Return to Sender

Chapter 1: Bad Luck Farm
Summer 2005

Tyler looks out the window of his bedroom and can’t believe what he is seeing.

He rubs his eyes. Still there! Some strange people are coming out of the trailer where the hired help usually stays. They have brown skin and black hair, and although they don’t wear feathers or carry tomahawks, they sure look like the American Indians in his history textbook last year in fifth grade.

Tyler rushes out of his room and down the stairs. In the den his father is doing his physical therapy exercises with Mom’s help. The TV is turned on; Oprah is interviewing a lady who has come back from having died and is describing how nice it is on the other side. “Dad,” Tyler gasps. “Mom!”

“What is it? What is it?” Mom’s hand is at her heart, as if it might tear out of her chest and fly away.

“There’s some Indians trespassing! They just came out of the trailer!”

Dad is scrambling up from the chair, where he has been lifting a weight Mom has strapped to his right leg. He lets himself fall back down and turns the TV to mute with the remote control. “Sokay, boy, quiet down,” he says. “You want to kill your mom with a heart attack?”

Before this summer, this might have been a joke to smile at. But not anymore. Mid-June, just as school was letting out, Gramps died of a heart attack while working in his garden. Then, a few weeks later, Dad almost died in a farm accident. Two men down and Tyler’s older brother, Ben, leaving for college this fall. “You do the math,” his mom says whenever the topic comes up of how they can continue farming. Tyler has started thinking that maybe their farm is jinxed. How many bad things need to happen before a farm can be certified as a bad-luck farm?

“But shouldn’t we call the police? They’re trespassing!” Tyler knows his dad keeps his land posted, which means putting up signs telling people not to come on his property without permission. It’s mostly to keep out hunters, who might mistakenly shoot a cow or, even worse, a person.

“They’re not exactly trespassing,” his mom explains, and then she glances over at Dad, a look that means, You explain it, honey.

“Son,” his dad begins, “while you were away…”

In the middle of the summer, Tyler was sent away for a visit to his uncle and aunt in Boston. His mom was worried about him.

“He’s just not himself,” Tyler overheard Mom tell her sister, Roxanne, on the phone. “Very mopey. He keeps having nightmares….” Tyler groaned. Nothing like having his feelings plastered out there for everyone to look at.

Of course Tyler was having nightmares! So many bad things had happened before the summer had even gotten started.

First, Gramps dying would have been bad enough. Then, Dad’s horrible accident. Tyler actually saw it happen. Afterward, he couldn’t stop playing the moment over and over in his head: the tractor climbing the hill, then doing this kind of weird backflip and pinning Dad underneath. Tyler would wake up screaming for help.

That day, Tyler rushed into the house and dialed 911. Otherwise, the paramedics said, his father would have died. Or maybe Dad would have been brought back to life to be on Oprah talking about the soft music and the bright lights.

It was amazing that Dad was still alive, even if it looked like his right arm would be forever useless and he’d always walk with a limp. His face was often in a grimace from the pain he felt.

But the very worst part was after Dad got home and Tyler’s parents seriously began to discuss selling the farm. Mostly, it was his mom. His dad hung his head like he knew she was right but he just couldn’t bear to do the math one more time himself. “Okay, okay,” he finally said, giving up.

That was when Tyler lost it. “You can’t sell it! You just can’t!”

He had grown up on this farm, as had his dad before him, and Gramps and his father and grandfather before that. If they left their home behind, it’d be like the Trail of Tears Tyler learned about in history class last year. How the Cherokee Indians had been forced from their land to become migrants and march a thousand miles to the frontier. So many of them had died.

“Tiger, honey, remember our talk,” Mom reminded him pleasantly enough in front of Dad. Tiger is what his mom calls him when she is buttering him up. Before his father came home from the hospital, his right leg and arm still in a cast, Mom sat Tyler and his older brother and sister down for a talk. She explained that they must all do their part to help Dad in his recovery. No added worries (looking over at Ben, eighteen going on I’m-old-enough-to do-what-I-want). No scenes (looking over at Sara, fifteen with a boyfriend, Jake, and “Saturday night fever” seven nights a week, as his dad often joked, back when he used to joke). No commotion (looking over at Tyler, who as the youngest sometimes had to make a commotion just to be heard). They must all keep Dad’s spirits up this summer.

