Katrina Groth

The girl sat there eating her usual cheerios and bananas. She stared blankly at that chipped green chair. It stood out against the snow-white wall as the only spice in the bland house. She wanted to know what that green wood had seen, what it had felt. Whose hands have felt its chipped paint; whose hands had carved it. The chair came from Columbia just like her parents. It was lopsided, like her father. She suspects that her father is lopsided because of the journey to America. Then the chair was fixed back together like her parents life and put down in Watsonville, California – home of strawberry harvesting. The chair was attempting to look like its very livelihood had never been shattered.

“Ahh, Madre…I know what time it is. I’ll get myself there. God, would you stop nagging.” Then the girl smiled, gave her mom a kiss and went to her room.

This was how it was with them. No fight lasted long and there were always gestures of love between them but this was only on the surface.

Papi had left hours earlier for the first strawberry pick of Watsonville. It had most likely been freezing that morning and his hands would be numb and his crippled leg would ache. Papi had always taken care of Madre and Adrianna but he always had deep wrinkles in his face from worry. He worried that they would fire him for the younger and faster workers. He worried that then he would not be able to support his family and then he would never be able to get the American dream home. But this is all he worried about, plainly and simply.

Adrianna went to school as usual and left the place bored, tired, and drained. She was sixteen and a junior. She worried about her classes of course but could never work hard enough for her parent’s expectations. Today, her teacher had asked the class to write a five-page short story. She had said in her annoyingly perky voice,

“…but this story can’t be about just any character. The character must be an ancestor of yours, living one of the country’s your family came from.”

Adrianna could not write a paper about an ancestor. She had no idea what Columbia was like or what her ancestors could have been like. Her parents would not tell her anything and what was worse about their silence was that Adrianna could not explain herself for she had no idea who that was. She could not explain why she felt the way she did when she was alone or why she wanted to be alone all the time.

“Get ideas from your parents or grandparents of that place and be creative. I know you’ll have fun,” Adrianna’s teacher had said but all Adrianna could think was,

Oh my god. What am I supposed to write about? What do I know about Columbia? Or more importantly, what will they tell me about Columbia? Nothing. That is the answer. Absolutely nothing. That is how they always have been. All I know about that place is my mother’s cooking and that stupid green chair.

Adriana thought about how she could ask her parents about Columbia. Ever since they had made that long trek over mountains, through tunnels and across hostile borders, her parents would say nothing of Columbia and would speak no Spanish as if they wanted a clean break from their homeland. Adriana was born in Watsonville and was cut off from her parents for two years, as they remained silent hoping she would not learn to speak Spanish. In the mean while, they worked incredibly hard to learn English and succeeded in making Adrianna’s heritage inaccessible.

“Madre, can you tell me a little more about that green chair? How did it get broken?” she asked, deciding to begin with the only thing that was not lost from their old life.

“Aiee,” her mother moaned under her breath, uncharacteristically rubbing her stomach.

“Because it was the only thing that was small enough to carry. It was…well broken at the time. Now why don’t you go do homework Adri?”

“But this is homework. I have to know about my past, my roots. I have to write about…Columbia.” She swallowed the name of the country as if saying it would hurt her mother. Her mother winced a little and said,

“That place is not your roots. America is your home and I will tell you about America. When we came to this land, we arrived at…”

“Yeah, I know. We arrived at the country of a million possibilities. Madre, I just have to know about…”

Her mother left the room. She heard the backdoor slam and knew that her mother would be in an odd daze for a couple days. This happened every time Adriana pressed her mother about Columbia. Every time, Adriana was shut out of her parent’s former life and criticized, constantly criticized for not taking advantage of America and its bounty. Why didn’t she get better grades they asked? Why didn’t she aspire to be a doctor or lawyer and already have her future planned out? Why couldn’t she be prettier and more graceful like her few American friends? Why couldn’t she do everything they never got to do?

When Papi came home it was well past nine and he had no doubt been picking all day. She understood that he was probably exhausted but she had never seen her father seem out of control of his body. He did not seem weak, but he swayed as if he was a blade of grass.

“Don’t like to talk about it…I LOVE TO TALK ABOUT IT. Let me tell you of the…well it doesn’t matter really. I’m sure you don’t care about what those baboso’s did to us. Well, right now Columbia might be important to me again. I will be back later.”

He staggered towards the door, opened the door to his dark green truck and took off. Adriana stood there shocked. She had never seen her father like that. He never used curse words and never cut her off. He was drunk and he never drank.

