The Exquisite and Immaculate Grace of Carmen Espinoza Read Online Free

uphold even basic breakfast table courtesies felt like prolonging a torture.
    My host family hated me. At least I was pretty sure Graciana and her husband Hector did—their two kids, Sergio and Anna, often just stared at me with a confused mix of interest and apprehension, like I was a caged animal in zoo. They didn’t get too close
    Graciana narrowed her eyes and lowered her spoon, “Do you have class today, Carmen?” she began her investigation in Spanish.
    I took a few extra seconds to swallow my mouthful of cereal then reached for my small glass of milk, as if it were impossible for me to answer this question until my mouth were completely clear. In truth, I needed my head completely clear. Graciana watched me closely, she could tell I was stalling. I smiled apologetically and made a show of wiping my mouth with my napkin before saying, “No, no class today,” I answered in Spanish.
    By the expression on her face, I could tell she expected me to offer up more information about what I would be doing today. When she could see this wouldn’t be the case and I took another bite of cereal instead, she sighed loudly and placed her napkin on the table.  
    “Then will you be volunteering at the food bank?”
    Sol Abroad! encouraged all its students to volunteer in the community in some way and the food bank was the activity I had chosen.  
    Graciana knew I was there just yesterday.  
    She had stopped by, to check on me, on her way home from the market. Her bags had been filled with fruits and vegetables, pounds of sugar for the sugar skulls, cacao beans and cinnamon for the cafe de la olla, and the bright orange and yellow buns of marigolds that would be used to decorate the graves and ornament the ofrenda for Day of the Dead festivities beginning tomorrow.  
    No, she already knew what I would be doing today—nothing. I would be in my room, alone, lying on my bed, trying to keep a grip on the tidal wave of depression that was drowning me. She wanted me to say it, to open the door on the conversation, because her facial expressions and body language had been communicating the message to me for weeks and since her earlier attempts to reach me had gone by completely ignored by me, she had reached the point of telling me outright.  
    I wasn’t well.  
    Trapped by breakfast table courtesy, a blanket of dread settled over me. I didn’t want to hear her say it. Out loud—clearly articulated. I was suddenly terrified that she was going to ask the question, and that question was going to make me start crying. Right here, right now, in front of all of them.  
    Carmen, what is wrong with you? She would say. Even imagining it made a hard choking ball of tears form at the back of my throat.  
    I had no idea of how much “parental” influence my host parents actually had over me but I imagined that if they grew concerned enough about me, Graciana and her husband Hector would have no problem voicing their fears, imagined and otherwise, to Vicky at Sol Abroad! And given the problems I had fitting in with the other students, missing classes, and my persistent insistence on remaining outside their shared experiences, Vicky would hardly be a defender of me. In fact, she would probably love a good solid reason to send me packing back to the United States.  
    I could just hear it, “We are doing this for you, Carmen.” When, in reality, it would be because it was easier for everyone else at Sol Abroad! to be finished with a student that they so deeply disliked.
    Graciana hesitated, Sergio and Anna, her own two children, were still scooping slow mouthfuls of oatmeal, stretching out the time before they would have to leave the house for school. Graciana wouldn’t question the status of my mental health in front of them.  
    What was the status of my mental health?
    I spooned up the last glob from my own bowl and washed it down with the remainder of my milk, “Excuse me,” I said. Ignoring Graciana’s surprised expression, I