Ms. Quinson\'s Period 5 Blog 2008-09

-josh 

I live on Mango Street and I’ve been here long enough. I need to get away from here. Somewhere that’s far away. Away from Mango Street. Somewhere else where the grass is greener where the sky is bluer. Just anywhere but here. Away from the monkey garden that I don’t play in any more, away from the boys and the nuns and the red clowns. Everything here in Mango.

For now I am trapped in Mango Street. It is holding me like a dog with his bone. I am a prisoner here. Trapped and handcuffed. One day yes one day I will break these bonds of Mango Street. I will break free. I will come out like a butterfly out its chrysalis. Beautiful, like a vase of flowers.

I can’t forget my friends and my family though. Well, that’s what those three sisters who never came back said. I don’t know when or if I will come back one day to Mango Street. I probably will come back only because of the others here who are forever trapped. First, I will need to leave. Far away from Mango Street.

 [Before "Rafaela Who Drinks Coconut & Papaya Juice on Tuesdays" and after "No Speak English". By Marnie Pimentel.]

Ana sat behind me and made my hair slick with sweat. But it wasn’t her fault. Her eyes were always like that. Huge and wide, gaping like the gutters catching rain. They collected every second and piece of light, camera lenses, black and clear and endless. Like there was nothing else to see. I wish she would blink sometimes. I wondered if she ever saw the red insides of her head. She drinks and drinks and drinks, but the air around her is empty.

She doesn’t talk very much. She just likes looking out the window. And playing with dolls. So strange at this age. She makes them out of paper and has them fall in love and run away forever. They are free for a few minutes until she packs them away in a little tin box. And she likes being inside mostly, paler than all of us. Just looking. She floats in the rush and looks like nothing. There was one time I saw her being something, though. Ana running to the back of the bathroom. Ana sticking her long fingers down her throat. Ana coughing up white pills and coming out red-faced and puffy and exhausted. And her eyes are broken every morning.

            I don’t know. They talk about her sometimes, the teachers, they say where did her mother go, her father must be so lonely there, why doesn’t he go out and find another woman? Ana Ultima, future of Mango Street. Ana Ana Ana. The name she hasn’t heard in years. Her house is silent mostly. She carries it through the hallways like a permanent shawl. And we want to talk to her but she won’t talk back.

The address 4006 Mango Street is no longer the same as it was before. It is big and red with white steps in the front and the windows so big, you would think that they were still exhaling, and ready to take the next breath. The crumbling bricks replaced with, new strong and sturdy ones. The front door that was so swollen that you would have to push hard had been removed, and in its place was a mahogany door, intricate in design that opened at the slightest touch. The four little elm trees that had been planted as an excuse by the government matured, spreading its arms around each other, the same way that your mother did when you were you were young and scared. The inside still had hallway stairs, yet, they felt as grand as ever. The monkey garden was no longer there. Instead were little miniature houses, each a replica of the other. Rachael and Lucy, married, and gone on their own ways. Mr. Benny no longer owned the grocery. In its place instead was the shoe maker, with his house on top, and store on the bottom, and on display, were a pair of shoes, the strappy kind that Lucy, Rachael, and I had walked in for the first time…

…I felt like an outsider. Before I was just an eagle, looking for his prey from a contour point of view… a fish trying to float on top of the water, indifferent, yet different at the same time. I do not know what made me do it, but it took me seventeen years to realize it… the more I wanted to be away from Mango Street, the closer I got to it.

We did not always live on Mango Street. Before that, we lived on Loomis on the third floor, and before that we lived on Keeler. Before Keeler, it was Paulina. But now, I am back again…
I would put this vignette directly at the end. I think that it would have more meaning if it was directly in the end, rather at the beginning! The address 4006 Mango Street is no longer the same as it was before. It is big and red with white steps in the front and the windows so big, you would think that they were still exhaling, and ready to take the next breath. The crumbling bricks replaced with, new strong and sturdy ones. The front door that was so swollen that you would have to push hard had been removed, and in its place was a mahogany door, intricate in design that opened at the slightest touch. The four little elm trees that had been planted as an excuse by the government matured, spreading its arms around each other, the same way that your mother did when you were you were young and scared. The inside still had hallway stairs, yet, they felt as grand as ever. The monkey garden was no longer there. Instead were little miniature houses, each a replica of the other. Rachael and Lucy, married, and gone on their own ways. Mr. Benny no longer owned the grocery. In its place instead was the shoe maker, with his house on top, and store on the bottom, and on display, were a pair of shoes, the strappy kind that Lucy, Rachael, and I had walked in for the first time…

…I felt like an outsider. Before I was just an eagle, looking for his prey from a contour point of view… a fish trying to float on top of the water, indifferent, yet different at the same time. I do not know what made me do it, but it took me seventeen years to realize it… the more I wanted to be away from Mango Street, the closer I got to it.

