medina - The One Who Loves You the Most

This is an Arthur A. Levine book

Published by Levine Querido

www.levinequerido.com info@levinequerido.com

Levine Querido is distributed by Chronicle Books LLC

Copyright 2022 by medina

Lyrics on p. v and 243 courtesy of Brett Dennen,

The One Who Loves You The Most,

Published by Emigrant Music and Downtown Music Publishing

All rights reserved

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021943723

Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-64614-090-9

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-64614-156-2

Published May 2022

for my mom.

in your unshakeable love, i am stronger.

in your light, you teach me how to love.

When the sky is falling from above you

And the wind is raging from the coast

And you want someone who truly loves you

I will be the one who loves you the most

Brett Dennen, The One Who Loves You the Most

I have never felt like I belonged to my body. Never in the way rhythm belongs to a song or waves belong to an ocean.

It seems like most people figure out where they belong by knowing where they came from. When they look in the mirror, they see their family in their eyes, in their sharp jawlines, in the texture of their hair. When they look at family photos, they see faces of people who look like them. They see faces of people who theyll look like in the future.

For me, I only have my imagination.

When I look in the mirror I imagine my birth mother looking right back at me. I study the shape of my face, the shape of my eyes, the color of my skin, and the texture of my hair. I gently push my finger along my low bridge in my nose that can never seem to keep glasses on. In me is her, and in her, I hope, is still me.

But sometimes when I look in the mirror, I feel I see more of her than me. Because the me I see doesnt feel like me. I dont feel I belong to this face or to this body.

And then theres Mom.

My mom.

The woman I call my mom and love deeply and dearly.

My mom.

If only I could one day show her how much she means to me. I think sometimes I take her for granted. Sometimes Im not as sensitive or compassionate as I could be.

But Im always trying.

A s I mindlessly pulled out grass in the park, the sounds of loud cheers startled me from my thoughts, and I saw my mom calling me over, a twinkle of joy in her eyes. A few seconds later she was standing over me, blocking the sun with her silhouette.

This drummer is great! she said excitedly, pointing to a street drummer using plastic bins as drums.

In New York City, everyones got a talent, so you must be heart-stopping great to get a New Yorker to pause and watch.

We scurried over and watched in awe. I peered around long, lanky legs to try to get a better view. We stayed and listened to the boy play drums for a while, and I wasnt ready to leave just yet, but after a few minutes I could see the light in my moms eyes fading. Her back starting to slouch, her energy shiftingI knew it was time to go. I quickly gave the drummer a dollar, gave my mom a loving look, gave her a side squeeze, and our bodies walked together to the train.

When the train arrived, we slipped in between book bags and briefcases and slid into a space big enough for the both of us. I cracked open my book, carefully pressing down the pages, proud of the progress I had made on my extra credit homework. I popped in my earbuds and pressed play on YEBBAs cover of Weak, by SWV. My mom quietly played sudoku on her phone. I peered over at her every now and then and watched her face for any changes in expression.

My mom is an interpreter for the Deaf. I grew up learning American Sign Language before I learned English. And I was fluent in her body language and facial expressions.

You know, you dont always have to worry about me. Im quite all right! my mom said after a stop or two, breaking our silence.

I put my music on pause and slid my bookmark into my book. Im loving you.

Youre checking in on me, she said, nudging me gently as a smile opened up like the sky after a rainstorm.

Checking in on you is loving you, I replied softly.

When we got home, our two cats, Eliza and Cagney, greeted us as if we had gone on a long cruise around the world and they hadnt seen us in months. So dramatic, and yet thats the kind of unconditional cat love Im always here for.

Finish all your homework for tomorrow? my mom asked as she clambered through the cabinets, getting ready to make dinner.

Before I could reply she answered her own question. Of course you did! Are you sure youre not a teacher in disguise?

I smiled and stretched out my sweatshirt to my knees to stop it clinging to my body.

My body.

Was growing in places I was increasingly becoming more and more uncomfortable about.

After dinner, we turned on Wheel of Fortune, but before it got to the bonus round my mom abruptly got up and said she was tired. Tired was usually another word for depressed. I know they arent the same words, but sometimes it was easier for my mom to say a word that didnt have the same gut-punch reaction.

But in all honesty, it still felt the same.

The next morning, I felt the vibration of upbeat music bouncing off the walls. I was happy for that. I wasnt sure how long it would last, but I knew I had at least one song.

Each morning was pretty routine, aside from how my mom was feeling. I got ready, walked to the bus stop, and got to school early. Some mornings, my mom drove me, but I let her take the lead on that. I never wanted to push her or make her feel she needed to do one extra thing when one thing could feel like the biggest.

Today I felt the beating of my heart telling me that Mom needed her own space. Plus, she had made a sign and put it on her door: My soul and universe is telling me I need space right now. Im all right. Loving you, my butterfly.

When I got to homeroom, Mrs. Andersen was writing out the class lesson on the board.

READING + DISCUSSION

ESSAY PROJECT

Good morning, Gabriela. Theres something different about you. Let me see. Is that a new sweatshirt? she asked with a smile.

I set my books down and perked up, trying to get my mom off my mind. Good eye! Its a darker shade of black: Vantablack.

I knew it!

So, whats this essay business about? I mean, what kind of essay? I said inquisitively.

Youll have to wait until English. I think youll like it! She sounded impressed. I always knew when she was impressed, which almost made me feel pressure to always be impressive.

Mrs. Andersen was right about most things. She had a special superpower of knowing her studentsmaybe even more than they knew or understood themselves. Probably because she read our words.

Words.

Words were music to me. I loved them. Gobbled them up like Swedish Fish.

The bell rang, and my classmates trickled in slowly one by one, some in pairs, like rain droplets.