But Tyler knew for a fact that selling the farm would kill his dad. It would kill Tyler!

After his outburst, Mom had another little talk, this time just with Tyler. She sat him down at the kitchen table again as if the whole thing were a math problem that Tyler was having trouble with. Dairy farms were struggling. Hired help was hard to find. And if you did find someone like Corey, he only wanted to work eight hours a day, five days a week. Problem was cows needed milking twice a day every day, and the milkings had to be spaced at least eight to ten hours apart. Tyler’s brother, Ben, was helping out now. But he was off to college at the end of the summer, and not interested in farming once he graduated. Meanwhile, his sister, Sara, claimed she was allergic to most everything on the farm, especially her chores.

“What about me?” Tyler piped up. Why was he always being overlooked, just because he was the youngest? “I can do the milking. I know how to drive the tractor.”

Mom reached over and pushed Tyler’s hair back from his eyes. What a time to think about making him look presentable! “Tiger, I know you’re a hardworking little man. But milking two hundred cows is impossible even for a big man.” Her smile was tender. “Besides, you’ve got to go to school.”

“But I could stay home and work. Just for this year,” Tyler added. He was feeling desperate. Sure, he’d miss his friends and some things about school, like when they studied Native American tribes or the universe or Spanish, which a new teacher was teaching them twice a week.

But Mom was already shaking her head. Tyler should have guessed. Never in a million years would she let him stay home. School was always what she called a priority. “Even if you end up farming, you never know what might happen…” Mom didn’t have to go on with the sentence they could both now finish: look at what happened to your father.

“Tiger, honey, I know it’s not easy. But sometimes in life…”

Any sentence Mom started with the words sometimes in life was not going to end in good news. “…we have to accept things that we can’t change.” She looked thoughtful, even a little sad. “But what we do with what we get makes us who we are.” It sounded like a riddle. Like something Reverend Hollister might say in a sermon.

“But it’d be like Gramps dying all over again!” Tyler was crying, even though he didn’t want to cry. Gramps’s ashes were scattered up in the garden by the old house Grandma still lived in. How could they leave him behind? And what about Grandma? Where would she go?

His mom explained that the plan was to keep his grandparents’ house, including a little plot beside it where Tyler’s parents could build a new house. “We don’t really have to leave the place,” Mom added. Now it was Tyler shaking his head. Mom had grown up in Boston, a city girl. She didn’t understand the way that Tyler did, the way Gramps and Dad did, what it meant to be a farm family.
How could he explain to her that the farm was not just Dad’s, it was the whole family’s, going all the way back before Gramps, as well as forward, his and Sara’s and Ben’s, even if they didn’t want it?
Tyler remembered something the Abenaki chief who had come to his school for an assembly had said: “My people believe that our land is not given to us by our ancestors. It is loaned to us by our children.”

“But it’s not fair, it’s not fair!” Tyler responded to his mom’s explanations. And that was also what he said when she announced that Tyler had been invited to visit his aunt Roxie and uncle Tony for a month in Boston.

Now that will kill me, Tyler thought.

———–

Aunt Roxie and Uncle Tony were peculiar in a way that Tyler didn’t feel right complaining about. They were generous and always eager for adventure, and since they didn’t have any children, they loved to spoil their niece and nephews. Sara adored them.
“Why can’t I go for a month?” she asked as Tyler was being packed up.

“Trade you,” he offered in a whisper. But his mom heard. him and gave him that time-for-another-math-problem look. So Tyler shut up. Besides, he would never have wanted to hurt his aunt’s and uncle’s feelings. They were like two little kids, except they were middle-aged, so it felt weird that they were acting his age.

In fact, Mom hadn’t always let her kids go off with her sister and Uncle Tony. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Roxie to death,” Tyler heard his mom telling Dad, “but she’s a loose cannon, and he’s not far behind, you know.” Aunt Roxie and Uncle Tony had done wild, crazy things that Tyler wasn’t supposed to know about. “Like what?” he asked Sara, who had a way of finding things out.