We did not always live on Mango Street. Before that, we lived on Loomis on the third floor, and before that we lived on Keeler. Before Keeler, it was Paulina. But now, I am back again…

ICECREAM TRUCK

On Mango Street people don’t have a lot of extra money.  So most of the times the icecream trucks skip us because no one ever buys anything.  But today there must have been a new driver. Because just as I was riding the bike into the street (it was my turn with it) I heard a sound.  A strange sound I could vaguely remember but I hadn’t heard in a while.  It sounded like bells.  Not real bells.  Bells like the ones on the bike’s handle bars or the one Cathy used to play with her cats with or the one Rosa Vargas rang everyday to the deaf ears of her kids.  Every time it rang Rosa would yell out Come home! It’s time for dinner.  But the Vargas kids just ignored her and just kept on playing.  They knew their mama would keep the dinner out on the table for them.  But the sounds I heard that day were not the same as the sad hopeless bell that no one but Rosa heard.  It wasn’t the tinny ring of the bicycle bells or the tiny ringing of cat’s toys either.  It was happy and strong.  It had a feeling of hope that called out all the children from their houses.  At first it was soft.  Almost too soft to hear.  So soft, that I thought that something was stuck in my ear.  I thought it was an earwig.  Cathy had once told me that earwigs crawled into your ears at night to eat your earwax and keep it from clogging up.  But sometimes, she said, they got stuck and would make you hear things.  So I tried sticking my pinky in my ear to try to pull it out.  But then, I saw the other kids looking down the street to where the sounds of bells were coming from.  It was louder now.  I could see a white truck coming around the corner.  At first we all thought it was the mail truck.  We were all wondering who was going to get the mail that played happy bell music.  But then as it got closer, we saw that it was no mail truck.  It had too many stickers and colors.  Then, as Mr. Benny was coming back from grocery shopping, he said it looked like the icecream truck is here.  I heard about icecream from Cathy. She said that in France everybody ate icecream and that it was the most delicious thing in the world.  When heard Mr. Benny say it was the icecream truck, I saw some of the Vargas kids running up asking for icecream.  They had no idea what it was, but they saw from the stickers on the truck that it made people happy.  The truck stopped, and a person inside opened a window and stuck out his head.  I heard him say that icecream was one dollar.  I ran inside and got the money I saved.  Since I helped buy the bike, I only had a quarter left.  I ran to get it from Nenny, and told her about how Cathy said icecream was delicious.  But she also only had a quarter.  We walked into the street, and saw Lucy and Rachel looking for money on the floor.  They had found a quarter, a dime, six pennies, and two nickels.  We decided we were going to buy an icecream and share.  We bought it and it was a rolled up hard waffle with some cold soft stuff in the top.  We licked it, and it was delicious!  It tasted like that vanilla milk Mr. Benny let us have when he bought more than he needed, except creamier and colder.  We took bites after a while, but then our heads began to feel weird.  Then, there was a feeling like someone was squeezing my brain.  We dropped the icecream, but we were all happy.  When I live in my giant house, I’m going to buy icecream and I’ll eat it with the bums everyday.

Nothing to Do

Some days I cannot decide what to do. I still need money, since I left my old job. That job was easy, but I did not enjoy feeling to lonely. I would be at school now, but my parents always say school costs too much. Now I’m stuck on the streets, with nothing to do. It’s a cold, cloudy day. I wish I could ride my bike with Lucy and Rachel, but they had to visit their sick grandparents at the other side of town. But now, I just watch the rain fall. Nenny is inside, but why would I play with her? She is childish, and could not even make up a simple rhyme the other day. I’d take a walk, but my ordinary brown and white shoes hurt too much.

