Wallpapers

Wallpapers
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It looked like a colorful ripple in pond water that was frozen in time. I remember my eyes gazed at the wallpaper that was less then a foot away as I lie in bed. I reached out and touched it. The rippled texture was rough on my fingertips as it took me to a place of peace and serenity; it is funny how a textured, pastel-colored, flower wallpaper can distract one from their problems in life. Each stroke that the painter made with his brush could be distinguished —the direction, length of stroke, and size of brush used.  At that point my door opened.

“Ay, Mija. Were you asleep already?” my mother whispered as she slowly opened my bedroom door.

“No, Mom. You can come in. I was just laying here under the covers. What are you doing? Are you going to go to sleep already too?”

“Well, I was trying too but it is so hard for me to fall asleep here. I guess I would just like  some company. Do you realize this is the first time in thirty years that I’ve been on a trip without your father? I miss my big bear!” said my mother with a small and light giggle that faded away showing the seriousness of her feelings.

I could tell my mother was frightened; not just for me, but for lots of other reasons. It was a large two-story house and every questionable noise made her jumpy. My roommates had not yet returned from Christmas Vacation so my mother and I had the house all to ourselves. I did not like the house. I agreed to move in there merely because I was the minority of voting decision not to move there, but I never felt safe or at home.

“You can sleep with me tonight if you want Mom. It is ok. I lock my door at night so that way both of us will be locked in together. Nothing will happen. All of the little noises you hear are just the neighbors. That is one of the things I don’t like about the house down here. They are like apartments with no space or yards between them. I miss living in the United States.”

“No, Mija. I don’t want to bother you. You need your rest. I’ll just sleep in the other room. I don’t…”

I quickly interrupted her motherly sincerity. “Mom, just sleep here. I like to sleep against the wall, and there is plenty of space because I don’t move at night when I sleep. It’s ok. Don’t worry.” She smiled and agreed. She locked the door as I moved over to give her more space so that she could sleep comfortably.

It was about eleven o’ clock at night as the two of us laid in bed in the dark. I found myself once again rubbing my thumb up and down on the wallpaper as I tried to utilize its calming effect it had on me earlier.

“Mija?”, my mother said softly in a clam voice with her back against mine.

“Yes, Mom, what is it?” I replied thinking she needed a glass of water or something.

“Mija, I admire you. I just wanted to let you know that. You are such a strong person. I never would have been able to do what you did, much less all alone in a different country. This is the first time that I have traveled with out your father and I am so nervous and scared. I am the one who is here supposed to be taking care of you. Instead, here you are taking care of your own mother. Don’t you worry, everything will be ok. I just wanted to tell you that I truly admire you. You don’t even seem the least bit scared. I can’t imagine you here all alone in this house with no one here to help you or to keep you safe, but you do it. I may seem scared at times and say that I want you back at home, but I know this is what is best for you. I am proud of you. You have grown to be one of the strongest persons I know.”

I didn’t know what to say. Here I am; a twenty-five year-old woman sharing a bed with my mother because she was scared to sleep alone. I guess it is true what they say. That you become strong when you have to, because deep down I was just as scared, if not more. To be quite honest, having her sleep in my room also made me feel a little safer.

She came down here for me. She came down here to be my support and my strength during my time and need. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel the roles were reversed. I want to cry, but I can’t because then she will cry. I want to express my worry, but I can’t because then she will worry more. I want to show how scared I am, but I can’t because then I will see how deeply scared she is for me. I made it a point to suppress my emotions the best I could to make it a little easier on her. I love her very much, and did not want to cause her more stress than my situation has caused already.

“Are you ok, Mija?”, my mother whispered.

I pretended to be falling asleep so that she could think I was resting well. “Hmmm?? Oh…yeah Mama.” I whispered as I a let out a fake yawn. “I was asleep. Go to bed Mom. The morning will be here before you know it and all of this drama will be done with by tomorrow afternoon.’’

I think I slept three hours that night—three hours of restless, nervous, wallpaper stroking sleep. I was showered and dressed before my alarm had even set off. When it did, I went to wake my Mother, “Mom, it’s time. We have to be there in forty-five minutes.” My Mother readied herself quickly. We had a cup of coffee together while I called for the taxi to come pick us up.

Just then, we heard some yelling coming from a second story window across the street. It was the neighbor, Señora Analise. She was a very nosy neighbor, and annoyed everyone with her insignificant worries of where people should park their cars in the neighborhood. I avoided her as much as possible, but my mother had befriended her when we were unloading groceries yesterday. She yelled out from her two-story window for us to wait because she wanted to speak with us. Luckily for us we knew the taxi was on the way.

“Ah, Melissa, Como estas?” She questioned me while trying to catch her breath.

“Pues, mas o menos bien. Horita nos vamos al hospital para mi cirugía.” I regretted mentioning that my surgery was today, but since my mother had opened her heart out to her the day before, I felt it would be rude to avoid the topic.

“Si,” my mother continued, “Ojala que todo sale bien. Todo va hacer bien…seguro! ” she said in a determined voice. “Que no, Mija?”

My mother always called me Mija when she was sensitive and emotional. I could tell that this trip was very emotional time for her because she never called me directly by my given name. “Si mama,” I agreed, “Everything is going to turn out fine.”

Just then the taxi arrived. We said goodbye to Señora Analise as she bid us her prayers. We stepped into the taxi and sat down. “ La Hospital, porfavor!!” I told the driver as I pointed in the direction of the hospital as he drove off.

I looked over at my mother and noticed that her eyes were red and tearing up. I grabbed her hand and looked at her. “Don’t worry mom, I’ll be fine. They will get all the cancer out of me this time. I’ll be better and back to little old me before you know it! Ok?” I held her hand a little longer and turned my head to look out the opposite window as my eyes began to fill with tears of fright and pain.