“Well, for one thing, how they met. Aunt Roxie worked in a roller-derby bar.” Sara laughed, shaking her head, enjoying the thought. Tyler wasn’t sure what was so funny. He was having a hard time putting the job together in his head: being on roller skates in a derby and serving drinks in a bar-all at the same time?

“How about Uncle Tony?”

“Ohmigod, don’t even ask. He’s done like a bunch of crazy stuff. He was the bouncer at the bar where Aunt Roxie was working.” A bouncer, his sister explained, was a big, tough bodyguard guy who threw rowdy people out of bars.

“Uncle Tony?” Tall, goofy Uncle Tony who was always cracking jokes?

His sister gave him a deep, know-it-all nod. “Working at that bar is where they got the idea of throwing parties.”

A couple of years ago, Aunt Roxie and Uncle Tony quit their night jobs to start a hugely successful party business, which, among other things, sold party products online. They were also party motivators, who flew to rich people’s mansions and villas to help them throw the best parties, Christmas parties and wedding parties and birthday parties and I-just-feel-like-having-a-party parties. Party Animals, they called their company.

Mom was glad that she didn’t have to worry about her baby sister anymore, and that her kids now had an aunt and uncle on her side they could count on.

Uncle Tony and Aunt Roxie came up for the Fourth of July dressed in matching red, white, and blue outfits, Uncle Tony sporting a top hat like Uncle Sam’s, and Aunt Roxie a Statue of Liberty crown. On their drive back to Boston, Tyler thought he would die of embarrassment every time a car passed them on the highway. But drivers slowed down and honked their horns, giving Uncle Sam and Lady Liberty the thumbs-up. No wonder their company was so successful.

The month-long visit was actually okay. The Party Animals offices were in the downstairs of their condo, so while his aunt and uncle worked, Tyler entertained himself. He played video games and watched movies on the giant-screen TV. Every weekend, there was a party to go to or an outing to an amusement park or-Tyler’s all time favorite-a visit to the Museum of Science. He’d gaze up at the planetarium stars and think about the universe, forgetting his farm worries for hours at a time. On Fridays after work if the night was clear, his uncle and aunt would drive over to the museum so Tyler could look through the big telescope on the roof at the real stars.

But even though he was having fun, Tyler missed the farm so much. Often during the day, he would find himself thinking about what was happening right then back home -the cows were being milked or the back meadow mowed or the bales stacked in the haymow as the swallows dove in and out of the barn. Tyler could smell the fresh-cut grass, hear the mooing of the cows as they waited for the feed cart to come by their stalls. Then, without warning, the thought would pop into his head-the farm was being sold, and that was why his parents had sent him away and he’d start to worry all over again.

At the end of his visit, Tyler’s mom drove down with Sara, who would be staying on for her very own one-week visit with their aunt and uncle. On the way back to Vermont, his mom surprised Tyler with the best news ever. “Honey, we think we’ve found a way to keep the farm after all.”

Tyler felt like his whole life had just been given back to him, wrapped up like a present with a big bow on top! But wait, did that mean Dad had regained the use of his arm? Was Ben going to stay on the farm instead of going to college? Had his dad’s brother, Uncle Larry, who also farmed, offered to join their two adjacent farms together?

All these questions were popping up in Tyler’s head like one of those video games where the dark invaders jump out at every turn. But Tyler was not about to let them take over his feelings once again. He’d grab the good news and run. However his parents had managed to save their family’s farm, he was just glad they had worked this miracle in the month he had been gone.

“While you were away,” his dad is explaining, “we found some folks who’re going to help me with the work.”

“I was wondering,” Tyler admits. But he has promised himself not to ask a whole lot of questions and start worrying all over again.

“Those ‘trespassers’ are actually the reason we can stay on this farm,” Tyler’s dad goes on. “They’re the best helpers a man can ask for.” He smiles sadly. Tyler knows how hard it is for his father to ask for any help. Grandma always says that Dad should have been born over in New Hampshire, where the state motto is “Live free or die.”

