and kept shaking her head, “Mon Dieu, my god!
What happened? How could this be mi ‘jita,
my dear?” I took the piece of string she’d sent
wrapped it around the waist; it was the correct
size, but corset was way too big for my chic and
stylish petite grandmother.
Later that evening, Mamama suddenly began
laughing uncontrollably. She composed herself.
“Ay, mi ’jita,” she told me, “I measured my waist
with the string over my favorite alpaca wool skirt
and sweaters! One of the worst things about
growing older is making silly mistakes. Will you
forgive me?”
“No worries,” I said, laughing. “I saved the
sales receipt. When I return bones and stays, the
store will either exchange it for a corset in your
size or refund the money.”
It grew late and I was dead tired. I put my arm
around my grandmother and kissed her forehead.
“Good night, my dear Mamama.”
Today I am no longer filled with longing when
I listen to that hauntingly beautiful Andean folk
music. Instead, the haunting sounds of the cane
flutes and harps filling the air are happy memories
of times spent reading Mamama’s monthly letters
and my travels back home to visit with my family.
--- The End ---
Katacha Díaz grew up in Miraflores, a suburb
of Lima, Peru. She earned her BA and MPA
from University of Washington. She was a
research associate at the University of California, Davis. Among the many children’s books
she has authored are Badger at Sandy Ridge
Road for the Smithsonian Institution’s Backyard
series, Carolina’s Gift: A Story of Peru and Wild
Horse Country for Soundprints. Her writing has
appeared in Coastlines, Gravel, Twisted Vine,
Foliate Oak, Guideposts, and elsewhere. She
lives in Astoria, Oregon, where she is at work
on a short-story collection and memoir.