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“I don’t want pozole! I want crunch crunch!” Manuel demanded with his small fist hitting the table to enforce his words. “Crunch crunch” was what he called Cap’n Crunch cereal. He wanted to eat it three times a day. It was all he ever wanted to eat.
“You can’t eat sugar all day,” I reminded him for the millionth time.
“Crunch crunch!” he yelled, a little braver than I would have been.
“Silence!” my father demanded in his firm, hard, no-nonsense tone.
Everyone immediately went silent, although I could see Manuel thinking about how badly he wanted to push for his cereal. I hoped he wasn’t thinking of continuing to push this.
“I love the pozole, Papa,” Teresa said in her best kiss-ass tone. I turned my head away before rolling my eyes. My parents had no idea the future drama they were going to face with Teresa. She was already sneaky. I had caught her twice sneaking out to see a boy. Both times I’d covered for her but warned her if she didn’t stop, I’d tell in order to save my ass.
Manuel crossed his arms over his small chest and scowled at the plate of food in front of him. Papa would ignore his reaction as long as he didn’t yell or demand anything else. This was a regular evening-meal routine.
It was loud during our meals. Everyone talked, and the language was English and Spanish. My family’s voices filled the small kitchen as the others fixed their plates and found a spot around the rectangular table my father had built twenty years ago. My sisters were arguing over who was better-looking on some show about teens in North Carolina; my brothers were arguing over who got the seat closest to the living room, in hopes of catching a glimpse of the television. My mother was telling my sisters to stop watching television at night and read books.
I remained silent and waited until everyone was seated with their food. My mother then nodded her head at my father. He cleared his throat, then said the blessing over the food. Once he finished, voices began talking again. All at once, loudly and with passion. This house was never quiet.
I wasn’t interested in my sisters’ newest conversation about TikToks they had seen today or my brothers’ argument over who had the highest score in their video game. My complete focus was on my parents. My father mostly. I was giving up on my mother for now. She had made it clear she wasn’t going to talk about my moving away for college.
“I was accepted to Loyola Marymount and they’ve offered me a scholarship,” I blurted out. I was directing this at my father. That didn’t matter, though, because the entire room went silent. The words that had come out of my mouth affected every sibling I had. One day they, too, would be faced with trying to get the hell out of here. The girls knew this even if my brothers didn’t understand how important this was to them yet.
I could feel everyone looking at me. The small gasp from Teresa was one of hope and fear for me. I didn’t have to look back at her to know that. She wanted out as badly as I did. I didn’t meet any of their gazes. Especially Momma’s. I kept my focus on Papa and waited.
He lowered his fork to the table as he studied me a moment. One thing I knew was that he wouldn’t ignore me. He’d address this and we’d talk about it. That was more than my momma had been willing to do.
“That’s in California,” he said as if that was his answer. The simple fact that Loyola wasn’t in Alabama and close enough that I could live at home was all they could see. But it was a free Catholic school education.
“Yes. The scholarship is for business administration. It covers lodging, too,” I continued as if he wasn’t about to tell me no.
“What about UNA? Did they not accept you?” he asked before taking a bite of his food. The silence remained. No one, not even Manuel, was speaking. I wasn’t sure if they were even breathing.
The University of North Alabama was where my parents expected all of us to go. There or to the local junior college. I hadn’t applied to UNA because I didn’t want to be accepted. I wanted to move away.
“I didn’t apply.” I said the words with more confidence than I felt. The little girl inside of me wanted to hide under the table.
My father’s brows drew together sharply as he stared at me. “You didn’t apply to UNA?”
“No sir,” I replied, and I could hear the few sharp intakes of breath in the room. It was as if I was telling my father I was pregnant and running away from home with a guy from a motorcycle gang. The ridiculous way they were all reacting to this made my situation even more hopeless. Even my four-year-old brother knew the idea of me going off to college was a pipe dream. He just didn’t know how important it would be for him one day when it was his turn to go to college. I needed to fight for all of us.
