My Life in Argentina and Beyond

I remember the rubies. I remember the 18 carat Gold jewelry that he used to give me in Argentina for my birthday. That and his kindness when I had a problem are some of my favorite parts of my memories of him. He was not a perfect man, but he was very strong, very tough. My father was a doer, someone who could get things done. When we came together to America, he had to unlearn many things. He was no longer the boss; now he was an employee, an older employee. I don’t think he minded it very much. Being in the United States had been his dream all along. He had time to listen. He cared.

Tomorrow, December 5th, would have been my Tia’s birthday. Never mind how old she would have been. My Tia is still alive; I have never forgotten her. I can see her now wearing her black and white hounds tooth wool skirt and her lime green 100% acrylic cardigan, the one with the big white buttons. I see her waiting on the corner of our neighbor in Greater Buenos Aires. Her right hand is touching her chin and the tiny wrinkles around her eyes are more pronounced. A neighbor walks by and they talk. The neighbor is like family and she’s keeping my aunt company until I come back from my errand. It is probably a mild day in early October, spring in Argentina. My Tia looks down at her black leather moccasin shoes. I have to polish them after lunch, she tells the neighbor. She sees me before I see her. What kept you so long? she asks me. I kiss her on the cheek first, and then I greet the neighbor. Nothing, I shrug, blushing. I dare not mention that I have just run into the man I love; she wouldn’t approve. We walk the half block to our house. My Tia invites the neighbor up, but she declines. My Tia opens the white door and we go in. This is so clear to me after all these years that it might as well have happened yesterday or today.

Today would have been Nadia’s 85th birthday. It seems incredible that 10 years ago today she came to my apt. in Vicente Lopez and we had a little get together to celebrate. She told me I was the only person who remembered her birthday. Nadia was not my relative; we were not related in any way, but to this day I feel a bond that goes beyond my normal feelings for an alone and totally unprotected elderly woman. It’s as if we were/had been related in another more important way. I have tried to explain it to myself many times, but I can’t. She was more than my friend and neighbor, a lot more than that and I don’t think that it had much to do with the fact that Nadia and I spent the last 4 months and one week of her life almost living together