Before you begin, it’s important for me to note that there have been some changes to this story from it’s original intent back in 2012 for my Creative Writing class. I never changed my grandmother’s name but I did decide instead to use my middle name for the somewhat sake to have a degree of separation from my story. I promised a few nights ago that I would share my older work, and I fully intend to continue doing so and make very little edits as possible because it’s important to see any artists work transform with time and life experience. However, I would be remiss to simply leave this story unedited as it would not have rung true to my spirit or that of my grandmother. When I re-read this a few days ago with the intent of posting, I couldn’t. I spiraled and found myself having a very horrible anxiety attack. My biggest fear in life is forgetting my grandmother, and as I read this story back to myself, I marvel at the small details I remembered 7 years ago, that I know I wouldn’t be able to recall at 29 years old. I can only hope that the memories that I flicker through my mind I can capture and do justice to the bond she and I shared which was unlike any other. My grandmother was my absolute best friend in the entire world, and I would give everything I have to just have one more conversation with her. As the lump in my throat begins to form, I leave you with a day in Spanish Harlem with my Tata.

It was a sunny and hot summer day on Lexington Avenue in the Spanish portion of Harlem, dubbed “El Barrio.” The heat that seeped through her skin wasn’t that filled with humidity, it was the heat that went straight into your bones and made you feel as though your skin was on fire. Amanda looked around as she walked down 116th street with her grandmother, Angela. She squinted from the intensity of the sun, her grandmother looked down at her and chuckled at the sight. Angela looked around the street and mapped her plan of all the errands that they needed to run that day.

            They passed the Cuchifrito, the Puerto Rican fried fritter joint that everyone went to get their taste of back home on the Island, or as the Ricans would say “en la Isla.” The sound of Salsa music filled the air as people waited inside for their food to be ready. The smell of all the food was intoxicating for Amanda. As she inhaled, she felt as though the taste of the alcapurrias and empanadillas were actually dancing across her taste buds. She wanted to ask her grandmother to get something, but she thought better of it, besides there were supposed to go to the supermarket, anyway. She observed all the shops and their windows and although they never changed, the people did. The Puerto Rican flags hung in the windows and doors of the bodegas, the jewelry shop, even the 99 Cent Store.

            “Chi Chi, we need to go to the 99 Cent Store to go get some cleaning stuff for my apartment, so hold my hand when we cross the street, okay?”

            “Yes, Tata,” she replied.

            They set off across the street. At six years old, Amanda had a difficult time keeping up with her grandmother. She was not the average Spanish grandmother, by any means. Angela was very tall for a woman, nearly six feet, and she was muscular, and in no way frail. She wasn’t the kind of grandmother you wanted backhanding you. Therefore, crossing the street with such a large woman was not an easy feat, Amanda was practically being dragged across the street as she ran to keep up with the long strides of her grandmother. Amanda gave a sigh of relief when they finally crossed the street and she jumped up onto the sidewalk only too happily and let go of her grandmother’s hand.

They walked into the 99 Cent Store and looked around. The store was constantly filled with people, and the store was as dark as it ever was, as if the tenants paid the light bill for half of the lights or perhaps were too lazy to flip the other switch. Amanda wandered behind her grandmother in the dimly lit store and asked, “Tata, what are we getting here?”

            “I need the orange, wiry looking sponge, remember that one? It’s the one I use to clean my pots and pans,” she told her inquiring granddaughter.

            “Yes,” Amanda giggled, “it looks funny!”

            Amanda went around looking until she found the sponges and grabbed a package of them and brought them over to her grandmother.

            “Next, we need the Mistolin,” Angela said to Amanda.

            Amanda nodded and they walked back into the furthest corner of the store where they kept all of the cleaning supplies, they had past the toys and Amanda was hoping, if she was lucky and well behaved, her grandmother might let her pick out a toy. They arrived to the cleaning products and Amanda selected the bottle with the teal colored liquid.

            “No Chi Chi, the purple one, I only like the purple one,” Angela said smiling at her granddaughter who clearly didn’t know what was the difference, but grabbed the purple one anyway.

Unfortunately, as they walked up to the cash register Angela did not tell Amanda she could grab a toy, but Amanda bit her tongue and did not complain. They paid for their things and continued their trek to the supermarket which was, what felt for Amanda’s little legs, a thousand miles across a concrete desert.

            Once at the supermarket Amanda was quickly able to get the things her grandmother needed. She ran down the aisles, arms full of food and she brought her grandmother’s coveted 3-liter Pepsi bottles, and the holy Vienna finger cookies. Her grandmother got all the baking ingredients they needed since it was tradition to make a bundt cake anytime Amanda had stayed at her apartment.

            Back at Angela’s apartment the smell of cake filled the air, she took the pan out of the oven to let the cake cool, cut two slices and gave a plate to Amanda. Amanda munched happily over the still warm, spongy textured cake. When she was done she ran up to her grandmother and gave her a bear hug, and buried her head into her grandmother’s navel.

            “I love you Tata,” she said sweetly.

            “I love you too, Chi Chi,” Angela replied sweetly.