Free America's Dream by Esmeralda Santiago

shadows.
    “I thought we might talk a bit…”
    Rosalinda slams her fork on the table, gets up, but América, faster than she is, blocks her path.
    “I don’t want to talk about it! I told you that.”

    América holds her by the shoulders, squeezes them so that Rosalinda won’t shake loose. “It’s not going away because you don’t want to talk about it. I have some things to say, and you have to listen.”
    Tears stream down Rosalinda’s face. “I don’t have to listen, I don’t.” She covers her ears, closes her eyes as if that would make América disappear. She squirms, trying to release América’s grip. “I’ll let you go if you sit down and talk to me.” She doesn’t want to sound angry, is in fact trying hard to stay calm, controlled, to not lose her temper the way she did last night. She relaxes her grip on Rosalinda’s shoulder, and the girl pulls herself away, slumps on the chair in front of her half-eaten eggs and toast. She
    hides her face in her hands and sobs.
    América’s chest tenses, as if a strap were tied around her ribs, tightening with each breath. Tears sting her eyes, but she blinks them back. Gingerly, as if she might break, she touches Ros- alinda’s shoulder, and the child pulls it away but then relents, lets América caress her shoulders, her hair. Lets her embrace her, at first grudgingly, but then gratefully, as if it were this she’d been seeking all along. América helps Rosalinda stand up, leads her to the couch, where they sit next to each other, Rosalinda’s face pressed against her mother’s chest. América lets her cry, lets her own tears fall quietly, as if not to contaminate Rosalinda’s misery.
    “I don’t know why you’re all making such a big deal about it,” Rosalinda whimpers to her mother. “I’m not the first one around here to run away at fourteen.”
    “You’re being disrespectful,” América warns. “But it’s true, Mami,” she says.
    América takes a deep breath, trying to control the rage that boils inside her, threatens to spill out and burn both of them. “It’s true, but that doesn’t mean it’s right.”
    Rosalinda considers this for a moment, looking at the shiny, polished furniture her father has bought, at the figurines Ester collects.
    “1’aino and I love each other.” “Are you pregnant?”

    Rosalinda shifts her gaze.
    “Because if you’re pregnant,” América continues, “we should do something about it.”
    Rosalinda’s eyes widen, stare at América as if she’s lost her mind. “Do you mean…” She buries her face in her hands. “Oh, my God, Mami, how can you even think such a thing!”
    América is not sure if Rosalinda means a pregnancy or an abortion. She blushes. If she were pregnant, she’d never consider an abortion, but then, she has been smart enough to use contra- ception for the past thirteen years.
    “Did he…protect you?”
    Rosalinda stands up. “I can’t talk to you!” she screams, and runs into her room, slamming the door.
    “Rosalinda, this is important!” She hears the plop on the bed, the screaming sobs. She bangs on the door. “Do you think it’ll go away? I have news for you. It doesn’t!”
    Rosalinda screams even louder, bangs on her bed. “Leave me alone. I want you to leave me alone.”
    “Well, it’s not going to happen. As long as I’m your mother, I’m a part of your life. So get used to it.”
    Rosalinda opens the door just enough for América to see her face distorted into an angry grimace. “No, 1 don’t have to get used to it. Papi said he’d take me away from here if I want to go. I hate you. I can’t stand to be around you anymore.”
    América freezes. Rosalinda’s door slams again. Correa has never threatened to take her daughter away. Through all the years of arguments, the beatings, the jealousies, the you can’t do this and you can’t do that, he’s never once threatened to take Ros- alinda away from her.
    She clears Rosalinda’s abandoned