Maybe I like her because she slightly reminds me of myself when I was her age, hair flying in the wind and dirt all over my clothes. Or maybe it’s the freedom with which she lives without regard to societal rules or the complaining voices of her older cousins. Araceli tends to make people turn their heads in wonderment at this small, beautiful child that almost never stops running and only wears matching, clean clothes when her cousins or grandma make her change. Her nickname, Ara, means sky and it fits her personality perfectly. We became friends when she would pass my house and yell out “Aleesohn” and I would yell back, “Aracelliii!” This somehow became a habit, and she will often shout out my name while speeding by my house on her way to the almacen and I will call back from inside my house even though I can’t see her.
One day I was walking home with Araceli and her two cousins Ofelia and Ana and Araceli was particularly being a pest which I found hilarious and absolutely approved of. She had taken a small silver decoration from a cake and stuck it on her nose with frosting and then showed me that she had a nose ring like me. She went running through the chakra, skipping and yelling, daring to dirty her clothes. I laughed and might have encouraged her behavior. Ofe and Ana on the other hand were tired of their small cousins’ offenses and continually yelled at her to be careful, to stay clean, and to just act like a normal human being. Ana looked at me with a long face and said, “Ali, do you want a child? I will give you Araceli. You take her home with you.” I of course accepted willingly. “Jaha Araceli,” I said, “Eketa che rogape.” (Let’s go, you will sleep at my house.) We continued the joke and began to say, “Araceli ohota chendive estadosunidospe. Ohota che maletape ha oikota chendive.” (Araceli will go with me to the United States. She’ll go in my suitcase and live with me.) Ofe and Ana were thrilled with the idea but the more we joked, the further Ara ran from me. “Che ndahamoai,” she retorted (I’m not going) and skipped out of reach. The next several times she saw me in public, Araceli would run up to me and tease, “Ali! Che ndahamoai nendive” (Ali, I’m not going with you) and then run away. I believe there was a time when this 5 year old actually thought we were serious about packing her off to another country and began to run closer to her abuela (grandma) when I came around. Now she no longer fears me and we all keep the joke going, which keeps her running back and forth out of my reach, laughing the whole time. Sometimes I tell her, "Nde che membyma. Eju, jaha" (You're my child now. Come, lets go.), and I reach for her as if to grab her and take her home with me.
The other day we all went to the school graduation to watch the 6th graders and preschoolers receive their folders, passing on to a new and more advanced realm. Then, like any good Paraguayan event, we ate food, drank soda, and ate cake. Poor Araceli had to dress nicely in her school skirt and button up shirt and it was transparently clear that she was uncomfortable. She sat at the preschool table straddling her chair and wrapping her ankles around the legs of the chair, looking wide-eyed at the cake at the center of the table. Unlike her other classmates, she didn’t play around with the napkins and silverware in front of her, or reach precariously over the carefully decorated cake. It certainly was not for lack of energy; I believe she was using an enormous amount of restraint at that moment. I felt her pain and remembered what it was like when I was 5 years old and had to sit still and look pretty. Actually, I didn’t have to look back even that far. I’m 23 and I still have a hard time sitting still and have to use a large amount of restraint in situations like that. I don’t throw fits when my mom tells me to put on a dress for church, but I argue with my friends when they tell me to dress up.
The graduation finally ended and we all began the walk home together. Araceli, finally free, made a big sigh, looked at her abuela, said “Opa. Avya.” (It’s over. I’m happy), took off her button up shirt and tied it around her stomach. She of course was prepared and not only had a shirt underneath the button-up, but shorts underneath her skirt. She began to run ahead and make dramatic scenes in front of us as if she was tired, waiting for us to catch up with her. She skipped ahead and then fell on the ground. She ran, swinging one leg around in circles and then leaned over pretending to pant. She turned around and walked backwards uphill giggling until her abuela told her to turn around and walk normally. All of this caused the button-up shirt to fall from her stomach and it eventually got passed off to abuela so that it wouldn’t get dirty and wrinkled. She stopped for a moment and farted and everyone burst out into laughter. Ana and Ofe rolled their eyes at me but laughed at the same time. Again, Ana offered to give me her younger cousin again and again, I accepted. How could I turn down this lovely child?
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