My Translator

“Mom, they called my name I won.” “Mijo, estoy tan orgullosa de ti, qué bendición.” Her voice lifts when I tell her. Like music in a language they don’t teach in school. At the store, at school, at the doctor’s front desk I become her mouth. I become her ears. They ask her questions she can't answer. I step in, twelve years old, speaking like a grown-up. They see her silence, but her voice resonates a melody in a language unspoken. Sometimes I wish they could hear the wisdom she holds in every word. Well, this is my life. And I’m happy. But it’s a struggle too being the voice for someone who gave up hers for you. But now she orders at restaurants, chats with my teachers, says “thank you” without looking down. She found her voice. And I helped her build it. Now we speak side by side.