This is Enough

Maria sits on the former east bank of the Mississippi River, looking west. The sun is about gone over the horizon shining a late streak of light on a faded memory. She thinks of the last time water flowed here. Her father would take her to this spot as a child and tell her of the endless barges and tugs traveling up and down the mighty waterway. As the years went on and the drought persisted, the level became so low that only a kayak could float the stream, she remembers her father telling her. Finally, it became as it is now, a marshy meadow with rivulets forming when a light rain does at times manage to fall.

Maria recalls a boy paddling along in a kayak when she was 3 or 4 years old. Her father shouts out to him, “maybe next year we will get some rain and you can paddle on down to Louisiana.” The boy chuckles. Later in life, Maria is never sure if her dad had meant Louisiana, the city in Missouri, or Louisiana, the state. Their spot is across from Hannibal, Missouri, on the Illinois side, not too far from Hull, Illinois where Maria grew up, and upriver from Louisiana, Missouri. Her dad, Manny, had worked for Archer Daniels Midland. That is until the crops fail to give ADM the raw product to make corn syrup. ADM lays off Manny, and almost everyone he knew, by the end of the hot, dry, summer of 2035. Any company that has anything to do with crops in the entire Midwest, goes out of business.

Manny’s severance package is enough to keep the family going for a few years. When the money does run out, Manny shoots himself in the backyard. He will die a week later at the Hannibal Regional Hospital. Maria had turned 5 a couple of weeks earlier. Her little brother Juan is 2 at the time. Manny’s wife Juanita is devastated, but the family muddles along well enough. Until one day Juan decides he is leaving home at the tender age of 10 to “try to find work somewhere, or just to be gone, or whatever.” When Juanita asks Juan where he thinks he is going, he simply says, “anywhere, anywhere has to be better.” The next morning, Juan is not in his bed, or anywhere, and never returns.

After Juan left, Maria’s mother cries for days, then for weeks, and then nothing. No talking or sounds of any kind. The silence persists. She wishes she could hear her mother’s voice again. Even a whimper would be better than nothing, but she knows her mother is gone. She may be alive by medical standards, but she is dead by family standards. Pity, Maria thinks to herself how Juan probably has no memory of his dad. She often plays over in her mind the two good years she has of her family, always while sitting at this same spot on the old riverbank. This is where her father tells her all the things he knows about the world.

Now, as if alive next to her he says with a kind, confident voice, “Maria, being good to people is the most important thing in the universe. And you cannot be good unless you have love in your heart. Every day you should work hard, laugh harder and always apologize if you have shown anger towards someone.” He pauses to let it sink in, then adds, “no one ever really means to hurt other people, it is just that they feel hurt. So be good to everyone, love them, and comfort them.” Warmth fills Maria’s legs and arms as she reminisces about these short, early years with her dad. Then, sadness crowds out the good feelings as the image of her father fades away and the stark reality of what has become of her life crushes down.

Back home alone with her silent mother, Maria reads, and rereads, the medical textbooks given by family friends. Her mother would encourage her studies, often saying “Maria, I believe you will be a fine doctor one day, no matter what field you go into.” As soon as she can barely read at the age of 4 ½, Maria wants only to read about science and medicine. A pamphlet from her dad’s job at ADM about health insurance was what first got her attention, instead of the simple picture book stories most children desire. Maria still thinks of being a doctor, but medical school seems like a distant dream now that her mother counts on Maria for everything. Maria mulls how this is not much of an existence, but sighs with thankfulness how the two of them can scrape by with Juanita’s social security check, and the money from her own job at the only remaining gas station in Hannibal.

Maria knows her mother would wither away quickly if she were to leave. And where would she go? With little money, no friends, and few connections outside of her measly job, she dares not plan a future for herself. Looking over at Juanita sitting on the well-worn spot of the old family couch staring out the window and rubbing the heart-shaped locket she has always kept with her since Daddy died, Maria suddenly wonders what is in the locket? It occurs to her she has never thought about the contents of the locket before this moment. Is it a picture of Manny? Of Juan? The whole family? Or perhaps it is a love note from Manny to Juanita. Whatever is inside, Maria has never seen the locket open.

Maria thinks for a moment about gently touching the locket while her mother runs her fingers over it. Would her mother let her touch it? Would she let her open it? Would this be the way to get past the curtain her mother has drawn around her soul? From across the room Maria stares at the locket for at least a minute. Then, Maria notices her mother’s head turn ever so slightly towards her, and then away again and back to staring out of the window. A fleeting glance is the most interaction she has had with her mother for over a decade.

Maria gets up and walks to the kitchen. She starts cleaning the dishes and begins to sob. This is enough for today; she thinks to herself. This is enough for today.