Birds of a Feather
Birds of a Feather Birds of a Feather Mrs. Helen Vasylenko is my friend. She lives next door to Mami (my mother) and me in a little house with a long yard in the front. I spend a lot of time in her house after school, talking with her and playing with Sammy, her parakeet. You wouldn't believe Mrs. Vasylenko and I could be friends. I'm 11 years old, and she's 75. I came to Chicago from Guatemala with my mom six years ago. Helen came 50 years ago from Ukraine, a country near Russia. Even though we
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Birds of a Feather
Birds of a Feather
Mrs. Helen Vasylenko is my friend.She lives next door to Mami (my mother) and me in a little house with a long yard in the front.I spend a lot of time in her house after school, talking with her and playing with Sammy, her parakeet.You wouldn't believe Mrs. Vasylenko and I could be friends. I'm 11 years old, and she's 75.I came to Chicago from Guatemala with my mom six years ago.Helen came 50 years ago from Ukraine, a country near Russia.Even though we are very different, we always have a lot to talk about.
It wasn't always this way. The first time Mami and I met Mrs. Vasylenko, I didn't like her very much.I was afraid of her. Now that I know her, I know she was afraid of us, too.
We met her the day we moved into our new apartment.It was a hot August evening, and Mami and I were in the alley unloading the last things from the trunk of the car.We were really tired! All we wanted was to go upstairs, take a cool shower, and find our beds.We had just picked up some bags when we heard an old woman's voice behind us.
"Cannot park in alley," she said with a thick accent, like the accent my Ukrainian friend Lydia's mom has.But Lydia's mom is always friendly. We could tell this voice was not.
We looked up. There was an angry old woman standing in the yard next to our building, behind the fence.She was big and strong-looking, with a broad back and thick arms and legs.She was wearing a long, blue-gray house dress and flat, thick leather sandals.Her blue eyes glared at us from behind wire-rimmed glasses.She wore her hair in thick braids across the top of her head.
Mami doesn't speak much English, so I spoke."Oh, please, we're not going to park here," I said. "We just need to finish moving."
Mami was looking at Helen, smiling.I could tell that Mami knew what was going on-that Helen was trying to frighten us.But Mami pretended not to see this."We finish soon. Nice to meet you," she said, in her best English, smiling."My name is Aurora. This my daughter, Adriana.Adriana, say hello to the neighbor." Helen looked from Mami to me.
"Hello. Nice to meet you," I said, even though it wasn't.
"What is your name, please?" asked Mami, still smiling.
Helen looked surprised. Apparently nobody had spoken so many words to her in a long time. "Helen."
"Oh, very nice, very nice to meet you, Helen," said Mami. "We finish soon; don't worry."
It took us a few more trips to finish our work. Helen watched us until we moved the car.
Mami is very friendly, so we quickly made friends in the new neighborhood.But actually, Mami is more than just friendly. She's got a spark in her, a love of life.She cleans offices here even though she was a nurse back in Guatemala.After my father died, she tried to stay there, but she couldn't make enough for us to live.So we came to Chicago when I was just starting school.
When we told people in the neighborhood where we lived, they always talked about Helen.It seemed as if everybody had some kind of incident with her.
"She's strange," said Mrs. O'Reilly, who lived in the building on the other side of us. "She never says hello.When she does say something, it's usually to tell you that you're doing something wrong. Who needs it?"
When I heard this, I felt a little better. At first I had thought that Helen didn't like us.But now I knew she didn't like anybody.
