“Portugal, Huckleberry, and Me”

ALL WRITTEN AND ARTWORK ARE THE INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OF PSG LOPES/THE MOONLIT GODDESS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, 2016-2023.

I spent the summer in rural Portugal when I was seven. I loved how free I was at the time. On my grandparents’ farm, I was able to roam and explore and play with the dirt and get messy and have adventures. I’d never experienced such freedom before in my life! I became Huckleberry Finn. I could go barefoot. I could get dirty and ruin my clothes and I just adored that independence and craved more!

My grandmother would try to teach my siblings and me small phrases in Portuguese. She tried teaching us easy words and phrases like “please” and “thank you.” My grandmother would save cookies for us for dessert as a treat every night. She would have us ask for one in Portuguese and say please and thank you. I couldn’t understand the words she was saying. The inflection and the sounds were unfamiliar to me. I also couldn’t hear her. Being excessively shy, I couldn’t ask her to repeat herself and I was afraid of her. I just forewent the cookies because I felt it was easier than just asking for them in a language I didn’t understand or hear. I would just sit on the couch crying quietly as my brother and sister enjoyed the cookies that I was supposed to be enjoying.

One night, my siblings and I were playing outside. My baby brother was swinging on the farm gate shouting playfully as he swung back and forth. Not realizing what I was doing, I thought it would be fun for him if I swung him around. His small hand was on the edge of the bar where the gate closed. His thumbnail flew right off causing my brother to bleed profusely and shriek one of the most blood-curdling screams I ever heard.

My grandmother and mother rushed outside to see what had happened. I was a nervous wreck. It was a total accident, but I knew what was coming would be very bad for me. My grandmother locked the gate and then dragged me into the house by the ear. She then threw me across the linoleum scraping my knees very badly. I began bleeding. I started crying and rushed to my bedroom to avoid further assaults.

Guilt did not begin to describe how I felt. How stupid of me! I kept to myself for the next few days, not eating much. I kept hoping that eventually, everyone would somehow forgive me. My mother came to me one day smiling. She asked how I was and gave me a chocolate chip cookie. Grateful, my shoulders stopped tensing. I felt a little less carefree, a little less free-spirited. I felt guarded and fought to stay under the radar. I asked my mom to teach me basic Portuguese so that I could finally be rewarded with a cookie after dinner and fit in with my brother and sister. I hated feeling alone. I hated feeling like an outcast. But these feelings perpetuated throughout my life.