My mother and her family entered
the United States when she was 9 years old. Growing up, I loved to hear her
talk about Cuba—the things my grandmother did to provide for her four children
after grandfather leaving Cuba before the rest of the family, in order to earn
money to bring them over too.
But without my birth certificate I
would question whether or not I really belonged to them. As the puzzle of my
family united during holidays and long weekends, I struggled to find where my
piece fit. I wasn’t like my cousins. I was shaped differently. Although I
resembled my mom’s coloring, I didn’t acquire her physique. As far as I could
tell, I hadn't acquired anyone’s. I am quite a bit shorter. I had dangly
chicken legs and you could see my ribs when I lay down. I was not malnourished;
I ate my full plate of rice and beans like the rest of them. It didn’t seem
right. I would lay in bed some nights wondering if there was a secret aunt
nobody knew about, one that I turned out like. I couldn't understand why they
would hide her and wondered if eventually they would start hiding me too. When
two new cousins were born into the family, I finally thought I would have
someone smaller then myself, I thought maybe they’d turn out looking like me.
It didn’t take them long to surpass me and once again, I was the smallest
cousin.
My freshman year of college my
mother and I went to visit my grandmother, Mima, for her birthday in
Greenville, South Carolina. My aunt and cousin met us there. We spent the
weekend together, just the girls. Saturday night, we ordered New York style
pizza, my grandmother’s favorite. Sunday morning, after my aunt and cousin left
early, mother was cleaning, as she often does when visiting Mima, and I was
upstairs in my grandmother’s bedroom. My grandmother loves holding on to all
the things everyone else throws away; old dresses, cards, pictures, and notes.
This particular Sunday she pulled out two old dresses from a box in her closet.
She stretched them out on the bed in front of me as if she had set the Mona
Lisa before me. I could tell she found these dresses to be beautiful. Then she
began to tell me why. They were her mother’s. I had never had the chance of
meeting her mother. She passed away at 50, long ago in Cuba. I had heard about
her beautiful green eyes and dark hair. She was an illusion to me, an old
story.
I traced my fingers along the edge
of the olive green cotton, noticing the faded areas. It was fragile and resembled
a rag but my grandmother had held on to it for years, as if the thread woven
into it were gold. That was how she felt about Cuba, when she talked about her
life there her eyes would glisten. Whenever she talked about her mother, she
wouldn't hold one shred of emotion back. Although my grandfather urged her to
leave Cuba, Mima refused to leave her mother’s side. It wasn't until after her
mother had passed away that she finally made the decision to come. Listening to my grandmother’s stories gives
the impression that she was never the child, but always took care of those
around her. As time goes on and her eye sight fades, she has a harder time
brushing all the crumbs off her shirt but her mind is as sharp as ever, and to
me, she is beautiful. She is like her mother’s dress; worn, fragile, but gold.
The dress looked like it could
belong to me and I wanted to feel if it were true. I delicately unfastened the
green plastic buttons, noticing the fabric’s tiny yellow flowers surrounded with
ivy. I carefully slipped the dress over my head, felt it slide down against my
body, and suddenly my piece of the puzzle made sense. The dresses in Cuba were tailored
for one body; they weren't purchased in a store. Each measurement was designed uniquely.
This dress was measured and brought together to fit my great-grandmother, the
cuffs of the sleeves, the collar, and the waist. I looked at my grandmother and
she recognized it. I could tell and I was proud. The dress was made for me too.
My great grandmother was no longer an illusion, a story, she had become real.
She was the missing link, the tie I had longed for in my family. It fit, I fit.
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