Kaleidoscope By Alexandra Alessandri Bursting to Be Free A new day awakens wide and bright and bursting with the promise of change. It''s the first day of my first job, and like a seed that''s been buried for too long, I''m bursting to be free. I fly out of Mami''s car, heart spread wide and smile stretched thin while worry wiggles below my breastbone: what if I''m buried once more? Mami Worries Too Before we left the house, Mami paced rivers on the rug because maybe she shouldn''t have said yes. It''s too soon. She worries about my readiness and steadiness after all these years of slowing down so I could heal. You''re not ready. She worries about the taxes and tolls a new job will claim on my body, and whether it''s worth it at all. Maybe next year.
She worries I haven''t healed from that day, from the accident that left me shattered and empty. Remember your fibromyalgia. As if I could forget. When I can''t stand Mami''s pacing any longer, I whisper, Chill, Mom. It''ll be fine. What I Don''t Say Is I''m scared to be in that place again, a shell of a girl drowning in pain and fatigue and a fog so dense I barely break the surface. Because I know this job could shatter me even more, but Catalina would''ve wanted me to bloom. I''m scared that strangers will learn my weakness and shut me out the way my friends did-- or worse scatter pity over my brokenness.
(Because no one knows what to do with a girl who''s been cursed by chronic illness and grief.) But I''m even more scared of not living my life. Call Me Sarai Mami tells me my name means princesa but it''s also a name of resilience and overcoming. I''ve wished so much for this to be true, but all I''ve been able to do since Catalina died is survive. But here, standing beneath Farmacia Navarro''s neon-blue signs, I''m finally ready to live. Catalina My sister would''ve been nineteen this month, growing and glowing like a luciérnaga, on her way to college. FSU, pre-pharmacy, top of her class. Instead, she''s in St.
Andrews Cemetery. The same accident that crushed my body three years ago claimed her life. She was the same age I am now-- excited and eager behind the wheel (without Mami for the first time). Someone ran the red light. We never saw it coming. My world hasn''t been the same since, but I made a promise after she died to hit all the milestones she missed. This job today is me keeping my promise to my sister. Few Things Scream Miami Like the Cuban-owned pharmacy and mercado near my house, filled with Agua de Violetas, pastelitos and cafecitos, and panetones during the holidays.
Spanish rolls through the aisles in waves, comforting and soothing. I''m not Cuban-- I''m Colombian American-- but still, I feel at home here. It''s bold and bright and happy. If only my heart would stop galloping, jittery and afraid that my attempt at keeping promises will fail. I Meet My manager Santiago and Rosita the pharmacist, wave hello and smile shyly to the other workers: Martica and Caleb, cashiers like me, and Mauro and Suzi, roaming the aisles. Then there''s Josue, whose smile is like the sun. My Trainer Josue Reminds me of Catalina-- kind eyes easy smile down to business. He''s her age too, or how old she would be if she were still alive.
Our fingers brush as Josue hands me a blue shirt and bright orange name tag with Sarai González printed in bold block letters (they even got the accent right), and for a moment I wonder what Catalina would think if she saw me. But I chase the thought away. Instead, I shadow Josue as he trains me to check in use the register stock shelves until my nerves settle into a familiar rhythm until I can''t help the thought that unfurls: He''s cute. It''s Complicated While Josue trains me, he asks me questions: How old are you? Where''s school for you? His gaze is steady, expression open as he leans in for my response. I try to tightrope the line between truth and TMI. Truth: I''m sixteen. Truth: It''s complicated. TMI: I''m homeschooled because after the accident, Mami couldn''t bear to see me struggle at school couldn''t bear to be separated from me couldn''t bear to lose another daughter.
So Mami kept me home. Truth be told, the pain and fatigue kept me home anyway, no matter how much I wished to go back. No one wants to hear that, though-- it''s too messy and broken and sad. I learned that the hard way, when friends fell away like sand through my fingertips. Which is why I don''t tell Josue any of that. Customers Two hours into my shift customer after customer comes my way while Josue hovers by my register, smelling of bubblemint gum. We make small talk in between, and I find myself bending toward him as if he were the sun. Three hours into my shift customer after customer brings offerings and I find my fingers faltering, my brain slowing as I will myself to catch up to stay focused on what I''m supposed to do.
Four hours into my shift customer after customer smiles politely taps impatiently checks their watch and waits for me to ring their merchandise correctly, while Josue catches my mistakes, never breaking his stride. Me, though, I find myself losing my rhythm, wishing I could speed to the end of my shift (two more hours) so I can go home and reset. But at least I''m not flaring (yet). FLARING \ fler-io \ Adjective: In autoimmune diseases, or chronic illnesses like mine, when symptoms increase, flare up, get worse. And it feels like that time when I was little swimming in South Beach, angry waves<.