As it is pouring, I still have nothing to do. Just to think of what I could be doing if I had a friend by my side. But hardly anyone on Mango Street is like me. They all sit, looking out their window, thinking of a life far from theirs. A life of happiness, not of gloom and sadness. But me, I can still achieve my happiness. I have only recently moved to Mango Street.

Childhood (noun). The phase of human development the state or time of being a child. The perfect word to describe Esperanza in the beginning of The House on Mango Street. Adolescence (noun). The process or state of growing to maturity. The perfect word to describe Esperanza at the conclusion of The House on Mango Street.

            Esperanza, the narrator of the novella, is still in her childhood years in the development of the story. She believes that boys and girls live in two completely different worlds. Esperanza doesn’t even speak to her brothers outside of the house because she is “not allowed”. When she becomes an adolescent, she begins to experiment with the power she has over men. In “Red Clowns” Esperanza takes on uncharacteristic childish innocence. Esperanza has matured over the course of a year, but being assaulted leaves her helpless and scared. She blames the women in the town, movies, storybooks, and magazines. Blaming her attackers is evidence that she has not yet developed.

            The number one danger of maturing is knowing more about the things you never understood. Esperanza didn’t know anything about the more “mature” things in life and thought that everything was pleasant.

            Sandra Cisneros described the transition from childhood to adolescence in the novella. There are many pitfalls of this transition. Sandra Cisneros thinks to survive through this transition, you have to stay strong and be brave. I would also add that you have to choose which friends you want to keep and which ones you think aren’t real friends. Relating this to my own life experience; I have a lot of trustworthy friends. But some of my “friends” are never there to help me and they only care about themselves. You can also relate this to Esperanza. She realizes that being friends with Sally isn’t such a great thing because Sally wasn’t there for her when the boys assaulted her. Esperanza looses her loyalty and trust in Sally.

            There are many dangers and pitfalls in the transition from childhood to adolescence. Esperanza experiences dangers, but learns from her mistakes.

After Alicia and I talking on Edna’s steps

Today is Sally’s birthday. It really isn’t that special. It is gray outside, just like the nylons the color of smoke that she wears.
Yesterday, I received one of the only phone calls from Sally. The phone went ring ring as I arrived inside.
Esperanza? Says such a familiar voice. It is tired like Alicia. I want to hang up the phone until the voice continues.
Esperanza. It’s me. Sally? Oh, don’t tell me you forgot. You’re friend? Hello? Anyone there? Please?
I suddenly remember and answer with a jolt like lightning has hit me.
Um, Sally? Sally! It’s you. I’ve missed you. School is no fun without you to stand by me at the gate. Sally, where are you? Tito and the boys are wondering where you went-
Esperanza. Sally cuts me off short. Do you want to come over tomorrow? It will be my birthday.
Oh really? Um, happy birthday Sally. As in, your new house? Like when you used to stay over here before your papa came and got you?
Yeah. Just like that. Tomorrow?
Yeah, sure. I’ll see you then. Should I call you again?
It’s ok. I’ll see you tomorrow Esperanza. Early, ok?
Then, the phone line goes dead.

