¿Cuánto Necesitas?

Words by Mariana Cid de León Ovalle

“¿Cuánto necesitas?” 
Two words 
15 letters 
a thousand meanings perceived 
None of them, positive.
Mostly misguided. 

Dollars 
Pesos 
moneda nacional 
billetes americanos

“los gringos lo quieren todo,”
my abuelo would say 

“en el gabacho lo tienen todo,” 
my primos claimed  
with their words 
their eyes 
and the tightness of their lips 
because I was one of the primas 
who left for the gabacho. 

They’d never say it to me directly, though I wish they had. Pero nada sería igual. Nothing would ever be the same once I left.

between them and myself, between Mexico and myself, and especially between all of that and my access to wealth. 

to them, it meant I had it all
just within reach 
but I was 6 when I left 
and it wasn’t clear to me what that meant. 

A lot of things weren’t clear to me when I left for a new life in the gabacho.
Like the harsh reality that no matter which border we crossed, my parents had a scarcity mindset that would haunt us. like a ghost from their youth.

And even though money helped me get the new spice girls movie, nsync cds, and my favorite chips from the tiendita in my abuelita’s apartment complex. It was also needed to clothe, feed, and house us. It was a trigger that fueled many arguments. An object we need despite all the pain it causes.

It has the power to wedge itself in the center of a family, leaving a gap between them the size of the Rio Grande. 

At 8 years old, I had no tools to process that this was less about me and more about the trauma of growing up poor. 

tension, coursing in and out 
flooding my room at the trailer park, 
which I share with my brothers and grandparents.

Money is the hero
in the novela 
of my mom and dad’s lives.  

tension, as palpable as the cars on 410 that created a white noise of tires rolling on concrete. 

Money is also the villain 
in the novela 
of my mom and dad’s lives. 

If I could give it a name 
our novela would be called 
“El Premio Mayor”
starring Laura Leon. 
It would follow a family  
freshly arrived to the gabacho
ready to live the american dream. 
unaware that our ghosts were what the gringos were starving for.

“Work is waiting” the gringos say, but what they really mean is “labor can be practically free if you snatch the right victim.” Their eyes glowing as they find their new target, and feed on their fears. 

tension, ready to unfold

as clear as the red, glowing Kmart sign across the highway, illuminating the road.

The voices of my parents carry into the room.

“¿Cuánto necesitas?” I hear my dad ask my mom, again. 

my chest is a cyclone 
pregnant with dread 
my gut feels
hollow 
like my piggy bank with those two coins 
collecting dust at the bottom. 

All because I asked for that new CD.