“They’re from Mexico,” Mom goes on. She is a far better explainer than Dad, for whom two and two is always four and that’s the extent of it. Whereas Mom will go into how two is an even number, how if you multiply it by itself you get four, same as when you add it to itself….The only bad thing about Mom’s explanations is that they go on and on, and Tyler can’t help feeling impatient.

“They came all the way from the south of Mexico, a place called Chiapas,” Mom is saying.

“You mean you went to Mexico to pick them up while I was gone?” No wonder Sara didn’t make more of a fuss about coming to Boston with Tyler!

“No, son.” His dad shakes his head. “We didn’t have to go to Mexico. They were already here.”

“Your uncle Larry had some on his farm,” Mom elaborates. “And he told us about them. Lots of them are coming up here because they can’t earn enough back home to live on. Many of them used to farm. They’re separated from their families for years.” It sounds to Tyler like their very own Trail of Tears.

“Best workers,” his dad asserts. “Put us all to shame.”

“Well, Dad.” Mom smiles fondly at her husband. “You do a pretty good job yourself.”

“Used to,” he mutters bitterly.

“So you see, they’re most definitely not trespassers,” Mom says, ignoring the dark cloud but pulling out the silver lining. “They’re like our angels,” she adds.

“I counted at least three guys,” Tyler mentions. He doesn’t like this angel talk. Not with Oprah still on the screen alongside close-ups of a mangled car in some horrible accident that’s reminding Tyler of Dad’s tractor tipping over.

Besides, angels are just one step away from ghosts and the spooky thought that maybe their farm is haunted with bad luck.

“And there’s also three little girls,” Mom adds. Dad looks up as if this is news to him. “They’re going to be at your school,” Mom continues. “One of them’s your age. She’ll probably be in your grade.”

“You didn’t say anything about little girls.” Dad looks alarmed.

“I didn’t know myself until I went to pick them up,” Mom says, shrugging. Like Tyler, his mom probably didn’t want to ask a whole lot of questions when angels came to their rescue, even if they were disguised as Mexicans.

“One last thing, Tiger,” his mom says as Tyler is heading out the door. “We…Well…School’s about to start.” She hesitates. “What we just told you is not-I mean, it stays on the farm, okay?” His mom glances at the TV, still on mute. It’s as if Oprah herself is following Mom’s orders.

Tyler must look confused, because his mom goes on, explaining stuff that makes no sense. “You know like when there’s a disagreement at home or we tell you something’s private. You understand?”

Of course Tyler understands about privacy. Like the time his uncle Byron had his hemorrhoid operation. Or Uncle Larry’s oldest son, Larry Jr., was caught with a girl in the barn. But why would hiring workers have to be kept private?

And then Tyler gets it. His father’s pride! Dad doesn’t want his farmer neighbors to know he needs not one but Tyler counted them-three helpers. Not to mention that his parents are probably afraid some other farmer will hire these workers out from under them. Pay them more money, give them a house instead of a trailer.

“Okay.” He nods, grinning with relief. “If anyone asks I’ll just tell them we’ve got us some Martians.” Actually, his classmates might just believe him! Back in fifth grade, Ronnie and Clayton, the two school bullies, used to chant “There’s Ty, the Science Guy!” because Tyler was always talking about the universe and the stars in class. “We hired extraterrestrials,” he’ll report. “Excellent help. You don’t have to pay them. You don’t have to feed them. All you do is reboot them at night and they’re ready to go in the morning.”

It’s only as he’s headed upstairs that it hits him. If the girls are going to be attending Bridgeport, how can they be a secret? He’s about to go back downstairs and confront his parents, but then he remembers the promise he made to himself. No questions. No worries. Let those girls come up with their own explanation. It should be easier being Mexican than being an alien from outer space.
But remembering his mom’s worried look and his dad’s bowed head, Tyler wonders if maybe being Martian is a lot easier to explain than being Mexican in Vermont. One thing’s for sure. Sometimes in life he just has to accept stuff he’ll never ever understand.

—————
15 agosto 2005
Queridísima Mamá,

If you are reading these words, it means you are back in Carolina del Norte! There would be no greater happiness for Papá, my sisters, and me than to hear this good news. We have missed you terribly the eight months and a day (yes, Mamá, I am keeping count!) that you have been gone.

