Return to Sender by Julia Álvarez Page B

we do a star lesson after supper?” Several nights in the attic of the barn we had looked through his telescope at the stars.
“Nah, not tonight. It's gonna cloud up,” he said in a voice that was almost as unfriendly as the first time I met him.
I looked over his shoulder at the clear evening sky. He was not giving me the real reason. But then, I wasn't asking him the real question I wanted to ask him. I pushed myself to be bold and brave. “Are you my friend?” I asked in a trembly voice that was the opposite of brave and bold.
Tyler just shrugged, which I knew meant hewasn't sure anymore. I felt a black hole where my heart used to be. “It's because of what the boys said on the bus, right?” I was acting as nosy as my sister Ofie.
It took him a moment to look up. In his blue eyes I saw little pieces of the beautiful blue summer sky that was now gone until next year. “Just tell me one thing, okay? Do you have the documents my dad said Mexicans have to have to work here?”
Mr. President, I could not tell a lie, just like another of the presidents who went before you, Mr. George Washington, after he cut down the cherry tree. I told Tyler the truth. And then I added many of the things I am writing in this letter. That it was not my fault that I was here. That my parents brought me to this country when I was four years old. That I didn't have a vote like you do in a democracy.
He was quiet for a while before he spoke up. “I know it's not your fault, Mari,” he began. “I know that if your dad and uncles hadn't come, we wouldn't be able to stay on the farm. But still”— Tyler's voice suddenly sounded like he was going to cry—”I'd rather lose the farm than not be loyal to my country.
“I'm sorry,” he added because tears had come to my eyes. “I'm sorry because I really like your family.” And then he walked away.
There have been a lot of sad moments in this country, but that moment of a new friend walking away was one of the saddest.
That is why I am writing you, Mr. President. I can't share my sadness with anyone else, because if I tell Papá about the boys on the bus, I am almost sure he will pull us out of school.
I also know you can't even write me back as I can't give you my full name and address. Please believe me, Mr. President, that I would if I could. I just don't want to worry anyone. That is why I am not telling my father that Mr. B. is planning to mail this letter. Mr. B. explained that without last names or an address, I won't get anybody in trouble. He is the one who says that you need to know what is going on in your country. How even kids who would otherwise be friends have to turn away from each other.
Tonight at midnight, Mr. President, when it turns into the 16th of September, it will be our Fourth of July in Mexico. It is the date when our country first became independent. And guess how the revolution started. A priest rang the bell to wake up all the citizens to freedom. So now, every 15th of September at midnight, our president in Mexico comes out on his balcony overlooking the huge square in our capital, full of hundreds and thousands of people like we have seen on the television for the New Year's Eve in New YorkCity. All over Mexico, people are waiting for the sound of liberty.
At the stroke of midnight, our president rings that original bell that has been carried to his balcony for this special night. Then he cries out “¡Viva México!” which means “Long live Mexico!” The crowd cries back “¡Viva!” Then the president says it again and again, three times in all, and the people cry back, each time louder, “¡Viva!”
Tonight, Mr. President, I am going to stay up until it is midnight. Then I will tiptoe through the trailer and come outside and lift my arms just above my shoulders to find the North Star the way Tyler has taught me to find it. I will turn in the opposite direction, facing toward my homeland. “¡Viva México!” I will cry out in my heart. Three times,