On the Yahara 

"It's me–Mama, Mama said. I opened up and she's there with bags and big boxes, the new clothes and, yes, she's got the socks and a new slip wit a little rose on it and a pink and white striped dress. What about the shoes? I forgot. Too late now. I'm tired. Whew!"
– Cisneros, House on Mango Street







Dad said two weeks ago that all this water was about to recede. I asked him what recede meant, even though I think I knew all the while, because who wan't saying the same thing all around the neighborhood? It had been well over a month. I'd take ol' Blue with me (or try I really should say) across the street and up onto the bridge where we could see where the water had crept up way over the big rocks. That's where our trail was for dog walking. Now we had to walk along the street on that end. I learned that recede was on the minds of al the neighbors. Their own houses were along other streets close and they wanted it to go away.

I told dad right then that I didn't want to go to school again on monday. "What else are you going to do my child," he would say in his kidding voice, but I meant it. "I want to work and take care of the dog, and listen to the neighbors about receding and help. Maybe they would pay me?" Oh, I had visions of it all, that I will tell everyone now that would listen. Visions. I saw myself right then skipping right over school years. Getting right into things, not waiting around.

Blue and I were outside all the time in those days. Out in our backyard playing around a hundred kinds of bones. Hundreds of kinds of things. Little tricks I tried to teach her, why not. I had visions of being a pet professional. Could I train animals for a living? Let's get started. Right now. Let's not wait. I had ideas for my dog walking business already set. We watched the water rise. I hoped it would recede, always, always.

Dad was distracted by everything but I knew his heart was still with me. Always, always. I never quite knew how he did it, but when he asked me what I was doing it always already knew. He didn't really have to ask. I wondered if he had the binoculars on me. How did he do that?

We learned to run over the bridge by the end of september. Leaves were falling. The river was moving back and forth still, big and green, side to side, you could tell it was still too much for its tunnel. I taught myself to cook, and who didn't appreciate that?