Finding Happiness

     ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.' How often had Mirabelle heard that phrase repeated to her in broken Spanish? First from her Abuela, then her father, and now her mother. Well, she thought that was a pretty crappy response to give to a girl. Like seriously, whoever came up with that phrase must have been seriously cracked. Words can hurt. They can hurt a lot. Words can be hurled, thrown, spit, hissed. And when they hit their target, man do they sting. 
     She wasn’t sure why she was thinking about that specific phrase that night, as she was supposed to be poring over her biology textbook at the rickety old slab of wood that her mother insisted on calling a dining table, cramming for an upcoming midterm. She looked around the room, trying to find something to admire. Her abuela’s old clock still ticked on a weathered old shelf her mother had dragged in one day from a flea shop. The walls were a depressing beige, a color the landlord would not allow the family to get rid of, no matter how many times Mirabelle pestered him. A small TV sat in the corner of the room, with a dirty old couch facing towards it. She had draped several blankets on top of the couch to preserve her own dignity. The only splash of life in the entire room was the absolute barrage of family photos thrown up all over the room. Most of the pictures were from before Mirabelle had been born, or from before her father had been deported. Either way, Ricardo was in very few. She wondered if he had ever noticed that. She shook her head of her thoughts. Surely she was wasting her time, thinking about useless things. She had a future to prepare for! And not just her own but her family’s as well. Ricardo, Papi, Mami, they were all depending on her. Mirabelle hunched over her textbook, studying with renewed energy, tying her long, dark tresses back into a serious bun at the nape of her neck.


     She woke the next morning realizing she’d fallen asleep while studying again. She cursed herself. This couldn’t keep happening. She got up in a hurry, shoving her book into her bag and rushing into the bedroom she shared with her younger brother. The room was mostly bare, save for a few posters of Michael Jordan (Ricardo’s interior design choice) and a calendar so full of notes and events you could barely see the dates (Mirabelle’s, although looking at it gave her a migraine). She shook Ricardo awake from under his Toy Story comforter, desperate to get them both to school on time.
     “Ricardo, wake up! Ricardo if you don’t wake up this instant you can kiss your piggy bank goodbye. I have no qualms about stealing from children!” She yanked the covers off his bed and wrangled him out of bed, ignoring his pleas for ‘just five more minutes.'
     She put him in enough layers to stop a bullet, while more so intended to protect him from the New York City winter cold. Mirabelle made sure that Ricardo brushed his teeth while two breakfast sandwiches heated up in the microwave. She took the opportunity to look in the small mirror hanging in the hallway of the apartment. Her dark hair was still pulled into a bun, although messier now. Her face looked exhausted, cheeks drawn and dark circles deepening under her eyes. She looked more like her mother than ever. 
     Her mother was almost never home, practically living at the hospital, frantically working overtime to meet the next gas payment, or water bill, or so on. When she was home, she was usually sleeping or tending to her tired back and feet from the long hours. Her father? Deported eight years prior. The connection was spotty where he was in the DR, and they were usually only able to reach him a few times a month. He wired money when he could but depending on those payments was foolhardy. Mirabelle attempted to employ a strategy her school counselor had taught her for when she was feeling stressed out. Breathe in, and out. Imagine the air flowing in and out of your lungs. She tried this for a minute, feeling silly.
     “What are you doing Abelle?” Ricardo asked, calling her by her childhood nickname.
     She looked down at his thin face, mirroring hers in terms of hunger and stress. She felt her heart well up, feeling responsible for him all over again.
     “Nothing Ricardo, let’s get you to school okay?” 


