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It’sTía, watching out for me as usual. I’m sure she’s wondering why I’m standing here daydreaming once again, getting so lost in my thoughts that I could stand here and stare forhoras. She will laugh and call mesoñadora.

But I have no dreams because I have no thoughts. I’m blank, empty.

Sometimes I want someone to save me from this life.

But that’s silly.

This is my life. There’s no reason to be saved. It isn’t a good life and it isn’t a bad life.

It’s just life.

Chapter Twenty-four

Niña

TÍA AND TÍOare off tola ciudadagain today, leaving me to my own devices. There ismuchoto do as always, but I’m having a hard time feelingmotivada. WithoutTíahere to push me, I am easily lost.Soñadorastrikes again.

I have dreams. I know I do. They’re just beyond my reach, dangling in front of me like a carrot before a hungry horse. The more I try to imagine my dreams, the more my head hurts, so I give up and save it for anotherdía.

The newdíanever arrives. I am a lost soul.

I warmmismanosby thefuego, gathering up the energy to get my work done.Tíaasked me to do the heavy cleaning insidela casatoday. It’s easier whenla casais empty and I don’t have to work aroundTíaandTío. I need to make my work noticeable.Tíawill expect to arrive atla casaand notice a difference.

I get up from thesillaand leave the warmth of thefuego. Once I get to work, I’ll warm up quickly.La tardeis upon me already; the morning chill is nearly gone.

Thecocinais already clean. It was done early this morning after breakfast. I decide to start with the dusting. I dust every surface inla casa. I even shoot a little dusting spray into the air here and there, just to be sure the smell of clean lingers. This will makeTía contenta.

I catch myself in the mirror and pause, just to stare at my large brownojos. I hardly recognize my reflection sometimes. I can’t figure out why that is. Themujerwho stares back at me feels like she’s trying to tell me something.No lo séwhat it is though.Mi pelois down. I am free from the scarf that usually coversmicabeza. It feelsmuy bueno.

I walk closer to the mirror because something is calling to me, forcing me to realize something.

Try as I might, my mind is blank. I brushmipeloaway from my face, lifting it up and overmicabeza. I run my fingers over the nasty scar on my forehead. It’s a nasty gash, red and angry.

I don’t remember how I got it.Tíasays it happened when I was abebé.Tíatells me to leave it alone and stop touching it all the time. My fingers are drawn to it. I feel the soft bumps and jagged edges with my fingertips and memorize the shape and form of it because it is a part of me.

Mis ojoswander away from the mirror and look around the room. Oops. How long have I been standing here staring at myself?

I did it again. I disappeared inside the black hole that haunts me. The ticking of the clock is loud in the otherwise silent room, reminding me thattiempois passing. I’d better get busy.

I push the furniture against the walls so I can mop the floors. I neglect my scarf when I take the rugs outside and give them a good shake. I hang them on the clothesline in the fenced backyard as the cool mountain air blows against my face.

Once back inside, I tackle the stack oflibroson the floor next toTío’s silla. I pick them up and begin to place them on the bookshelf. He is always reading or sleeping, snoring away on hissilla favoritanext to thefuego. I don’t think he feelsbueno.

I drop alibroonto the floor and bend down to pick it up. It’s a large and heavylibro, and it has fallen open. I stare at the strange belt-like pocket tucked between the pages, flattened from the weight of thelibro.

My heart begins to race in my chest. Faster and faster.Mis manosshake as I pick up the zippered pocket.

I know it. It’s familiar to me.

Slowly, I unzip the stained pocket. Out falls a passport and several other pieces of rectangular paper.

Mi cabezabegins to pound and I feel myself break into a sweat.

I know this. I know this.My brain is tingling with excitement.

I open up the passport and stare at a picture of the same woman who stares back at me from the mirror.

It’s me.