Song of the Mockingbird: My Journey with Josefina

I’m in the hallway getting things out of my locker when Audrey comes up behind me. I turn back to my locker and pretend to be busy. I actually like Audrey, but part of me thinks if I’m miserable enough here, Mom and Dad will let me move back to Chicago. Audrey invites me to walk over to La Plata Street for ice cream with her and her friends. I know she’s being nice, but all I want is to go home and Skype with Danielle, so I mumble an excuse. Audrey’s face falls, and she shrugs.

Audrey trails me out of the hallway, and I stop at a flyer on the school bulletin board: Skit Club auditions are Tuesday. I’ve always loved singing and dancing, in fact my parents used to call me Mockingbird, though now they’ve shortened it to Birdy. But ever since leaving Chicago, I haven’t wanted to sing anything. Audrey asks if I plan to audition. I shake my head. She says she won’t either, since she gets stage fright.

Audrey shares a story about freezing onstage during a piano recital, and I can’t help but chuckle. When we reach the end of the hallway, she asks again about ice cream. The laughter drains out of me, and I shake my head. The late bus is waiting at the end of the driveway. I have to go.

Audrey says “Whatever” and walks away. I feel bad, like I hurt her feelings, but how can I expect her to understand?

When I get home, Dad calls me into the kitchen. I was hoping to sneak upstairs to chat with Danielle and look through our old pictures, like I do every day, but no luck. I step into the kitchen and try to sound cheery. Dad is mixing a thick yellow dough. He’s making masa. He lays out damp corn husks and shows me how he’ll spread the dough on them, then add spicy shredded pork.

I roll my eyes. Mom and Dad have both caught a passion for all things New Mexican since we got here. Yesterday they gave us scrambled eggs and green chiles wrapped in tortillas for breakfast. I ask Dad if he remembers Chicago hot dogs, and whether we could have some for dinner.

Dad says next time we visit home, he’d love one, but tonight he’ll make homemade tamales. I’m not sure about food that comes wrapped in leaves, but I try to muster some enthusiasm. Before he lets me go, he asks if I want to go for a walk, then rephrases: we’re going for a walk. Daisy comes up, panting. What a little traitor, I think. Remember the horny toad?