     Mirabelle turned onto the block where her school was, rushing to make it before the bell rang. Thankfully, she caught the front door just as the security guard was approaching to lock it. She practically sprinted down the hall, swinging into her English class right as the bell rang. The door banged loudly behind her, and she felt her face get hot as all the other seated students turned to look at her.
     “Mirabelle! How lucky we are to be blessed with your presence for once!”  Mr. Smith. His comment dripped with annoyance, as he instructed her to a seat near the front. Mirabelle could tell from the first day that he wasn’t from around here, and how he thought he was doing these poor kids a favor by gracing them with his uptown teaching expertise. She had been avoiding coming to his class for weeks, in favor of working more hours at her part-time job at the local diner. But she didn't want to miss today. 
     She waited until the class was over to approach him. His pompous hairdo was a total eyesore and she cleared her throat slightly to get his attention. He looked up, a chronic look of irritation on his face.
     “Ms. Santos! To what do I owe the pleasure?
     She sat down curtly and explained her dilemma. “Nice to see you, Mr. Smith. I was just wondering if I could possibly have an extension for your paper. I’ve just had a lot going on at home, with my mother being at work constantly and I haven’t heard a word from my father in a while. I’ve just been under a lot of pressure lately and I was really hoping you could help me out here.”
     He didn’t seem to be really listening to what she was saying. He exhaled noisily, digging a finger into his ear. “Listen, Mirabelle.” She noted how he spit out her name like it was a nasty word. “ There’s nothing I can do to help you. The rules that apply to the other students apply to you as well. No exceptions, no excuses, and no extensions. It would probably do you good to come to class more often too.” He stood up, collecting his things.
     She slumped back into her seat, wondering what she was supposed to do now. How could someone be so uncaring? 
After the school day ended, and she prepared to head back into the brisk winter wind, she felt someone tap her on the shoulder. Mirabelle turned and saw her kindly school counselor, Ms. Avery.
     “Hi, Mirabelle. Can we talk a little?” 


     Mirabelle and Ms. Avery had developed a tradition of stopping by the pizza joint around the corner a few times a year. Usually, it was just to catch up on things, but this time was different. There was a cloud of worry on top of the meeting.
     “I’m concerned for you Mirabelle. You’re taking on too much. Where is your mother?” Ms. Avery tucked her cropped black hair behind her ear.
     Mirabelle let out a sigh of exasperation. “Mami is working to put food on the table. I’m not gonna trouble her with my problems.”
     The portly woman shook her head in frustration. “Ay mija, that’s what mothers are for. They are supposed to support you in your times of need. You are not yet an adult but you are already worn out. You do not need to shoulder all of these responsibilities on your own. If you talk to me, I can get you help. We can figure something out.”
     Mirabelle put her head in her hands. “But what about my English paper? What am I supposed to do now?” She felt hopeless.
Ms. Avery leaned over and gave her a big hug. “One assignment is not the end of the world. You will get through this. We will get through this together.”
     Mirabelle gave the woman a small smile. “You know, before Papi got deported, we would go to Coney Island like I swear, every weekend. Ricardo was still little so he probably doesn’t remember, but Papi would throw him up in the air and make him believe he was riding the roller coaster, since Ricardo wasn’t tall enough to get on. And Mami would laugh and laugh. Boy did she used to laugh a lot. Now I can’t remember the last time I could sit down with her to even crack a joke.” While she had been talking, a look of unmistakable dreamy wistfulness took over her face.
     Mrs. Avery had a knowing look in her eyes as she rubbed Mirabelle’s back. “I know you think the happy times are over mija. But the happy times aren’t a set time in the place. They are a state of being. You can create happy times, right here and right now. Don’t let this world’s craziness get you down. You are strong Mirabelle mi amor. You will always persevere in the end.” 
     After the meeting, Mirabelle felt a sense of relief settle over her. As she waited for Ricardo outside his school, the icy wind whipping at her face, she felt at peace. Regardless of what happened, she would always have the love and support of those around her. She might not end the year with the best grade in English, but she figured there was much more to life than just one class. She would not let it get her down.
     At that moment, Ricardo burst through the door along with a stream of other school children rushing to get back to their warm homes. Ricardo ran up to her uneasily, sensing her difference in mood.
     “Hey, little man! How was school?” she said, opening her arms wide for him and giving him the first genuine smile in months.   

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