How dare she! I was about to graduate from high school and here she comes. !Que Verguenza! I'd never been so embarrassed in my life. She was an Indian and since she was my mother, that meant. Oh no, I couldn't bear to think about it. She looked like a bubble gum machine on the blink. How would I get through this summer? It would certainly be my summer of dolores.
summer of dolores by wanda richards
Then I saw her. I hoped it wasn’t my mother, but that’s who Aunt Beba was running toward. My feet refused to move. I stood there like an anchor caught on a rock.
She was barely five feet tall with braids hanging down past her waist. Her red and yellow striped blouse was stiff as if it were made out of burlap. Her skirt had many layers making it poof out from the waist into a bell. Her legs were uneven-colored looking like somebody had stained them with coffee and on her feet she wore black flip-flops. I looked again. They had little treads on the side. The sandals had been fashioned out of tire rubber!
Ms. Saunders approached her and bent over. “Hola, Señora.”
The lady that apparently was my mother backed away.
Ms. Saunders continued. “Yo soy Ms. Saunders.”
My mother’s eyes looked like she’d just been threatened by a wild animal. Then she turned and looked right at me. Her eyes looked like slits. Her mouth was thin and looked like a crack in brown leather.
I looked away.