Bright eyes: Caged Window

Sister. Make me write. For her.
For the little girl whose pretty
face stole her youth and caged her
dream window with iron bars. It
was not only her pretty face that
pushed her onto the street and into
the arms of that cool boy with the
cigarette. Full of false promises.
Promises that evaporate like the
clouds of smoke that cover his eyes.
And her eyes too. The cloud of smoke
that makes her think he is handsome
and kind and ready to offer her a life
that is better than the one she is living
in the four walls of her home. She is
only fifteen. Too beautiful. Dangerously
so. I know they are rough with her. I know
when she arrived late in the night they brought
out the belt and hit her, hurt her, maybe out of
love, maybe out of a lack of education, a feeling
of loss, a feeling of pain. Maybe I would have
run away, too. But not to the caged window. Not
to the house of this new cool catch who speaks
promises and delivers piles of clothes to clean,
piles of dust to sweep, orders to please him with
tortillas and ... she is fifteen. Orders to please
him as he spits upon her dreams of dancing, of studying,
of learning, of her own development. She was just beginning
to believe that her thoughts are worth something, that she
is capable and competent and that yes! she can fly through
that dream window if she continues to work, to try, to dedicate
herself, to believe that she can find a way out other than falling
into the arms of the cool boy who smells of alcohol. The cool boy
who sees her sparkle and wants it for himself. Wants to own it.
Wants to control it. Wants to keep it from the world.

Why didn't she come and speak to us. Why didn't she come to ask for help?
Why didn't she come and speak to us? Why didn't she dare to leave him?

Life is different, here. I realize.
I do not move to lay my judgement on these particular rhythms.
Nor doI feel it is my place to impose my cultural practices on
the youth here. But I do hope to inspire the young people of
these communities, of rural Guatemala, to distinguish the cultural
practices that continue to be useful and positive and those that
no longer serve. Discrimination against women does not help anyone.
Women feeling that there is no way out of the cycle of leaving
their parents' house to marry young (because they are already pregnant
and didn't know they had the right to say 'no'.) Settling submissively
for the cage before they have the opportunity to study, to explore, to ask themselves what it is they hope for in this life...
This cycle. This destructive, caged-window cycle must stop.

Bright-eyes. I hope you can shine through your caged window. I hope
your dreams of dancing carry you to a place of empowerment, of self-respect,
of courage. (Though as I write this, a voice inside says: 'wake up ... not
a chance at this point'.) I miss you. I share your story for all the women
of the world who are made to feel small and powerless and afraid and brainless and thoughtless and invisible. I share your story for all the women in the world who feel like they have no choice but to accept the caged-window. I write this story because I know not what else to do as heart races and throat ties a knot around my tears. I miss you, Rosario.