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Before my host mom took me over that night to reunite with Jen, she was
trying in vain to get the kids in bed. It was 10 pm and, like every night at bed
time, seven year old Maria and her younger brother Mario had other plans. I was
supposed to be off duty, but once Carmina and Salvador came home from work
around 7 pm, my role shifted from au pair punching bag to opportunity to prolong
bedtime. Carmina and Salvador never stopped their kids from running away from
them and barging into my room where I sat hunched over a book, my phone always
in hand.

I was laying curled up in my blanket, my bear Sven tucked tightly between my
chest and the bed, glancing back and forth from the door to my phone. I poked the
home button on my phone, hoping hard that the screen would illuminate with a no-
tification from my boyfriend or parents or any friend from home. But it was a late
summer afternoon for them and the 10 pm hour of horror for me; Bradley would
be coaching a swim meet and my dad was working and my mom would be driving
Donovan to cross country practice and Connor and Cameron would be at their first
summer jobs and my friends would be having fun in the freedom of the end of the
school year-and I would be here, alone, on my 21 st birthday.

When five year old Mario crashed through my door, completely naked, with tears
streaming down his face, his screams echoed in my tiny room. Mario looked around
my room, still screaming, and charged over to my dresser and pushed my picture
frames onto the floor. I let go of Sven who fell to the floor before being scooped
up by Mario when I rushed to prevent the frames from breaking. I couldn't yell, I
couldn't push Mario away, I couldn't ask the parents for help. Mario, still wailing,
reached for my photos I taped to the closet door and ripped them into pieces. He
tore my boyfriend, Bradley, in half and shredded my puppy and ruined my brothers'
faces. Carmina and Salvador stood in the middle of my room and asked him to put
down my pictures.

The parents asked Mario like it was a negotiation. Like he wasn't damaging my
property. Like he wasn't destroying my links to him. I wanted to be violent.

When the kids finally went to bed, that's when I was able to go with Carmina to
see Jen. I have Jen to thank for forever changing the way I looked at Mario from
then on.

"He looks like a fuckin demented midget."
I burst out laughing at this. Jen's voice was even and deep, holding onto the "t"
for a few seconds before letting it slip from her lips. "Oh by the way, did you want
a glass of wine? Virginia told me to make myself at home so I figured why not?"
I felt like Manuela when I looked at her, in awe and sizing her up.
I did want some. It was my 21 st birthday and I wanted my first glass of wine. I'd
spent 21 years saying no to alcohol or parties, saying no because I had swim prac-
tice, saying no because there was homework to finish or applications to complete.
I wanted a glass of wine because I didn't get a plastic birthday tiara or a pink sash
that said "I'M 21 BITCHES" to wear out to the coveted, hyped-up trip to "The Bar"
with my shrilly excited friends around me. As a June baby, I was used to having the
people I invited to celebrate my birthday being the only ones that actually knew
about it; but I wasn't used to celebrating it alone. So I wanted a glass of wine, to
mark the occasion, because I was the only one who knew now.
But there were kids in the house and Jen was a stranger; but she was the clos-
est thing that had felt like home in over three weeks and I didn't know if that was
ok or desperate.
"No thanks, I'm fine." Was I?