By the time you get this letter, we will have moved north. “I thought we were already in El Norte?” Ofie asked when Papá announced we would be departing from Carolina del Norte to go to Vermont.

Papá laughed. “Más allá en El Norte,” he explained. A state even farther north in an area of the country where there are many farms. Tío Armando and Tío Felipe and Papá had heard from some friends from Las Margaritas who had found work there that the patrones are kind and need help on their farms.

At first, none of us wanted to move because we feared that you would come back and not find us where you left us. But since friends have taken over our apartment in Durham, and we left word where we are, and soon you will be receiving this letter, that worry has been put to rest.

Even so, it is difficult for Luby and Ofie to leave the one place they have known as their home. The place they were born. As for me, Mamá, it is the place where I have been waiting. Waiting for you to return. Waiting for the laws to change so I can visit my birthplace in México and be able to come back into the United States again.

But Papá explained to us how our lives would be better in Vermont. We would all be together, living on the farm where he and our uncles worked.

Ever since you left, Mamá, he doesn’t want to let my sisters and me out of his sight. And now, there are so many of us in Carolina del Norte that he could not always find work, and when he did, he had to go where the patrón sent him. The jobs were only for two, three weeks, and then back to a street corner with a crowd of other Mexicans, hoping he would be picked. And always fearing that la migra would pick him up first and deport him back home, where he’d have to find the money to pay for the dangerous crossing once again. Papá worries most about what would happen to my sisters and me if he was taken away, especially with you not around to at least be one parent in the family.

“Do not worry,” Tío Armando reminds Papá. “I would take care of them like my own children.” Our uncle has not seen his wife and kids since he went for a visit three years ago. His littlest daughter he hasn’t even met. Papafón, she calls him, because she only knows him from hearing his voice on the telephone.

“And what if they take you, too?” Papá always replies. “What then?”

Our uncle Felipe strums his guitar to remind Papá that he can take care of us, too. Wilmita, he calls her. “I will treat them like princesitas,” he sings as he picks a tune. “I will dress them in diamonds and pearls and take them to Disney World.”

“How about we dress them in sweaters and boots and take them to a farm in Vermont,” Papá says, smiling. Tío Felipe sure knows how to make us all laugh. Without him, we’d be a family of the well half dry, that is for certain.

Another thing that is for certain: Papá will be so much happier working on a farm! He often speaks of being a boy, helping our grandfather, Abuelote, farm in Las Margaritas. But that was before the family had to give up farming because there was no money in it. In Carolina del Norte, all he did was construction, and often the jobs were far away, and Papá could not come home for weeks at a time, and then just for a short weekend.

Don’t worry, Mamá, I have taken good care of my little sisters when he is gone. You will not believe how tall Luby has gotten! She is up to my chest, and Ofie is almost as tall as me! A lot of people guess they are older than five and seven, which Ofie especially loves to brag about. Often those same people can’t believe I’m really eleven going on twelve. “Good things come in small packages,” they say to console me.

I understand why I am not very tall, because I resemble you and Papá. But where did my sisters get their height? In school, we learned about genes, how we become what our parents put in us.

“Genes?” Tío Felipe makes a joke when I explain it to him. “Jeans are to wear!” He says it is food, lots of it. When I was in your belly in Las Margaritas you were not eating as well as when Ofie and then Luby came along in this country. When he sees the sad look on my face, Tío Felipe tries to make another joke. “All those McDonald’s and Coca-Colas!” He smiles his wonderful smile that is so hard to resist. Papá says that when Tío Felipe returns with his pockets full of money and his good looks, all the girls in Las Margaritas are going to throw themselves at him like girls do here at the movie stars. That makes Tío Felipe smile wider.

It is difficult to be the one different from my sisters. Some boys at my old school made fun of me, calling me an “illegal alien.” What is illegal about me? Only that I was born on the wrong side of a border? As for “alien,” I asked the teacher’s helper, and she explained that an alien is a creature from outer space who does not even belong on this earth! So, where am I supposed to go?