Mami/Zoila Rios Character Analysis

Did I love chess?
I did chess.

But love? Like I
love watching beauty tutorials?

[…]

Or how I love Papi’s brother, Tío Jorge,
holding my hand and saying I make him proud

for myself not for what I win?

Like I loved my father, that kind of love?
Consuming, huge, a love that takes the wheel,

a love where I pretended to be something I wasn’t?
I did chess. I was obsessed with winning.

But never love.

Even when he came to visit
this house he paid for & updated,
Papi treated Tía like an older sister:

so much respect for how she kept the house,
for the beliefs she had,
the decisions she made regarding my well-being.

They were friends. But until this moment
I have not thought of what she’s lost.
He was like her brother. Besides me, her only family.

Things you can buy
with half a million dollars:

a car that looks more
like a space creature than a car.

[…]

Five hundred flights
to the Dominican Republic.

A half million Dollar Store chess sets,
with their accompanying boxes.

A hundred thousand copies
of Shakespeare’s The Tempest.

Apparently a father.

Mami still had an air around Papi,
like he was a medicine she knew she needed

even as she cringed at the taste.

But now I wonder
if it was always more than that.

Maybe Mami knew about the other woman?
Even without seeing the certificate.

I think of how the word unhappy houses
so many unanswered questions.

Tía Lidia puts her hand over mine. “Your mother is having
a tough time. Their marriage wasn’t easy, & she has so much
she’s dealing with. Yano was a great father to you,

& I know you loved him, but he wasn’t always a great husband.”
& I don’t know how one man can be so many different things

to the people he was closest to. But I nod. I almost slip and ask
does everyone know? But if they don’t I can’t be the one

to reveal the dirt on my father’s name.

& there was a moment when the wheels first touched down
that my heart plummeted in my chest, but then we were slowing

& a smattering of passengers erupted into applause.
The old lady in the seat beside me said in Spanish,

“They don’t do that as much anymore. This must be a plane
of Dominicans returning home;

when you touch down on this soil, you must clap when you land.
Para dar gracias a dios. Regrezamos.” & I smiled back.

The ceremony we had for Papi in New York
is nothing compared to what is planned in DR.

Tía and Camino arrange an entire party.
Mami looks on disapprovingly

as a band of men in white show up with drums
& tambourines, & it’s a good thing the grave site

isn’t too far from the church because dozens
& dozens of people show up, until we’re a blur,

a smudge of people dressed like ash
advancing down the street.

I borrowed a light-colored dress from Camino,
& we walk down the street arm in arm.

People sing songs I don’t know.
I think Papi would have loved us making such a fuss.

[…] & here we are: Tía like a bishop,

slashing her long machete. Mami, the knight with rims. My body
in front of my sister’s body: queens.

Papi, who I know is here too. He did
build that castle he always promised.

She grabs her purse & drives out.
There was so much I had left to say:

That maybe a bad husband can still be a good parent.
That maybe he tried to be the best he knew how to be.

That he hurt her got caught up there’s no excuse.
But he is not here. He is not here. We are all that’s left.

Zoila & I speak little on these trips,
but when I’m humming along to a song,
she turns up the radio.

& when her face was red from heat
in the clinic waiting room,
I used a magazine to fan it.

It is awkward, these familial ties & breaks we share.
But we are muddling through it.

I skim my feet in the water, with my face stroked by the sun
& pretend it is my father hands on my skin

saying sorry I love you welcome home goodbye.
I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.

Say the waves. Say I.

Did I love chess?
I did chess.

But love? Like I
love watching beauty tutorials?

[…]

Or how I love Papi’s brother, Tío Jorge,
holding my hand and saying I make him proud

for myself not for what I win?

Like I loved my father, that kind of love?
Consuming, huge, a love that takes the wheel,

a love where I pretended to be something I wasn’t?
I did chess. I was obsessed with winning.

But never love.

Even when he came to visit
this house he paid for & updated,
Papi treated Tía like an older sister:

so much respect for how she kept the house,
for the beliefs she had,
the decisions she made regarding my well-being.

They were friends. But until this moment
I have not thought of what she’s lost.
He was like her brother. Besides me, her only family.

Things you can buy
with half a million dollars:

a car that looks more
like a space creature than a car.

[…]

Five hundred flights
to the Dominican Republic.

A half million Dollar Store chess sets,
with their accompanying boxes.

A hundred thousand copies
of Shakespeare’s The Tempest.

Apparently a father.

Mami still had an air around Papi,
like he was a medicine she knew she needed

even as she cringed at the taste.

But now I wonder
if it was always more than that.

Maybe Mami knew about the other woman?
Even without seeing the certificate.

I think of how the word unhappy houses
so many unanswered questions.

Tía Lidia puts her hand over mine. “Your mother is having
a tough time. Their marriage wasn’t easy, & she has so much
she’s dealing with. Yano was a great father to you,

& I know you loved him, but he wasn’t always a great husband.”
& I don’t know how one man can be so many different things

to the people he was closest to. But I nod. I almost slip and ask
does everyone know? But if they don’t I can’t be the one

to reveal the dirt on my father’s name.

& there was a moment when the wheels first touched down
that my heart plummeted in my chest, but then we were slowing

& a smattering of passengers erupted into applause.
The old lady in the seat beside me said in Spanish,

“They don’t do that as much anymore. This must be a plane
of Dominicans returning home;

when you touch down on this soil, you must clap when you land.
Para dar gracias a dios. Regrezamos.” & I smiled back.

The ceremony we had for Papi in New York
is nothing compared to what is planned in DR.

Tía and Camino arrange an entire party.
Mami looks on disapprovingly

as a band of men in white show up with drums
& tambourines, & it’s a good thing the grave site

isn’t too far from the church because dozens
& dozens of people show up, until we’re a blur,

a smudge of people dressed like ash
advancing down the street.

I borrowed a light-colored dress from Camino,
& we walk down the street arm in arm.

People sing songs I don’t know.
I think Papi would have loved us making such a fuss.

[…] & here we are: Tía like a bishop,

slashing her long machete. Mami, the knight with rims. My body
in front of my sister’s body: queens.

Papi, who I know is here too. He did
build that castle he always promised.

She grabs her purse & drives out.
There was so much I had left to say:

That maybe a bad husband can still be a good parent.
That maybe he tried to be the best he knew how to be.

That he hurt her got caught up there’s no excuse.
But he is not here. He is not here. We are all that’s left.

Zoila & I speak little on these trips,
but when I’m humming along to a song,
she turns up the radio.

& when her face was red from heat
in the clinic waiting room,
I used a magazine to fan it.

It is awkward, these familial ties & breaks we share.
But we are muddling through it.

I skim my feet in the water, with my face stroked by the sun
& pretend it is my father hands on my skin

saying sorry I love you welcome home goodbye.
I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.

Say the waves. Say I.