Argentina

My expectations? Shattered. My dreams? Deflated. My heart and soul? Finally full.

Let me explain.

I’m Argentina. A few months ago, my father passed away to no one’s surprise. He never really took care of himself, but after several stints with homelessness and addiction, who could blame him? My other family members had cut ties with him so long ago that I was one of the only people who even knew, or cared, about his death. I mean, he named me when I was born. “Argentina”, I always guessed, was his pick because it was his favorite place he ever traveled. I was a total “Daddy’s Girl”. I could never stay mad at him even though he was never the best father.

As I was listed next-of-kin, I had to go through Dad’s belongings and make sure any valuables were properly distributed according to the will. (There weren’t that many valuables). After a few hours, I was almost finished going through all of his random junk when I discovered a small puffy envelope with my first name written in my father’s handwriting on the front. I pushed my messy curls out of my face and stared with wide eyes.

“ARGENTINA”

Argentina, Argentina… Was I supposed to take it? Why else would my name be on a sealed envelope in my dead father’s house? Should I tell my brother or my mom about this?

I didn’t have the guts to open it while still in Dad’s house, so I took it with me. You couldn’t mistake his writing for anyone else’s. He wrote exclusively in all-caps and had a strange way of crossing his “A”s a little too far. This was from Dad, for me. It had to be.

I hopped in the car, set the “ARGENTINA” envelope in the passenger’s seat, and drove away thinking about all of the possible contents. Family secrets? Never-before-seen photos? Old mysterious letters? I had so many questions, and the more I thought about it, the less I could focus on the road. So, I parked my car and grabbed the envelope.

It took me a few minutes to work up the nerve to open it, but it was calling to me. Loudly. My desperate curiosity took control.

With shaky hands, I tore open the top of the envelope, peered inside, and instantly felt a debilitating body-wide shock. Every kind of emotion simultaneously flooded my system. This was cash. LOTS of cash. I couldn’t tell exactly how much, but it was more than I had ever felt or seen in my entire life. Money. So much money. My breathing got heavier and my wide-rimmed black glasses began to fog up with all the sweat and hot breath filling up the car.

Along with the large, unknown sum of money, there was also a small black notebook inside. It was like-new and had only one sentence on the inside cover. “GO AND LIVE”. My dad’s signature all-caps handwriting was right there. “ARGENTINA”. “GO AND LIVE”. I squeezed the notebook into my chest and choked back tears.

When I finally made it back home after taking way too long at my dad’s house, my mom and older brother, who I’ve lived with since birth in this very house, were waiting for me at the dinner table. The usual. Family dinner. Mom made a revolving menu of fried chicken and mashed potatoes, Salisbury steak and veggies, or lasagna. If we ever ate anything else, it was a holiday.

“What took so long, Ari?” Mom asked as we all began filling our plates. She was a purebred southern belle with a tidied appearance and a never-ending smile. Being a mother was all she ever wanted, and getting away was all I wanted.

“Yeah, dork, where you been?” My brother lovingly added.

I still hadn’t decided whether or not I should tell them about the money - about the life-changing sum in that envelope. It was right there in my backpack. Right under their noses.

“Well, Dad had a lot more stuff than I realized,” I replied. “I just got caught up looking through everything. You know.”

“I hope it wasn’t too hard on you, dear. I know you were fond of your old man. Did you find anything interesting over there? Though, I guess your father wasn’t really the most interesting man in Utah, was he…” Mom pried. Even beyond the grave, she still hated the man.

“Um… I wouldn’t call any of it interesting. Just regular stuff any middle-aged bachelor might have lying around.” I started getting noticeably irritated by all the questions, and I couldn’t stop thinking, “GO AND LIVE.” Surely this bland family dinner wasn’t “living”...

After dinner, I finally escaped to my bedroom, locked the door, and furiously dug through my backpack to see just how much secret money Dad left me.

I counted ten $100 bills. And then ten more. And then ten more. I was up to $12,500 before I became conscious of just how much money this could actually be.

Sweaty and breathing fast, I kept counting until finally I reached the last bill.

$20,000.

Holy cow. HOLY COW.

With this kind of money, I could go anywhere. I was filled with a nervous heat, like I had to use the money quickly or it would disappear. I had to GO AND LIVE immediately. Now.

There was no chance I was going to sleep that night with such a burning urge to just… Go. So, I took all of the cash, the notebook, and a few random old school rock band T-shirts, shoved it all into my backpack, and I planned my escape.

