Behind the blooming bougainvilleas she sat in the sun baked dirt. Pressing her jade eyes
to the nickel sized hole in the wall, she managed to get a fleeting glance at the barren
landscape that sprawled behind the twelve foot walls of the estate.
“Isabella! Come inside, ahora!” her mother screeched from the terrace.
She stood up slowly, reluctant to leave the hole. Anytime there was a free moment she
would sneak off to her designated hiding spots to gaze out at the land behind the wall that was
so different from her home.
At first glance it just appeared to be an arid rift between the mountains that surrounded
the city. Upon further inspection, however, Isabella could delineate a few rund
her mother to begin her nightly ritual of vanity. Seeing her mother preoccupied with her
luxurious facial creams, Isabella craftily climbed the high wall. Jumping down, the baked soil
cushioned her fall. The sun was approaching its descent and cast a mysterious aura upon the
deserted land. Kicking up the orange tinged clay, Isabella skittered excitedly towards the rift.
Soon, the shacks came into view. She quickly realized that beyond the original shacks
were humble adobe huts. Hiding behind the wall of one of these huts Isabella caught sight of
people sitting along the small porches and preparing for nightfall. The discovery of this small
indigenous village shocked Isabella, who had always been told the area was uninhabited.
“Niña. I knew you’d come,” someone croaked behind her.
In her shock, Isabella carelessly forgot her whereabouts and left her hiding spot. She
whirled around only to find her jade eyes staring back at her. Disoriented, she blinked and
looked again. In front of her stood an old woman no taller than herself, with skin that resembled
the dry cracked dirt they stood on. The brilliant green eyes that ran in her family gleamed in the
folds of the ancient woman’s face. Even in the fleeting light, Isabella could see the uncanny
familiarity of the woman’s features.
“Wh-who are you,” Isabella stammered.
“Who am I? Soy tu abuela,” exclaimed the old woman, matter-of-factly.
Those three words hit Isabella with such force she found herself dumbstruck. How could
she have a grandmother that she’d never known about? Impossible. But if the old woman was
her grandmother how could her mother have kept this secret from her? Why would she keep
this secret from her?
“Does Mariana know you’re here?”
She knows my mother’s name, thought Isabella. One good look at the old woman and all doubt
was washed from Isabella’s mind. This was her grandmother.
“No.” Isabella stated firmly.
“Well then come inside mija. It’s getting dark.”
Isabella followed her grandmother into the mud hut. She sat down at a simple table
adorned with nothing but what appeared to be a withered hand stitched tablecloth. Still too
surprised to speak Isabella looked down at the tablecloth and fingered the homely fabric,
avoiding eye contact.
“Mariana made that, you know,” her grandmother said quietly.
“Why hasn’t she ever told me about you?” Isabella finally burst out.
“Your mother was always unhappy here. She was constantly in search of a way to separate
herself from her native roots.” Dejection flooded her grandmother’s eyes. “I sent her to school in
the city because I knew it would make her happy. While in school she met your father and they
married. Shortly after, she stopped visiting.”
“Pero abuela, why didn’t you ever visit?” Isabella implored.
“I did, when you were born. I would sing you the same songs that I sang to your mother. It
became clear Mariana was embarrassed of where she came from and I reminded her of that.
She prefered to live a life of ignorant luxury.”
Sitting at the small table, anger and resentment filled Isabella. How could her mother lie to her
this way? And for so long? Abuela could see how upset she was. Taking Isabella’s tender
hands into her furrowed ones she fixed her piercing eyes on Isabella.
“Don’t be angry,” her grandmother crooned.
“Why not!” Isabella snapped back.
“She chose her path, now it's time you choose yours.”