Un pernil, a big one, pork shoulder with a small bone so that we got as much meat as possible for the money. She made me dig deep in the refrigerator case for it, because her hands couldn’t take the cold anymore. Just standing on the damp, sawdust-covered floor hurt her bones, so I hurried and dug into the pile with both hands, breathing in the smell of cold blood, and held each one close to her face (had to, since the diabetes has her half blind) until she saw the perfect one for Christmas dinner.
A gold charm, with real diamonds (okay, just chips, but chips from real diamonds), on a tiny gold chain that looked as if it were piece of thread unraveled from a queen’s gown. Abuela began paying for it in January, a few dollars set aside from Social Security every month, and here it was, ready for my sister Tata’s neck. I wanted to touch it, but Abuela only trusted me with meat. Instead, she had Doña Hernandez dangle the charm in front of our noses, then carefully coil the chain into the small, gray velvet box. That box was almost as wonderful as the gold.
A white blouse, short black skirt, black patent leather heels, all for me. An outfit for a lady. The outfits I rejected: the red dress with the cutout shoulders. The flared baby blue pants with the sheer paisley blouse. The fuschia ruffled dress. I had to shuffle out of my jeans, Timberlands and sweatshirt to try everything on. The clothes were all picked out by a salesgirl with waist length orange hair. Except for her roots, which were black.
Relleno de papa, doughy mashed potato stuffed with ground beef and deep fried. Alcapurria, mashed plantains stuffed with pork and deep fried. Bacalaito, salted cod fish dipped in batter and deep fried. I belched afterwards, into my glove so Abuela wouldn’t yell at me, a deep, hot belch that left me sleepy.
A plastic tablecloth with a picture of the Three Kings on it. A string of lights to replace the ones in the window that burned out after three days. A doll with curly black hair, a long white dress, and angel wings, to put on top of the tree. A cut glass candy dish, an extra present to give in case unexpected people stopped by on Christmas Eve. Three plastic race cars, in case the unexpected people brought their kids. Agua de azahar, to give to Títi if she had un ataque de nervios. Total cost: $14.92 plus tax.
A MetroCard for Abuela to use on the bus, which I went into the station to get for her, since she was too stiff to walk down the stairs. That meant I had to leave her alone on the street. I stepped down into the ground and peered back at her over my shoulder. She had on her blue coat, beige shoes, stockings – because she is a lady – and a sheer blue scarf over her white curls. I bought the card as fast as I could and sprinted back up. It didn't take me more than two minutes. I looked down when I handed her the card so she couldn’t see the tears in my eyes.
A candle, since we weren’t going to midnight mass and Abuela wanted Jesus to know we were thinking of him. She made me go to the rectory and ask the priest to give the candle an extra blessing. I didn’t tell her that he rolled his eyes when he heard what I was asking for. I just handed her the candle and she lit it with a long taper, the flame shuddering wildly because of her shaking hand. I stood quietly behind her as she began the Lord’s prayer: “Nuestro padre, que estás en el cielo…” When she was done, I took her arm and we walked home.