I snuck out of my house through the front door, quietly and softly pushed it closed from outside, and then I stood there. I stood on the moonlit front porch of my childhood house, staring at the white wooden door, fielding every good and bad memory as they raced perilously through my mind. A kaleidoscope of feelings made me physically dizzy when I found stability in the phrase, “GO AND LIVE”.

I got in my car, hoping the sound of the engine starting wouldn’t wake my mom or brother, and I started west.

When I reached California around sunrise, the redwoods and winding mountains were intimidating and liberating all at the same time. I had never been here before, but I knew that after the mountains came Sacramento, and after Sacramento came sunny San Francisco - the city of dreams, endless possibilities, progress, and free love. I couldn’t wait.

I told my mom when she called me in a panic that I needed a little “me time” away from home and that I would be back in a few days. I didn’t really give her a chance to try and convince me to turn around. It wasn’t up to her, anyway. I was 19 and needed to explore the world.

Every time I stopped along the way, I wrote in my little black notebook. It was almost like I was writing to my dad, sharing everything with him along the way. When I passed through the Donner Party area of the Sierra Mountains, I stopped to grab a snack and wrote, “If only gas station snacks existed back then. Maybe the poor Donner’s wouldn’t have had to snack on each other.” I thought Dad would get a kick out of that.

A few hours later, I reached San Fran. The Bay. Silicon Valley. Driving into the city, I could have died from tall-building-overload. It was like nothing and nowhere I had ever seen before. I was lost in this glass and steel circus, and I just couldn’t contain my initial reaction of bliss. Ignoring an incoming call from my mom, I let the city take me over.

I made it, Dad.

As I squeezed my car in between two others downtown, I felt a weird, unwelcomed sense of reality. I wondered around for a while, and I began to notice the people. The allure of the tall shiny buildings had already begun to wear off, and the next most prominent thing about this place was all the people on the street. Not people walking around, to and from work, or out to grab a bite to eat. No. These were people who lived on the streets. Slept on the streets. Ate food off the streets. Relieved themselves on the streets… What happened to them? Why is nobody helping them?

I started also seeing the heaps of garbage and tattered tents lining the sidewalks of some streets. This was the reality of San Francisco. This was the reality of how my own father used to survive at his lowest points. I’m not sure what I expected from a city this big, but the sheer quantity of people sleeping on the ground here gave me gut-wrenching chills. I ignored another phone call as I sulked and kept walking.

The next morning, I flipped through my “GO AND LIVE” notebook in my hotel room, sighing and looking through pages of notes and drawings I’d accumulated since leaving home. I had an idea. Quickly, I shook out my freshly washed curls, threw on some totally mismatched outfit, and finished the look with my signature black glasses before taking to the streets one more time.

“Here you go! And one for you, and one for you.”

Each little white envelope had a few hundred bucks. I knew that it wasn’t much, but it was all I could do at the time to spread my newly found wealth. My cheeks blushed every time I awkwardly approached a new person to give them an envelope, and I was too nervous each time to stick around and witness their reactions. It still felt right, though.

Handing out my last donation, I counted my remaining cash in my car outside the hotel.

$1,200.

I knew I needed to keep the rest in order to get back home safely.

Home. Back home. Home where I actually had a roof and a bed, where I had a family who loved me, and where my mother was absolutely worried sick because I had been ignoring her calls for two days straight... Oh, no.

“Hello? Ari? Is that you, dear?” Mom answered in a panic.

“Hi, Mom. Look, I’m sorry I…” I was interrupted.

“Sweetie! Oh, I’ve been scared to death something happened to you. You’re alright then? How’s your trip? Are you headed home?” She was always one to drill questions.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m coming home, and I’m sorry for…” Interrupted, again.

“Good, good! I’ll put on the kettle for tea. See you soon, darling. I love you!” She responded.

If she could have only seen me sitting in my car, flustered and teary-eyed. I had been such a horrible daughter, always wanting to get away, and always wanting to forget my boring and normal hometown.

Maybe there’s a reason my dad came back after his years of travels. “GO AND LIVE” didn’t mean go away, live a whole new life, and forget the rest. I needed to get back home. Waving goodbye to the Golden Gate Bridge, I set my GPS to “Home”.

I parked in my usual boring parking spot in front of my normal and basic one-story house, but now it all seemed so… different. This wasn’t just a house, and those weren’t just my family. My mom and my brother were my whole support system. They were the two who loved me the most, who wanted to be boring and normal as long as we could be boring and normal together.

When I got out of the car, my mom came rushing out the door, unsure whether to scold me or to give me the biggest hug of my life.

“Mom, I’m…” I tried to spit it out.

“Shhh, darling. You don’t have to explain yourself. Come on in the house. Dinner’s ready.” She interrupted and warmly led me through the door.