if I yearn for a marble every time I reach in my pocket. Maybe Matt does. Or Michelangelo did?
“Okay, forget the marble metaphor,” Mom said. “You know what the Spanish say?” I shook my head. “No te pueden quitar lo bailado” (No Tay Pway Den Key Tar Low Bye La Dough).
“Which means—?”
“Literally: ‘If you've gone dancing, no one can take that away from you,'“ Mom said. “But loosely: ‘You can't take away someone's happy memories.'“ I was petting Hedgehog, and Mom added, “You know Comey, my old stuffed animal?”
“The black cat with the green eyes. On my bookshelf.” Poor Comey is so so so old that even if you pet her gently, she sheds more than a real cat.
“I don't cuddle Comey anymore,” Mom said, “but I like knowing she's there.”
“I'll always know where Hedgehog is, even when I'm a grown-up.”
“We'll take good care of her,” Mom agreed.
“But what do you mean? That you like knowing Antonio is there?”
“Maybe,” Mom confessed. “But what's important isn't even so much the Antonio of today, who is in Spain, but the Antonio of years ago. That one is safe and sound within me, like my grandparents and my childhood friends and my college roommates and little oP Comey. They're part of the person I became, just as this trip is part of who you are—and of who you are becoming.” Mom sat up a little straighter as if she suddenly remembered I was her daughter, not some student or grown-up friend. “Melanie, I'm glad I dated Antonio, but I'm glad I married Daddy. What I have with Antonio are memories. You know what I have with your daddy?”
“What?”
“Something much better! Not only do Daddy and I have memories, we have the here and now—and we also have two lovely children.”
“I wouldn't exactly call Matt the Brat a lovely child.”
“Well, I wouldn't trade Matt or Daddy or you for anything or anyone in the world.”
“The Old World or the New World?”
“Either,” Mom said. “Daddy is the love of my life— he's the one I'm spending my life with.”
“What about us?”
“You too! You better believe it!” Mom stood up and got out her airline toothbrush. “And now, young lady, are you ready to go to sleep?”
“Almost almost,” I said, “but I still have to write in my diary.”
And now, whew, I have!
March 29 morning
Dear Diary,
This time we really are heading home.
Out the window I saw green mountains, brown valleys, and plains polka-dotted with trees. Now all I can see is water water water.
Mom said it's okay that we'll be jet-lagged because we'll feel like going to bed early and waking up early, and that will help us get back on school schedule.
Dad said he can't believe we scored four round-trip international tickets.
“Let's go on another trip this summer!” Matt said.
“Spain again?” I suggested. My brain keeps going over the airport adios. I even like how Spaniards do the adws aaos aaos fade-out thing on the phone because it seems gentler than a regular goodbye.
“What do you think, Marc?” Mom asked. “The kids really enjoyed this trip, and it's been great for Mel's Spanish. Next time we could fly to a beach or to Salamanca or Santiago de Compostela—”
“Not Spain again,” Dad said. “I just look loco, Me Ron Dah.”
“How about London? Or Paris?” I said.
“Maybe,” Mom said. “Or as the French say, peut-etre” (PutTetTra).
Dad leaned over and kissed Mom. “You are such a show-off,” he teased in the proudest way.
“When do we get home?” Matt asked. “I can't wait to see DogDog.”
“Just DogDog?” I said. “What about Lily?”
“Her too,” Matt admitted with a dopey smile.
Matt's lucky. So am I. Here's what I believe: My heart does not have corners—it's a great big mosaic. And one of its little pieces will always be a Miguel piece. Maybe more than one!
Even though I don't know when I'll see Miguel again, I like knowing where I can find him: in Spain and in my memory and in my heart.
I also like that my first kiss was with him.
Dad just told me to drink my milk. I said, “How come you don't have to drink your milk?” He said he's grown, but I'm growing.
Which must be true. (Either that or my closet shrinks my clothes.)
Growing up is okay. But it's weird to be aware of yourself doing it.
Sometimes I think I'm just now starting to figure out life. It's not bulls versus bullies, or good news versus bad news, or true love versus false love, or kids versus adults. It's way more complicated, which, I guess, keeps everything interesting.
Too bad there's no Grandpa Guy to personally explain it all! But even if there were, I would still want to think for myself.
I hope I can keep learning to enjoy things more and worry about them less. I'm trying—but I'm worried it won't be easy!
Wow. I can't believe I'm almost at the end of this new diary. When we get home, I'll put it on my shelf next to my Italy and Holland diaries.
It's strange: I like writing because I like to describe the world from my own point of view. I like reading for the opposite reason—I like to see the world from someone else's point of view.
As for this diary, I bet I'll take it down from time to time, just to reread certain pages.…
I am now going to close my eyes and imagine getting an e-mail. An e-mail that's funny and sweet and has a mistake or two. An e-mail that might be signed: With Love from Spain, Miguel Ramon.
to:
My beloved family, or familia (Fa Meal E Ah), especially Emme, Elizabeth, and Robert Ackerman; Marybeth, Mark, and David Weston; the Squam Lake cousins; and Madathilde Reategui. They do funny things I get to write about, and diey critique my books before they're fully baked.
My friends, or amigos (Ah Me Goes), who ask questions, read early drafts, and usually laugh at all the right places: the Wilcox family, Maureen and Arianna Davison, the Gidumals, David Nickoll, and (it's a tradition) Olivia Westbrook-Gold.
The Spaniards who have made such a difference: Juan, Mari Carmen, Miriam, Pipo, Gloria, Andreu, Teresa, Roger, Ana, Maru, and Javier Munoz-Basols.
The remarkable Knopf team, starring Michelle Frey, Sarah Hokanson, Joan Slattery, Kadiy Dunn, Michele Burke, Colleen Fellingham, and Marci Rodi.
The wonderful Curtis Brown crew, especially Laura Peterson, Kelly Going, Dave Barbor, and Ed Wintle.
Star students Christina Chinloy, Sophie Raseman, Mathilda McGee-Tubb, Stephanie Jenkins, Louisa Strauss, Nina Rose, and all die great kids I've met in classrooms everywhere.
Published by
Dell Yearling
an imprint of
Random House Children's Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York
Copyright © 2004 by Carol Weston
Art on p. 108 copyright © 2004 Estate of Pablo Picasso/Artists' Rights Society, ARS, New York.
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eISBN: 978-0-307-49329-3
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