After they had left and I had my breakfast, I got into Ricardo's pickup truck.
"Today you become a sister." he declared with a joyful smile, "I bet you are excited. eh?"
"Yes," I lied. I didn't like airing my inner feelings, especially ones that had me feeling guilty and ashamed. I hated myself for that. but I hated what had made me that way even more.
Ricardo started to talk about his younger brothers and sisters.
He was the oldest in a family of seven, but all of them had been barn relatively close to each other. They all had much more in common than I would have with little Claude. By the time he was old enough to talk to me and understand anything significant. I would be in college. How could I ever think of him as a brother or ever care?
Ricardo's voice droned on. Even with its musical cadence and his happy tones, it became a monotonous stream of noise behind me, behind my dark and dreary thoughts.
"You can go a little faster, Ricardo," I interrupted. "I don't want to be late for school."
"si," he said.
As we rode on. I glanced occasionally at pedestrians and the scenery. but I really saw no one or nothing, and when I arrived at school. I was surprised. Somehow, I didn't even realize the trip. I had been in too much of a daze. I hopped out quickly and barely uttered a thank-you and goodbye.
Not one of my friends seemed to notice how unhappy I was. It caused me to wonder if to them I always appeared this sad and depressed. Everyone seemed to be used to my silence, my dark eyes, my downward gaze and lack of energy. They rambled on with their usual excitement, swirling around me, showing off new clothing, new makeup, different hairdos, and passing an stories and rumors about this bay and that. I almost felt as if I had woven a cocoon about myself and none of them could see, hear, or touch me.
There was finally a reaction to and an awareness of my existence when Mrs. Margolis, the principal's assistant and secretary, appeared at my classroom door and announced I was to be excused,
"For a happy occasion," she added, unable to contain the news.
All my friends knew what that meant, and all turned to me. Massy's face a scowl of pity. I quickly gathered my books and hurried out, head down, my heart feeling more like it was growling than beating.
"Your stepfather is waiting for you in the lobby." Mrs. Margolis said as we walked down the hallway. "Congratulations," she added. and I muttered a thank-you and hurried along.
Miguel stood smiling proudly near the front entrance.
"I told you it would happen quickly. Little Claude has arrived," he announced,
"How's Mommy?" I asked.
"She's doing fine, but..." he added letting the but hang for a while as we walked out and to his car.
"But what?"
"Your little brother is smaller than we had expected him to be because he's technically a premature baby even though he weighs enough. He's doing fine, but to be on the safe side, the doctor would like to keep him there a little longer than they usually keep newborns."
"Oh." I said, caught in a rainstorm of different feelings and thoughts. A part of me hoped he staved there forever, but a larger part of me felt very sad for Mommy and for Miguel.
"Naturally, your mother is concerned. so I thought it would be very good for you to visit, see little Claude, and tell her how beautiful he is," Miguel said. 'I'm sure you understand," he added.
I nodded. but I also always believed Mommy could tell if I was not sincere about something. Even my father believed she had a second set of eyes that slipped in front of her regular eyes and pierced through any mask of deception.
"She ought to work for the CIA." he quipped on more than one occasion.
When we arrived at the hospital, we did as Miguel wanted and went to see little Claude first. He was in a bassinet that looked like it was built for a baby ten times his size. I couldn't believe how small he was and that this tiny creature in that miniature form was a full human being related to me. His head looked no bigger than an apple, and his hands and feet were so doll-like, I couldn't help doubting he was real. He was crying with such intensity, his face was actually the hue of a ripe apple. Despite his being only hours old, his skin around his tiny wrists and even under his eyes and his neck resembled skin wrinkled with age. I saw nothing beautiful about him and was actually happy about that. How could they make such a fuss over something like him?
"Isn't he remarkable?" Miguel asked, standing beside me and looking through the window.
"Yes," I said "But you're right... he's so tiny."
"But he'll crow fast. In a few weeks you won't believe you're looking at the same child." he assured me. ''He has my hair, although not much of it yet, huh?"
"Dipped in ink." I said. and Miguel laughed, When I was little, it was something he used to tell me about his hair and his beard.
"Right, right. Well, let's go see your mother," he said. and I followed him to her room.