Mariana approached the counter and held out the photograph. “Are you Beatriz?”
For weeks, Mariana debated what to do. The internet offered no Beatriz Ramirez at that address. The street number might no longer exist. But one evening, while cleaning out a closet, Mariana found a shoebox of photographs. Beneath the pictures of her mother as a baby was a black-and-white image of two young women smiling in front of a flamboyán tree. On the back, in Spanish: “Elena y Beatriz, Santurce, 1979.” readtheory.org
Mariana found the letter while cleaning out her late grandmother’s attic. It was tucked inside a worn copy of The House on Mango Street , pressed between pages 84 and 85. The envelope was yellowed and unsealed, addressed in her grandmother’s familiar cursive to a name Mariana did not recognize: “Beatriz Ramirez, 1423 Calle de la Paz, San Juan, Puerto Rico.” Mariana approached the counter and held out the photograph
A. She resents Elena for leaving and never writing. B. She has completely forgotten about Elena. C. She has remembered Elena and hoped for some kind of closure. D. She believes Mariana is Elena in disguise. The street number might no longer exist
The woman’s hands stopped. She looked at the image, then at Mariana. Her eyes watered, but she did not cry. Instead, she smiled—a slow, sad, knowing smile.