The clamor of the city could be heard far from his childhood house. The one-story homes were all he knew. Looking through the kitchen window into the backyard, there never seemed to be much activity. Chickens bobbed their heads as they strutted around, while the horses stood in the barn, calmly chewing. The air in Brazil had a peculiar smell that often blew throughout the wood-beamed house. The smell of the city––only now he has come to realize––was potent and dirty.

Mauricio’s father put on his neatly creased, button-down shirt that Mrs. Mendes ironed the night before. His jacket and pants lay over the bottom of the bed each morning. The smell of toast burning and coffee brewing was something Mr. Mendes counted on. His buttered toast and black coffee sat alone on the kitchen table. When he was finished Mrs. Mendes picked up the plate and empty coffee cup to wash. He brushed his teeth, put on his watch, and pulled his tie tight. The briefcase sat ready at the door, and off he went for another day at the bank, where he sat at his manicured desk, sporting his nameplate that read “C.E.O.”

Mrs. Mendes walked back through the kitchen to the boys’ room. She opened their door, and right away the sunlight hit their no longer sleeping eyes. With their hands in fists, half asleep, they rubbed their eyes and got up from their beds, heading directly to the bathroom. