She asked the two girls to stay in the car. They had already said goodbye to the little girl, and were ready to go home for some last minute packing before catching an early flight. Forget that she was making another big change in her life again, or that this change bears no sign of a better success for the life to come than the previous changes. Forget the stress of toting two daughters and the weight of the stress of moving up to now. Her eyes were full of tears for just one person, that little girl whose face had just disappeared behind the door. She didn't even stay outside to wave goodbye until she drove off. The Mother was hurt, but she was also overwhelmed by the inevitable separation.
She rang the bell again. The father opened the door and looked surprise and frustrated at the same time. He asked if she wanted anything else. She fought off her guilt and asked to see her daughter one more time, that she had something else to give her. The father looked as if his frustration and disappointment withe her would burst out into some hurtful and angry comment, but he restrained himself and told her to wait. A moment later, the little girl showed up again, her face still all red and tearful. The Mother gave the father an imploring look, and he nodded in comprehension and turned around and disappeared, only to be heard telling his parents that it was his ex-girlfriend again. There was some inaudible grumbling that ensued.
The Mother held the little girl very tight, and she was hesitant to reciprocate the embrace. She was feeling just a bit more pain and she wanted somehow to be back inside. Before she could express it, the Mother said to her in a mix of Spanish and her native Portuguese, "I don't want to say more goodbyes. I have something for you. I wish I had time to write more."
She retrieved a postcard from her purse and gave it to the little girl. She looked at it rather puzzled. It was a postcard of a long beach with a lot of half naked people on it with a big rock in the background. "You know, when I came here I wasn't sure what to expect. And it was all very scary. With your two step-sisters and all. And the only thing that kept me happy for a while was the sea. The sea here reminded me of the sea at home, in a place I've told you about, Rio." She pointed at the postcard and said, "This is a bad postcard of it. I bought it thinking I would send it to an old ... friend of mine who had left.... And it just happened to stick with me all this time that I've traveled here. And at some point I just didn't want to get rid of it.... I am so sorry I have nothing more to give you." Her eyes were all tears now while the little girl scanned the postcard carefully. The Mother held the little girl's hands. The touch of the soft skin, nearly as brown as hers, sent a pang of remorse and longing straight into her heart. She wanted to give her a big kiss, as she had wanted to a few minutes ago, but just as before, the wall stopped her, the wall with graffiti of guilt spray painted all over it refused her entry.
"You never got your life together. You should never have been anyone's mother." That was what was spray painted on the entrance to the little girl's heart.
Her shaking hand slowly relinquished the card to the girl. She was afraid. It wasn't the sentimentality of the card that was on the line, but rather, the judgment by the little girl of her worthiness as a mother. The girl wiped her eyes again, even though she didn't have much tears left; she always did this, out of pride. She would never allow herself to be seen with tears. She didn't do anything, just stood there watching the card. The Mother wanted to say something but held it back. She stood up and padded her youngest daughter's head and said, "All right, Sweetie. I will call you as soon as I arrive. I hope to see you soon." She wasn't sure what the girl was thinking when the latter nodded her head and looked up to meet her eyes. She wasn't sure if she was lying, most likely, yes. She wouldn't have her life together enough to even find a phone to call her. She wanted so much to have a man after her husband had died, a man to take care of things she wasn't born, she felt, to take care of. And instead of finding a man, she found herself another daughter she couldn't possibly be responsible enough to take care of.
She took a step back, half-hoping that the girl would extend her arms like in the movies she spent too much time watching instead of taking care of the daughters. But no, she didn't do that, because the Mother didn't deserve it. So the Mother goes out, and before she turned around to close the gate, she heard the door closed behind her, and her tearful eyes saw that no one was there anymore. She held back her tears and stood there for a moment. She turned and saw the silhouettes of her other two daughters inside the car. Gently she closed the gate and fought off all her thoughts and feelings that were weighing her down. There's a sentimental side of her, that same movie-born sentimentality, that made her want to believe that the little girl would keep the postcard and would find out what was written in the back, in Spanish.
"I have done my very best, but it wasn't enough. Forgive me, please."
