LA MORENITA, Chapter 7

By the end of her first school year, Araceli felt more invisible there than she did at home. She was never advanced to a higher reading group, and as nice as Miss Piccolo was, she never called on Araceli or allowed her to do anything special, like the girl from the second reading group who called Araceli’s group “Pee-Pee, Snotty, and Mexie.” Araceli didn’t think it was fair that that big, nasty girl got to show off in class and sort papers and clean erasers during recess. Every day during the summer, Araceli went down to the river and had long talks with the raven about Mexican legends like Juan Diego and La Llorona. When they ran out of things to discuss, the raven would tell Araceli stories about curanderas, brujas and los santos. Then Araceli would make up her own stories and tell these to the raven, which usually made the raven laugh and flap its wings.
“Listen, Araceli,” the raven said to her one day. “You must use your gift. You have to write down the stories that you make up. That is what you are supposed to do.”
“How do you know that?” Araceli asked.
“Because I’m a raven,” the raven said. “And ravens know things like that.”
“But I’m just a girl. I shouldn’t have to write down stories”
“Listen to me,” the raven said. “If you follow the path to your true self, which is to be a healing storyteller, great forces will come to your aid.”
“I don’t want to write down my stories.”
“You have to,” the raven said. “It’s your destiny. Whenever you want to know the truth about something that happened, your secret writing will tell you.”
“Secret writing!” Araceli scoffed. “That sounds silly.”
“It’s not silly,” the raven insisted. “Here’s how it works,” the raven said. “All stories written and told are actually parts of the same story. If you fail to write down your stories, there will be a hole in the universe right where those stories should be.”
Every day after that, the raven asked Araceli if she had done any secret writing yet, and every day, she told the raven she thought secret writing was silly. But the raven said it wasn’t silly, and if she ever did any secret writing, she should keep her handwriting tiny in case someone accidentally found out where she kept her secrets.
In the meantime, Maria’s naps became longer and more frequent. Araceli spent most of her time after school watching Chad, changing his diapers, feeding him, reading to him in English, and taking him to the river with her when she visited with the raven.
Halfway through the summer, Araceli asked her father why her mother took so many naps. He told her he didn’t know. Sometimes, Araceli tried to convince her mother to stay up and spend time with her and Chad. She’d ask her about taking a trip to Grandview, Sunnyside or Granger. Even all the way to El Ranchito in Zillah, which was her favorite place. She was so persistent that she made Maria angry a couple of times. But nothing Araceli said or did could convince Maria to take them on a car trip. It took all of Maria’s energy just to go to the grocery store and cook supper.
At least Araceli still had the raven. Almost always, she and Chad went down to the river whenever their mother was napping, and she and the raven would talk about secret writing and tell each other stories. Each time, after the raven flew away, Araceli spent the rest of the time teaching Chad his numbers and alphabet letters.
At the dining room table one night, Chad recited the letters and numbers for his father. Norm looked over at his son. “Where did you learn that?” he asked.
“A little bird,” he said. He looked at Araceli and laughed.
Norm looked over at Maria. The blank expression on her face didn’t change. He turned to Araceli. “You taught him that, didn’t you?”
Araceli smiled, nodded, and looked down at the floor.