I’ve lost a whole life of stitches in this house. A whole life. That’s what gets to me. So many days, gone . . . I could knit a bedspread for this whole island with all the lost days. I can’t even remember where I left off living my own life. My own place in this mess! I’ll never forget that day when Papi left the country. When he kissed us on the forehead and told us not to fall in love, not to get married, because he was going to send for us . . . as if love was a car one could stop with the touch of the brakes. For me time stopped. I felt my feet stop growing, my bones, my breasts, as if I had frozen in time, because I was saving myself for North America. It just feels like all my life I’ve been waiting and I haven’t lived. You got to travel with your books. You got married, when you got tired of waiting. But me, stuck here. Stuck, piano lessons, a few students, taking care of Mamá. Stuck . . . stuck . . . stuck . . . and now stuck even more