Chapter Text
The first time Isabela wore braids, or, alternatively, how Isabela learnt that she had the same hair as her grandmother.
“Look how pretty you look, corazón, don't you like it?"
Sitting on the immaculate bed, Isabela carefully studied her reflection in the large mirror on the other side of the room. It was her fifth birthday, and Abuela had insisted to Mamá Julieta that she would take care of her dress and hairstyle for her gift ceremony. Mamá had said yes, and Isabela had spent two long hours in Abuela’s sunny room washing, drying and combing her long, jet-black hair.
Isabela looked at the two thick braids into which Abuela had divided her hair, each topped off on a large pink ribbon. She decided she didn't like them at all. They looked like two rat tails, although she was sure that if she said that aloud in front of the family, Tío Bruno would worriedly ask her if she had any problems with rats.
Isabela didn't have a problem with rats, but with rat tails. Especially if they came out of her head and were made of her hair .
Why couldn't she put up her hair in an elegant bun, like the ones Abuela and Mamá used? Or in a big bow, like her prima Dolores? Even the two pigtails that Papá made to bebé Luisa were more acceptable, because there, the ribbons went in the beginning, close to the head, and not at the end, like the ornaments the rats from the animal storybook Tío Félix read to her used in their tails.
But Mamá, who knew so much about taking care of others, had told her that she had to always be kind so as to not hurt other people's feelings, so Isabela decided not to say anything. Not yet, at least.
"Where did you learn to tie braids, Abuela?" she asked instead, looking in the mirror again. Sitting next to her with one of her rough hands on Isabela’s own soft ones, Abuela sighed.
“When I was younger, I used to wear my hair like that. I spent more than forty years wearing braids, until my three children grew up and I realized that I was already an older lady. I guess I assumed the braids were a little out of place by then”.
Isabela was already going to ask what she meant by "out of place", when Abuela let go of her hands and leaned down to pick up an object from her bedside table. Isabela recognized the object right away. It was the photo of her grandparents' wedding — she had seen it many times before. But she leaned closer to take a better look anyway.
“Look, corazón, just like you”.
Isabela disagreed. Abuela’s braids didn't look like rat tails at all. They looked elegant and distinguished (Tía Pepa had taught her that word last week). Like a princess. Abuela looked beautiful, but Isabela didn't feel beautiful with that hairstyle.
But Abuela kept talking, in a very strange voice that made Isabela feel a little nervous and a little sad, and she couldn’t quite understand why .
“When I was your age, or maybe even a little younger, my mamá, your great-grandmother Graciela, started styling me with braids. She said it was one of the most practical hairstyles for a young lady. She was the one who taught me how to tie them”.
Abuela seemed very, very sad. She always got sad when she talked about the life she left behind, the life before el milagro. That's why Mamá and Tía Pepa and Tío Bruno sometimes preferred not to talk about Abuelo Pedro. But now none of them were around to comfort Abuela. She was the only one there. She, Isabela, pequeña Isabela, who still needed to sleep with the lights on and could not bathe alone yet. What could she possibly do to cheer Abuela up?
Abuela kept talking, and Isabela listened.
“This dark and straight hair that you have, mi niña, and that I also used to have, we inherited it from her, your bisabuela Chela, don't forget it. It’s our Pijao roots speaking through our hair. You have to be proud, corazón, entiendes?”
Abuela gently stroked Isabela's head as she spoke, and Isabela could see her beautiful brown eyes full of tears. She felt so, so sorry for her grandmother. She knew her story, of course, Mamá made sure she did. It was so sad. She couldn't imagine being forced to run away and having to leave Mamá and Papá and Abuela behind and also Luisa and Dolores and the tíos... It sounded terrifying, and sad... and lonely.
Suddenly, Isabela knew what she had to do.
One day, she had asked her mother if it didn't bother her to have to get up so early to cook for the village. Mamá had said that sometimes it was difficult for her, but that she didn't mind making a sacrifice if that made others happy. Isabela could also make a sacrifice to make Abuela happy.
"The braids are very beautiful, Abuela”, Isabela said, very quickly just in case she got tempted to change her mind, and hugged her with all her five-year-old strength.
Abuela Alma smiled, and that was all Isabela needed to see.
You can still see in the Casita, among the portraits of the rest of the family, the painting that Alma requested after Isabela's ceremony. Abuela looks proud and happy, one hand on the candle and another on Isabela's shoulder. Isabela looks radiant with a huge smile and two braids, nothing there indicating the great yet silent sacrifice she had just made.
Isabela would wear braids until she was fifteen. She would only stop after Alma made a comment on how beautiful loose hair looked, as her hemana Remedios had worn it.