She Called Me “Mijo”

She had been making me curious ever since I met her. And I had to meet her.

The first time I saw her, there was something about her that was a little different. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

I got her name, rather quickly. We passed each other many times throughout the course of our days. At least, at first we did.

Then, I didn’t see her for what felt like weeks. It was only a few days as far as I remember. But they were long. Something was missing for those few days.

She then returned to my atmosphere. I was so glad to have her back around, quietly though. You can’t let people know how excited you are sometimes or you might scare them away. It’s the hardest thing and I can barely contain it.

We started to talk increasingly more. It started off very simple:

“How’s it going?”

“Are you going to be here all night?”

Then, it started to advance. I loved it.

One day in particular, we got to talk so much to each other. What a day that was.

We talked over food and complained about some struggles we had in common. Not always my cup of tea to complain, but so be it. I’ll take what I have for now and be happy with it.

The day was moving along great. I saw her a couple more times.

I can’t mistake her hair. I see it from over the counter and get excited to myself. And of course, pretend like I wasn’t looking for it.

We caught each other’s glance a few more times that day. Made faces at each other. Made little jokes. I did all I could to be cool and casual, hopefully that’s what it was.

Then, at the end of the night, we had what was about to be our final exchange for the day. On her way out, she said,

“Good night, mijo.”

Stop.

Did I hear that correctly?

I was caught off guard and I think I stammered with, “Okay….good night!”

I had one more task to do so I hurried back inside, slightly flustered that I didn’t react. I still wasn’t even sure that’s what she said.

I tend to get very hung up on little things like this when I feel like they matter, so thank gosh it was the end of the night or it would’ve been on my mind the whole day.

I was pacing around still wondering if that’s what she meant. I figured she had to have meant that. What else would sound like that word?

Then, like an angel looking out for me, she reappeared. She must’ve forgotten something. I had to ask,

“Hey what did you call me earlier?”

“Oh, mijo.” she said

“Doesn’t that mean ‘son’?” I asked.

“It can” she said, “but it also means dude.”

I actually didn’t know.

***

‘Mijo’ is a word from my recent past that carries a lot of weight.

It means ‘my son’ in Spanish. The proper word is ‘hijo’ but when people want to say ‘my son’ they just say ‘mijo’ as one word.

I used to get called ‘mijo’ once in a while and I really enjoyed it. It’s an affectionate way to talk to someone younger than you as far as I understood.

One thing I like about it, and Spanish in general, is that it shows possession. You’re not just ‘son’, you’re ‘my son’. It shows that the person speaking cares. At least it feels that way to me.

Parents and grandparents always address the kids as ‘mijo’ or ‘mija’ so I used to do it too. I had some ‘mijas’ of my own. That was my past life.

Feeling that feeling again was very unexpected. But once it sunk in, I realized I needed some of that again. I felt cared for. Loved.

No matter what she meant, that word carries a lot of weight in my heart and it always will. The affection is undeniable to me.

So on her way back out the door, I made sure to tell her,

“Buenas noches, mija.”

—

This post was previously published on Medium.

***

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