The sheep are lazily taking slow bites. On the other side some of the cattle are laying down on all fours while the other cattle seem to have noticed the apple tree and are gathering around it. Linda, one of the two mares we have starts moving to the apple tree as well. I get off Linda and make my way towards the cattle before they can even take a bite from the apples. I whistle, making them scurry away from the tree. I grab an apple off the ground and offer it to Linda. There are only trees and the open air, the closest neighbor lives two miles to the west. Finally, after weeks of being in La Banda I will see my cousins and friends.
The rain starts out slow. At first the only sign are the grey clouds suddenly gathering around the sun and covering what little warmth there was. I squeeze my legs and leaning forward while loosening the reins, Linda starts off in a slow trot until she is running at full speed. Suddenly the rain is pouring down, the green land welcomes the showers and the cattle start making their way back to La Banda. I start to see two medium size shacks right next to each other, an island surrounded by a green sea of grass. We have all type of animals, from the smallest of the bunch being the guinea pigs to our biggest being our two mares. Mama does not like some of them. I love all of them. They are the only ones I can play with; no one my age lives close by. Linda, my best friend since I can remember has grown to be a beautiful black mare that comes to my room before the sun comes up and wakes me up for the day's work.
As we we get closer to La Banda, she slows down to a trot and I slide off her and start running towards the kitchen. Once inside the sweet smell of melting chocolate makes its way to my nose. I close my eyes and inhale deeply the rich syrupy chocolate that only a sweet tooth like Mama can enjoy as much as I do. We have one pot that is made of steel. A traveler from the capitol was at the shopping center and sold it to Mama. But she rarely uses it, only for special occasions. She's in the corner feeding the firewood, while inside the cauldron the chocolate keeps on melting. As she finishes feeding the fire, she straightens up and continues to stir the cauldron. When she is cooking like this, she forgets about everything. When this happens I get a rare chance to see her. Her hair is changing colors as the years go by, I remember her hair being a dark as the night. Now the color is almost like the clouds look on a rainy day like today. Her eyes are still a light blue, same as the sky when it's not raining. Today is the day that I will tell them. It is the last day that I have to tell them to be prepared for school. There is no going back. I look down at my feet and notice that my feet are covered in mud, two of the straps are almost torn off.
"Es hora de comer, siétante," Mama turns the rickety shelves above the cauldron and gets the only three plates and three cups that we have.
I make my way to my chair and start to wring out the rain from my shirt before I sit down. Linda whines outside and I immediately sit down. Linda is only weary of one person in the family. Mama is sitting down, when Papa comes in and throws the firewood and ax he was holding to the side of the kitchens entrance. He drags his chair against the floor making the only sound aside from the rain pattering against the tin roof on top of us. Papa is not that much taller than Mama. Mama has light skin, eyes and hair. Meanwhile everything about Papa is dark. His hair has very few white hairs with the rest of his hair being black. Everyone has the same food on their plate, but it's not exactly the same. Papa's plate is filled with motte pillo and fritada, Mama's plate is only half full, my plate has even less than that. This only makes it even harder to bring up the topic. Suddenly I am no longer hungry and instead knots are twisting inside my stomach.
"Necesito dinero para útiles escolares," I say.
Mama keeps on eating as though she did not hear a word. Papa moves his plate to the side, and looks directly at me. He does not say anything and just stares at me with his charcoal eyes. My third school year starts tomorrow; only an old notebook that an older brother or sister left behind in my room is in my possession. Half of the pages are already full of notes and numbers. The only pencil I could find in my room didn't have a tip. I took almost an hour using a machete to sharpen the point and almost lost a finger. I stare back, but slightly shaking.