I take the train that reminds me of when I went to work at Peter Pan Photo Finishers. The train drops me off somewhere far from Mango Street. Where are the big apartment buildings that seem to touch the sky? Where is Mr. Benny’s grocery store? It’s not crowded and there are just houses; the pretty kind with the white trim. I count the houses, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, all the way until I get to twenty-three. I take a deep breath. The house is very pretty; just like Sally said. The mailbox is pure white, not the white linoleum of the school floor. The walkway feels longer. Why am I so scared? I’m here to see Sally.
I approach the porch that squeaks. The porch looked so pretty and comforting and new. Who knew? The house is pure and red. The paint is clean and perfect. I finally sum up the courage to ring the doorbell. Like the phone, it goes ring ring.
There is Sally at the doorway. I think to myself, Sally, what has happened to you? Where is that eye paint that makes you look like Cleopatra? Where are the boys that used to follow you? Her hair is not shiny black anymore. It is faded like the sign on Mr. Benny’s grocery store. Her face looks so tired. She doesn’t look like she did when she left; all pretty and proud.
Esperanza, Esperanza, Esperanza! Oh, how I’ve missed you! Sally smiles and says my name so many times like it is a chant.
Sally, How are you? Why haven’t I seen you? Happy Birthday! What do you want to do? Are you ready?
Sally’s expression soon fades. She tries to smile, but she can’t take it anymore until she says:
I’m sorry Esperanza. I know you would want to go out, but can we stay here today?
I want to ask why, but the words are stuck in my mouth like peanut butter. I think I already know the answer. I just agree and walk into the house with the pretty entryway. Sally shows me the house. She sounds excited and proud to have such a pretty house. The floors are clean and shiny and there is a television set in the living room with the soft cushions. There are flowers in the middle of the table by the couch. I touch the flowers. They look so beautiful, but then, they are just coarse cloth.
Oh Esperanza, you don’t know how lucky I am! My husband is just great. I mean, just, great.
Sally frowns slightly after these words like Minerva when she asks what I can do.
Sally, it’s so dark in here. Open a window.
No. I mean, sorry, but, the curtains. They’re not suitable. We’re getting them replaced you know.
She wipes her eyes and asks if I want anything to drink as she leads me to the kitchen and then to the living room. We watch television for what feels like hours. I watch Sally and how sad she looks. I remember when I used to ask Sally how she did this and that. Now Sally was the one asking about what I did and this and that. As Sally watches the television, she stares hopelessly at the commercials on the color TV set about going to clubs or running out in a new soccer field. Sally doesn’t even like sports and yet she looks so envious of the girls in the commercial until she finally breaks. Sally, the girl with the eyes like Egypt and nylons the color of smoke is crying. I can’t watch a girl that used to be so big and pretty. Sally doesn’t cry. She can’t cry. And yet, she is in front of me weeping.
Oh Sally. What’s wrong?
I’m sorry Esperanza. I didn’t mean to ruin your stay. I-It’s your only stay.
Sally. How come it’s my only stay. What are you talking about Sally? I like being here with you. Don’t worry Sally. Oh Sally, don’t worry.
I am at a loss of words. The peanut butter feeling is back. My words are stuck in my throat. She raises her hands to her face and her baggy sweater slides down to show her arm. She is bruised just like when she was with her father. This time, her mother is not there to rub lard on all the places it hurts.
Then, she says the same thing she has said millions of times before.
He never hits me hard. Esperanza, what can I do?
At first, I say nothing. What can I do? And then, I remember what Alicia told me. I can’t wait for the mayor to fix things.

Hours pass and eventually Sally tells me it’s time to go. I say goodbye and hug her tightly. Sally just looks sad. She thinks she will never escape what has happened. It haunts her with her father and husband just like that ghost in the horror movie Rachel asked me to watch. I take one long look at Sally. I will come back. I will come back for the ones who cannot out. I will come back for Sally.

Ten years ago, I once lived in that house on Mango Street. The most shameful house to live in, I lived there. First it was Loomis on the third floor, and before that we lived on Keeler. Before Keeler it was Paulina, and before that I can’t remember. After Mango Street I went away.

 I left with books and paper; everyone wondered why Esperanza left win tons of books and paper. I went off to a girl’s school far away, and nobody ever knew what happened to me. She died, someone said. Or she was stolen by pirates to go work on their ship, said one little boy. But no, I went off to school. This school had dorms, and every dorm was different. Nobody could make fun of an ugly dorm, because they were all the same.

Mama, Papa, Carlos, Kiki, and Nenny moved out of our ugly house on Mango Street, and they moved to a house on the other side of town. The house wasn’t any bigger, it wasn’t any cleaner, and it wasn’t any dreamier. It just didn’t have a bad reputation of being the ugly house on Mango Street. I don’t like this house, it’s nothing special, and it has no personality.

I returned to the house on Mango Street, the house that taught me so much. This house taught me how to work hard, hard enough to get the house of my dreams. The house listened to my stories, and read my poems. This house knows what I’ve been through. This house is where I live.

The day of my arrival, neighbors were asking me where I was moving. I answered them by pointing to my house, and saying that I live there, I live in that house. I’ll never forget how their faces were trying to hide their disgust. I laughed to myself, because that was my reaction to when I first saw this house.

And now I finally live in my dream house, the house that I’ve always wanted, the house that taught me so much, the house on Mango Street.

Samantha Who Is Like Me

(between Four Skinny Trees and No Speak English)

            Samantha lives far far down on Mango Street, all the way on the other side. But she is old, old like Alicia, and maybe even older. She is done with school, but she doesn’t have a husband, and lives all alone. A house all of her own.

