The moment I opened my eyes, I saw Camilla every day, anytime of the day or night, everywhere… she was always there. I vividly remember like it was yesterday her holding me in her arms and snuggling me at night. She would tell me her favorite story of the fallen star that fell to earth, pleading to God to rise with the others, yet God could not hear the voice of the pleading star. Slowly the star began to fade away with the earth.
I would ask my sister, “Why did god ignore the crying star”?
She would say, “The voice did not reach to merciful god.”
She would shhh me and continue to embrace me in her arms until I fell asleep. The truth was that my dear sister was like a mother figure rather than a sister to me. Ever since I can remember, she would not play with a doll, instead she was in the kitchen burning her skin while she learned to stir the pot. Not once did I ever hear her cry nor ask mother for help. Mother was tough with her, whether it was that my sister forgot to do the dishes or would speak back to her, my mother never seemed pleased with, her to the point that I thought, does mother love her?
My mother crossed the river from Mexico to the states when she was about 8 and half months pregnant with me. At that time, she was with my father, who did not love her, but it was simply was an excuse to run away from her abusive home. Growing up she was a tough woman to please, but to me it was okay because she was my mother. It meant I had to try hard to be able to receive her love, or so I thought.
Ever since I remember, I learned to be independent and learned skills like cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, and braiding hair. I would watch my mother through the reflection of the mirror of the restroom doing her braid. I would try every day to do braids on my own hair, until my braids were good enough to even be praised by my classmates and they would ask me to braid their hair as well. I even showed them to my mother, and she simply said, “Ah esta bien ya no te tengo que hacer lo yo,” it felt as if something had shattered inside of me. No matter how much effort it took me to learn or try my best on anything, it was just never worth enough to be praised.
I distinctly remember when I tried to hug my mother's belly and remember asking her, “Mom, are you pregnant?” She strongly denied it. A couple of months later, my mother told me she was pregnant. When I heard that I felt a sting in my heart as if something were stabbing me with needles. I could not accept that another child was going to be born; I felt jealous, as if it were not fair. I would constantly say to myself, “I will not accept that child and hate it,” a couple of months after Beatrice was born.
Days later, my mother came home holding a child in her arms; an unfamiliar child, a small child, a child that I despised for taking my mother away from me, yet a fragile child who constantly cried and cried. Mother seemed to have forgotten about me in the meantime.
* Beatrice *
Camilla was just waiting in her room all this time waiting for her mother to come to her to embrace her… she never did. She would be lying down in her bed or on the floor just contemplating, lost in thought in the pitch-dark room. She was there for hours and hours doing nothing, just waiting, and waiting … Occasionally, she curls into a ball in the blanket and hugs the pillow.
* Camilla *
On a rainy day, my mother had a plan to go out with the child and decided that I was going to take care of the child. I was in my mother's room with Beatrice. She was sleeping, so it sounded as if nothing was there. There was a pillow next to me that bothered me; suddenly I felt the urge to use it and I get rid of her. When I saw her tiny face, her sucking her tiny hand, I cried for what I was about to do.
During the middle of the night, I woke up because I felt something trembling next to me. I saw Camilla's face sweating and tears running down her face. I just hugged her. Suddenly I heard a gasp. It was Camilla. I asked her, “Are you okay big sis?” and she just hugged me tight with tears in her eyes.
This story focuses on the past actions, thoughts, and mind of Camilla, who is the main character of this story and is the oldest sister of Beatrice. Her mother plays a key role in her complexion identity, and her mother’s immaturity causes conflicts between Camilla and Beatrice. Camilla’s mind has been distorted from the past trauma, which has made her more aware of her emotions that she inflicts on Beatrice in the situation she encounters herself, therefore she dreams of her previous actions. This story changes the point of view of the narrator between Beatrice and Camilla.