Short essay: Dirt roads

 

 

Hibiscus flowers next to dirt roads

 

My grandmother placed a warm bottle of milk on my hands. I laid on a chair in a way that my feet were on the back rest and my head towards the legs of the chair. There was a reason why I was seated in that position. I was trying to figure out how the milk traveled to my stomach when I was practically upside down but my aunt wouldn’t let me think with her lecturing. She didn’t like that mama milked the cow so late.

It was late. As the sun went down the lamps would be brought out. The electricity had been out in the neighborhood for a week this time. All eleven of my aunt and uncles would bring a seat to the pavement front deck. Stories would be told and jokes exchanged on the front row view of the moon and stars. I tried to stay awake to listen to all of them but I always fell asleep only to wake on a bed.

My home was on the other side of the neighborhood. I would walk home bare foot on the dirt road. I would pick tropical hibiscus flower on my way. My neighbors would spot me from their open doors and give me messages for my mother. Many times I would even run into my dog lasier and she would stop her route to walk me home.

My home was painted with a bluish green color, it had a wooden door that didn’t quit make it all the way to the ground and a tin roof. I heard bachata and smelled food, so I knew my mother was home. I washed my feet so that I wouldn’t get reprimanded for dirtying my mother’s freshly moped floor. My mother carried me and greeted me with homemade juice. She brought me to the kitchen to show me the refrigerator she bought with the money my father had sent for my bike. I wasn’t impressed but I knew we were going to the beach that day and I didn’t want to say anything to cancel the trip. The best beaches on the island happened to be within walking distance from my home.