 But her house is beautiful. It stands tall and proud against the sky, its yellow glow grinning happily down at all the sad houses. But it does not make them ashamed, I can tell. Its glow makes them more beautiful, and brings joy to the houses on Mango Street, this house all of her own.

Samantha lived in Mango since before I came here. She is hard working and I don’t get to see her much. Nenny and me once went into her house when Lucy and Rachel were home sick on Saturday, and we had no one to play with. The yellow house had pulled me to it with its glow. Samantha was waiting outside on her steps.

Hello, she says, cheerfully like her house.

Hello, I say back, is this your house, a house all of your own?

Yes it is, she says, and then she asks if I want to see it, and I say yes. Of all the women on Mango, only Samantha has a house of her own. I want to be like Samantha, with my house just for me. She, like me, doesn’t need a man to run her house.

When I look into her house I see my house all around me. Not my house on Mango, but my house in my dreams, the house I one day know that I will have. She has her own furniture, her own pillowcases and paintings, her own wallpaper, and her own rugs. It’s all hers.

Did you pick this out? I say excitedly, pointing at furniture. And this? I say, pointing at a lamp. And she nods, but gives me a funny look. I walk around like I’m in a fairytale, looking at all of her things, asking more questions.

Why did you choose this? I would ask, and she would say that she liked the color, or that she thought it matched with something else, and I would nod and agree and move on. And all the while she watched me, with her funny look.

            What about this? I pointed to a countertop.

            I’ve always liked marble, she says with her smile. Why do you ask such strange questions? She gives me her funny look, and now I know why.

            I turn away from her now, because I am embarrassed and want to hide my face. I don’t answer her. But she doesn’t think this is strange and we finish the tour of her house, and I stay silent. When I go back outside, I see Nenny waiting for me on Samantha’s steps, and I feel ashamed that I forgot her.

            As I walk home I think about Samantha and her house. If Samantha was really like me, why would she let Mango Street keep her, grab her with its wide arms and never let her go?

(after No Speak English and before Rafeala Who Drinks Coconut and Papaya Juice on Tuesdays.)

Rosa sits on the tree everyday. Rosa come down from that tree says her mom. But she doesn’t listen. She sees and sees until there is nothing left to see. She breathes in the morning air and closes her eyes until I fall asleep watching. I think she sees more than Mango shows. Up, she goes. Up and up over the sky she goes until Mango is gone.
Little kids cry and men run to work. But Rosa does not see. She stays put in that world away from Mango.

Rosa where’d you go?
I went away
Where is away?
Gone.
But where is gone? Can I come?

And then Rosa is gone.

When she is in school everyone laughs at her. Alone she sits by the soggy napkins. They say Rosa why are you so weird? Rosa you need to be more like us. Stop climbing the tree, you freak. You’ll never get out of here. I hope you fall someday. Your clothes are in that funny brown bag and your shoes are dirty. You’re rope hair needs to be shorter. Let’s cut those snakes. Then come the scissors. Snap. Now they’re lifeless strings on the floor. I want to yell and tell Rosa to look! Rosa, look at your hair! They laughed and laughed and I wanted to help but then I think what happened last time I wanted to help and my throat is dry.

But all the while Rosa’s eyes are somewhere else. Rosa is a statue. She looks far away at something deep. Something important. One time I tried to look in the same direction but saw an empty pickle jar. My breath is caught. Rosa Rosa Rosa. They’re hurting you. Rosa, look. Rosa, don’t you care?

And then I think about what it would be like to not care… to not care about what anyone else thought or said… just to live freely in Mango. She would be happy to let me breathe in her trees and I would be happy to be there. I wish I could talk to Rosa so she could teach me how to climb a tree. Maybe that’s how she does it so well. She escapes. The tree pushes her up with his steady arms, up to somewhere else. Somewhere magic.

Rosa where are you? Can I come? I don’t want to care. The only thing is that I do.

Once Rosa told me to remember the first tree. I thought that in Paulina there wasn’t a tree there was a house. But Rosa whispered to think harder. Trees that have angry roots stay with you longer. They leave a bigger impression. Don’t forget. Rosa, I said. But she was gone.
I thought about Mango. Ugly red house. Tight and frustrated and small but it is my home. It is my tree.

Maybe Rosa has a story to tell. Maybe life wasn’t all roses. There must have been some thorns.