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Panchita’s Sea Lion [] 
Panchita’s Sea Lion
by Jennifer de GuzmanThe thought that formed in Panchita Roca’s mind as she traced the perim-eter of the front lawn and whispered to her dead sister was not one she couldshape into something manageable. It had to do with inevitability, a word shedid not yet know, about how our actions collide with accidents of nature, whichcares about nothing—except for endless, unceasing movement, perhaps. Shemight have quoted Tennyson if she could have, but Panchita could express thethought only in the placement of her feet—touching heel to toe and heel to toeand heel to toe--and the thought that she knew was not enough:
It’s not fair.
Itwasgrowingcold.Panchita’sfteen-year-oldsisterAriaandherfather
had drowned during their summer vacation, but now it was nearly Halloween,nearly Panchita’s eighth birthday in November. Panchita had not yet been back
toschool,however,andshespentherdaystalkingtoAria.
The living room curtain was drawn aside for a moment as Panchita’s auntpeered out at her niece, and then it quickly closed again against the sun. Pan-chita glanced up and then away. She distrusted curtains these days, how theyblocked the world out of the house and kept her mother, silent and staring, indarkness. How the shadows played across them. She had torn her own curtains
downandsetretothemtheweekbefore.Theworkersweregoingtocomein
 
Jennifer de Guzman [] 
andrenishtheoorsnextweek.Untilthen,Panchitawassleepinginthefamily
room.
“JuanandMiguelsayI’mspoiled,”PanchitasaidtoAria.Herbrothershad
been upset because they had to do Panchita’s chores for a few days because she was sick from the smoke inhalation.
“TheysaidIwasspoiled,too,”Ariasaid.HervoiceoatedwithinPanchita’s
head, clearer than her thoughts. “But they’re the ones who are spoiled. Theynever have to do anything.”“They say I’m spoiled because I didn’t get in trouble for the curtains and be-cause I don’t have to go to school.”
“Well...”Ariaseemedtomuseforamoment.“You
should 
go to school.”“I know,” Panchita said. “But my teacher is sending me homework. I can
almostwriteeverythingincursivenow.AndIcancarry.”
“Carry?”
“Youknow,likecarrytheone.Andborrow,too.”“Oh,”Ariasaid.“Igetit.Butyouknow,yougettoread
James and the Giant Peach 
inthirdgrade.Youdon’twanttomissoutonthat.”
“I can read it at home.” Panchita stopped walking and sat on a low brick
barrierframingaowerbed.Sherestedherelbowsonherknees,herchininher
palms.
“Don’tsulk,”Ariasaid.“Theneveryonewillsayyou’rethegirlwiththedead
dad and sister and they’ll feel sorry for you.”“I don’t care.”“Well, I
do 
.”“Why?” Panchita rested her head on her knees and watched the ends of her braids, long and brown like her arms and legs, brush the too-long blades of 
grass.UncleTeowashelpingwiththingsaroundthehouse,buthedidn’tlike
 yard work and Panchita’s brothers dodged it as much as they could.
“Because,”Ariasaid,andPanchitaheardherbreatheindeeply,whichsheknewdidn’tmakesense,sinceAriawasdeadanddidn’tbreatheanymore.“Be
-cause you should never let people feel sorry for you.”In another time, Panchita would have asked “Why?” once more, but she onlysighed quietly and did not move until her aunt came outside, pulled her to her
 
Panchita’s Sea Lion [] 
feet and led her into the house.
Thatnight,whenUncleTeocameintothefamilyroomtosaygoodnightto
her, Panchita informed him that she’d made a decision. “I want to go to school,”
shesaid.“Ariathinksit’sagoodidea,too.”
Teo looked at his niece’s serious little face, his hazel eyes meeting her brown
onesinamomentofunderstanding.“Allright,”hesaid.“I’llcalltheschool.”PanchitahadmentionedAriapurposely,andshewasn’tsurprisedthatUn
-cle Teo hadn’t commented on it. To her mother or her aunt, she would havenever said anything. Her mother was not ready for it. Panchita knew this. She watched her mother secretly, pressing her cheek against the wall as she peeredaround the corner of the hallway into the living room. Manuela sat on the coucheating rotisserie chicken, gnawing the bones clean, and saying nothing. There was a silent dignity in it, which Panchita had tried to imitate that day in the yard,
 whenshehadnotaskedAria“Why?”againbuthadsatsilentlyinstead.There wassomesolaceinsayingnothing,she’dfound,andAriaseemedtohaveunder
-stood, the way she always understood what Panchita was thinking.
AsforAuntErnestine,Panchitajustdidnotliketheegg-shapedwoman
 with the smudgy eyebrows and penciled-in lips who braided Panchita’s hair sotightly that it pulled at the corners of her eyes. (Panchita would shake the braidsloose and re-do them herself, sloppily, with one braid always askew, but no one
noticed.)ShetalkedtoAuntErnestineaslittleasshecouldanyway,butshelis
-tened in often.
AuntErnestineandUncleTeotalkedaboutPanchitareturningtoschool.
 They were in the kitchen and thought Panchita was asleep, but she had creptunder the breakfast bar, squeezed between the legs of the stools and the wall.
“Doyoureallythinkshe’sready?”AuntErnestineasked.“Shehardlysays
anything at all, except when she’s talking to herself.”Panchita held her breath, wanting to say to her aunt, in a tone her mother would call “disrespectful,” “I’m not talking to myself!”
“It’llbegoodforher,”UncleTeosaidandPanchitacouldnottellifherewere
hiding her secret or if he hadn’t believed her.
AuntErnestinemadealittlehummingsound,asiftryingtoconvinceherself
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