Two days later, Papi had still not returned. This was not like him but Madre did not say a word. Instead, she cleaned and nagged. She cleaned until there was no evidence that anybody lived in our house and only then did she slump down on the couch and cry. Yet the cry was silent and dry. It was only on the inside but this is how she wept.

Papi pushed open our front door with a look of terror but a smile. His deep brown locks were covered with sweat and his eyes were glued wide open. His pupils were pinpoints yet his gleaming white teeth showed proud and true.

Madre jumps up from the dinner table and shouts, “Aie, Papi. I thought you had left me.”

“No, mi amour. I left to take care of this family and that is what I did. From now on we will live like kings and Adrianna will not take the bus. I will drive her.”

“From now on, I will only be gone a few days at a time. No more back breaking labor. No more…”

“Rodrigo, what did you do? Where have you been? Don’t tell me you were with that càbrone Jose? Tell me!”

“Madre, it does not matter who. We have money.” Just then Papi opened his black duffle bag and threw what looked like hundreds of dollars in to the air.

Madre stood back. She looked frightened. Her hand quivered as she held it out towards Papi attempting to win back her love. Adrianna stood farther back into the corner shocked. She had never ever seen her parents act this way. They were always purely stable.

“That leads to nothing but trouble Rodrigo. Nothing! Take it back. Tell that weasel Jose that he can have nothing to do with you or this family!”

“Oh Madre. Don’t you see I have given this family an opportunity at the golden life? I just…”

“NO!” Madre said with so much fire in her eyes that both Papi and Adrianna had to shy away from her glare.

“Maria, I will do what is best for this family,” said Papi calmly. He then left the money on the dining table and walked out the door.

“Dios mios,” shreaked Madre and she fell to the ground in tears. Her sobs were deep and incessant. Adrianna had a blank expression and walked over to the green chair, took a seat, and stared at those blank, off-white walls.

“One thing that you need to know is that Papi is a good man. Life in Columbia was an easier life than here. We had servants, gardeners, and cooks. Beautiful ostriches strode through our gardens. We lunched with the elite and went to balls in pricey clothing. The only thing that reminded me that I came from a poor farm house was my beloved green chair,” Madre began.

“We were not living an honest life. We… We…well; Papi was in the drug business. You know, taking cocaine out of Columbia and into America. I pretended to be the happy wife who did not know what Papi was doing but I did know…we were closer than we are now. We talked about every thing but as we became richer and richer, Papi became more distant and more…of what he was. A drug dealer.”

“Just listen Adri. Despite the fact that Papi was changing, I became pregnant. We were so happy but this gave Papi more incentive to make more money. He began to do more dangerous shipments and midnight airplane trips. He was exhausted and then he began to use that horrible dust to stay up. He became violent and moody. I was worried and I wanted my husband back so I started to fight with him. One night, he had been on trips for four days straight with barely any sleep. He was looking for his stash when I told him that I flushed it. He grabbed me by the shoulders and told me to stop lying to him and to tell him where I had put it. I stared at him with disappointed eyes and he shoved me, unintentionally, but nevertheless down, the stairs. My Madre’s green chair saved me but… I lost your baby brother that night and I won back my husband. He felt so bad, he immediately told Jose to take control and he sent me on a plane to the U.S. to live in a small house. He came back to me six months later, clean but still feeling guilty.”

There was a long pause. Madre no longer had tears in her eyes. She looked down and made no eye contact with Adrianna. She felt ashamed. After what felt like an infinity to her Adrianna spoke.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin. I don’t want your Papi to go to jail. I can’t do this without him. But what if something goes wrong…I just can’t—“

Just then, they heard his truck pull into the driveway. Footsteps ran up the steps and palms banged on the door. Madre rushed to the door but opened it slowly and cautiously.

“You scared man, Rodrigo. Going to just cut out on me again. Not this time. I am going to shut you up once and for all.”

Papi gestured for us to hide in the closet but we couldn’t move and the banging became more threatening. Papi picked up the green chair and stood against the wall on the right side of the front door. Two bullets carved through our door and the lock gave way. The door pushed open as if a roaring sea were behind it and with one swift move, Papi swung the green chair against Jose’s skull. Madre grabbed the gun out of Jose’s hand when he had hit the ground and shot two bullets, proud and true, into the left side of his chest.

Warm, satin red swirled around the cool, stable green, giving it relief but as the red enveloped that stability, all that could be seen was the hellish color of what was to come.