Noemi

M. Noemi Romero was born in El Salvador where she attended

school until she was ten. She moved to Texas when she was

16 to escape civil war and poverty. She started a family a few

years later and moved to California. She now attends Monterey

Peninsula College.

 

"People look at me paying with food stamps... and they say 'we are paying a lot of money for Spanish people.' In this country they always point to the minority."

 

     Noemi’s head bows forward. Her small, brown fingers engrave an intricate Salvadoran design into the edge of the table. She draws machine guns, army tanks, helicopters dropping pomegranate bombs on homes of sleeping families. She carves the last cadaver into the dead wood and says, “Since I was little, I really wanted to expand my time in school. It was difficult because I had to work three days a week and go to school three days a week. My mom became a single parent when I was ten, so I had to help her with my brothers and sisters. My mother would go sell oranges at the market while I stayed at home cooking.”

 

     A breath flutters up in her chest. Her cinnamon eyes move on my face and her hair swings like the dark half of a crescent moon. Her voice quivers like the wings of a hummingbird, “I remember one time when my mother went to the market. I was at home alone and I was cooking and a big snake came in the house. I ran to my neighbor and he got the snake. I hate snakes,” she says with a nervous smile.

 

     Noemi stares at my face while she bandages the bad thoughts in her head. “When I was sixteen I was sent to Texas to live with my father. He drank a lot and beat me every night. I couldn’t stand living with my dad anymore so I left with a guy I had just met, now the father of my kids.” She makes a small fist and places it over her heart to protect herself from the wars of her childhood.

 

      “We moved to California and worked. I was housekeeping at Highlands Inn until I fell. The hotel was like a townhouse and I fell down the stairs three times. The first two times I never reported it because I loved that job. I didn’t want to leave. But when I fell the third time I decided to quit the job.” She sighs deep, pulling all of her strength from inside. “But after one year with me staying home, we started having problems because I didn’t bring home any money. So he left home. At that time I went on welfare... It was hard because I didn’t want to say that he left.”

 

     Noemi relaxes her shoulders and folds her hands on the table. Her cinnamon eyes swallow the smoke from her heart. Noemi says, “I felt real bad because the worker who interviewed me was asking me what I was thinking having seven kids, now this man just left.” Her back hardens against the tattooing of her memories.

 

     “I told the welfare office that I just need the help until I finish school. I said if you guys help me I can go back to school, finish my education, and stop welfare. I don’t want to live the rest of my life on welfare,” she says staring out the window as the MPC students change classes. “I told them I am going back to school. And now I only have six more months left,” she says smiling. “I will get my Associates Degree in Computers.” Noemi leans against the back of the orange chair, stares at the large world map on the wall.

-Erin Silvas