Lima (Parte 2)

"Come with me to the grocery stand, ya? C'mon, c'mon! let's go!" Carmen whispered and demanded as she entered my room, interrupting my Barbie and Ken kiss by pulling me off the floor.

I loved to spend time with her and listen to her outer space stories:

"We finally built a ceiling for my room," she said proudly as I tied my shoes,

"How cool!" I said smiling back while reaching for her hand.

Pretending to be familiar with her particular happiness was not a hard task for seven-year-old me; I had been taught to fear slipping impertinent comments out of my mouth at a very young age.

"Hurry up!" she said, going down the stairs.

My sisters were not home yet. I took my older sister's bicycle hoping she wouldn't find out. I thought her colorful and shiny bike was the coolest thing around - I would probably look just like my sister riding it.

Carmen helped me get on the bike: "Look Nati!" - she whispered as she pointed someone out - "That maid is such a flirt! Every time I see her she's all giggles with a different guard." I looked in awe: trying to figure out what a flirt was turned out to be easy.

"Look Mamen!" - I said - "There's Julio, the car washer you said is a 'pain in the - "

"Shhhh! - she interrupted with her contagious laughter - don't ever repeat the things I tell you!"

"Do you want chocolate?" she said with a suspicious smile.

"Yes!" I begged.

"Ok, but don't tell your mom we spent her money on that," she cautioned.

After using my mother's money to sinfully buy a chocolate bar for myself and multiple snacks for her at a nearby bodega, we continued our journey to the market.

The grocery stand was busy. I was staring at the customers surrounding it; maybe they thought I was cool for riding that bike.

My maid kept looking back to check on me. "Stick by me," she advised. "Give me two kilos of potatoes," - she commanded as I got off my sister's bicycle and stood next to it.

"My bike!" I screamed.

I took off running after a man in a light blue shirt with blue prints who had dared to jump onto my sister's bicycle and pedal away. I couldn't think of anything scarier than my sister's reaction when finding her bicycle missing.

"Nati NO!" Carmen yelled in desperation as I held on to the bicycle's back seat.

"It is MY bike!" I told the thief without regretting the lie as he dragged me down the street.

"Fuck, let go!" the thief said pedaling with difficulty as he turned his head back to look at me.

"No I won't, it's my bike, not yours!" I claimed, holding on to the back seat as tight as I could.

I remember hearing the women at the grocery stand murmuring and Carmen crying my name along with the screeching of my light-up sneakers burning against the sidewalk.

After what seemed to be a very long 3-block ride, I saw a police officer one block ahead.

"You know what, here is your bike," the thief said, and in a split second he faded off the face of earth.

I got on my bicycle and pedaled back to where Carmen was. I could tell from afar that she was crying, waiting for me with open arms and heart as I came back alive.

"What's wrong?" - I asked - "I got my bike back! There’s no reason to cry."

It was a silent walk back home. I could not understand why she was still crying. "It's ok! Really!" I said nervously trying to console her. I remember the sadness I felt at the time, but it all turned into laughter when I got back home to my whole family and told them about my heroic deed.

We were all gathered to celebrate my aunt’s birthday: my grandfather, a story-teller, loving, passionate, and smart; my grandmother, very caring, giving, realistic, strong, and stubborn: everything must be done her way; my unconventional uncle Felipe, whose dark humor revealed that he never met anything sacred, something that pissed off most of the adults in my family for not being able to talk to him about serious matters but that secretly cheered everyone up during stressful times. His daughter Begoña, ten years older than I, an artist, very real and humble, smiling her way through life; she would soon leave Perú to pursue her career in México; his son Felipe, four years older than I, handsome, very deep and honest; and his daughter Tara, my age, with whom I always had fun doing everything and anything: building forts, pretending to be ninjas or soccer players…thinking we could fly; my uncle Miguel, a lawyer and a martial arts master whose favorite game is to twist your wrist until you cry. He brought a cake especially designed for us that said “Go to hell!” which basically sums up his attitude towards life, but we all thought it was really funny because we knew he didn’t mean it…well, sort of. His sons Gabriel, my age, and Sebastian, five years younger, both very smart, funny, and ambitious.

My very fun aunt Monica, a pre-school teacher, and her daughters Valeria, my age, and Pamela, six years younger, who I consider more than an aunt and cousins for having shared many tears and smiles. My aunt Veronica, the artist, a very lively woman much in touch with spirituality who pays great attention to detail; and her daughter Stephanie, my age, born in the United States but very fond of her roots, one of the kindest persons I know; my aunt Sandra, the youngest, very generous, fun, and a big fan of caffeine. Let’s not forget about the most important one of all: my mother, sarcastic, giving, caring, helpful, and loving; my sister Andrea, six years older than I, my friend and support, very capable and strong; and my sister Alejandra, three and a half years older than I, a sweet friend, understanding, patient, giving, sensible, and a little OCD.

This is my family: two grandparents, two older sisters, eight cousins, two uncles, and three aunts. My family gatherings feel like a contest where my grandparents are the judges: whoever speaks louder wins, everyone wants to be heard. There are no boundaries, it’s like we are all the same age, but we treat each other with love and therefore, with respect. I would much rather spend time with them than with my friends, I have never seen a family like mine, it’s wonderful, and today I am leaving them behind.