Josefina

Out of the window I had been staring blankly at, I remind myself of the hardships I fared early in my life. Flashbacks of brutal beatings and angry curses hitting me square in the face. All my life, it had been this way. My mother and father were both of Spanish descent. There were the dim memories of happy times in my first few years. Swinging on the big, old vine hanging from our family tree and rejoicing in my first steps as a toddler. Now, those were what I had left. After my mother died of breast cancer, my father became very somber. At times, he would sit in one place with a dazed expression. During the night, he would whisper my mother's name over and over again until he fell asleep.
After a year of mourning, his sadness turned to violence. He became a changed man but not the way it was supposed to be. Taking several swings of beer, he would trample back home and sleep through the morning hours of the next day. Our mortgage soon became too high for him to manage so we moved to a grubby apartment on Gibb Street in Cleveland, Ohio. By then, my father was the person I feared most. I remember dreading the door would burst open in the apartment and there would be the large outline of my father, looking more vulgar than ever.
Years passed and I had become a demented teenager. I didn't feel like I belonged anywhere. At the time, getting high seemed like the best thing to do. I sometimes wanted to die and relieve myself of the torture. Back at home, I had to suffer endlessly from the constant abuse from my dad.
Now at twenty-five, I live alone. My dad got hit by a truck five years ago on his way home drunk. The driver sped away, leaving him lying in the street. On the day of his funeral, I felt nothing for him. No sorrow, no relief, nothing at all.
I work at a convenience store close to my apartment. Across the street, I help Mr. Kim, the barber, to sweep up cutomers' scattered hair. Those are basically the two salaries I earn and barely make up for the monthy rent.
However, there was one day I would never forget. While taking out the garbage, I decided to walk the longer path just to feel the fresh breeze of air. Along the way, a small patch of vegetables caught my eye. Approaching closer, I realized that it was a garden and a lot of people seemed to be working in it. Craning out my neck, I could see rows and rows of various plants. There were flowers, vegetables, and even pumpkins. I raced back and quickly told my boss that I needed to leave. Before he could ask why, I was already out the door.
Just seeing the garden had a strange effect on me. My fingers tingled as I purchased a pack of seeds. They were white tuplips, the ones Mom used to love most dearly. Hurrying over to the garden with a bucket of water, I chose a small corner and eagerly dug a couple of holes. After planting the seeds there, I slowly poured int he drops of water. I walked back home triumphantly. This was something I hoped I could start fresh on.
Week after week, I tended my plants carefully. No matter how tired I was, I encouraged myself to keep going. I seemed like forever before I saw any signs of life. At one point, I became so frustrated that I ripped out one of the seeds. Feeling awful, I cried mercilessly. Out of the corner of my eye, a tiny Oriental girl stood by. Her eyes curiously watched me and then raised her hand. I stopped. She came over and touched my palm.
"Lady don't cry", she said.
She pointed to her patch of what seemed to be lima beans and whispered,
"My lima beans fought hard to grow. Give patience and plant grow."
Those words struck a new note to me. Following her advice, I waited and waited on those tiny seeds to grow. Giving them more patience and love than ever before. I never knew that the small girl's simple words could change my life but it did. What I did weeks earlier to the poor seed reminded me of my father's actions. Now the sole thing I had in mind was to move on and start a new beginning to the seeds of life.