Free America's Dream by Esmeralda Santiago Page A

breakfast. Correa has three children in Fajardo with a woman he married because her father threatened him with a gun if he didn’t. He supports them with his meager pay and with whatever extra money he earns doing odd jobs for the mansion owners. He’s never contributed much toward Rosalinda’s support, except for the gifts he gives her on special occasions, trinkets and clothes he picks out when he visits Puerto Rico. He gives Rosalinda spending money every so

    often, but that’s it. América has paid for everything else, for her school uniforms and everyday clothes, her schoolbooks, the birthday presents for her friends, the Christmas presents for her teachers. She has paid the doctors when Rosalinda was sick, the dentist when she had a tooth out, the surgeon when she got ap- pendicitis. Correa claims Rosalinda is his favorite child, the first child he ever fathered, the fruit of his and América’s love. He puts it just like that, “the fruit of our love.” But he’s never taken responsibility for her upbringing, has left the parenting up to América because “She’s a girl and you’re a girl, and girls need their mothers.” What business does he now have offering to take her away?
    He must see a chance to be a hero, América thinks. Now that Rosalinda is so rebellious, Correa must see it as his opportunity to gain stature in his daughter’s eyes. That must be it. Big macho father, saving his little girl from her mean mother. Son of a bitch! She slams the plate from the beautiful vajilla on the tile floor. It shatters into a million bits, too many to be put together again with Krazy Glue.

    It’s Not Forever

B

    y the time Ester comes home from work, there is nothing left to clean. Even the porch steps have been scrubbed and pol- ished, the spiders routed from their corners along the eaves. A potful of bone soup with plantain dumplings simmers on the
    stove.
    “I missed my novela,” Ester whines when she comes in, as if missing one episode of her favorite afternoon soap opera made a difference.
    She grabs a beer on her way to change clothes. Doesn’t even notice América’s somber expression. When she comes out in a pair of shorts and T-shirt with no bra, she plops in front of the television and surfs channels until she finds the one she wants. América, sitting on Correa’s couch, doesn’t move from her place until a woman appears on the screen, her mascaraed eyes dripping with tears that a mustached man is kissing away with great ten- derness. Ester sighs. América gets up and leaves the room, sits on the porch rocking back and forth, waiting for Correa.

    He brings a loaf of fresh bread and his dirty clothes stuffed inside a duffel bag. He tries to kiss her when he comes in, but she ducks, takes his clothes, and goes to the kitchen to serve supper. As soon as she sees him, Ester turns off the television

    and burrows into her room, acknowledging his role as master of the house, even though the house belongs to her. Correa stretches out on his couch, flips to his channel, and waits for América to call him to the table.
    “Aren’t we eating together?” he asks when she sets only one place.
    “Rosalinda hasn’t been out of her room since this morning,” she answers.
    His face darkens. “Set the table for all of us,” he snarls in her direction as he strides to his daughter’s door and bangs on it. “Rosalinda, come out of there and have supper with us.”
    “I’m not hungry!”
    “I don’t care if you’re hungry or not. Come out and sit with your mother and me.”
    A lot of shuffling and sniffling. “I’ll be right there.”
    Correa looks at América triumphantly. She gives him a dirty look, sets the table, calls Ester. “Are you eating with us, Mami?”
    “No, I’ll eat later.”
    Rosalinda has made up her red and swollen eyes, has blushed her cheeks, has brushed her hair into a loose ponytail. Correa stares at her with a severe expression as she scuffs her way to the table,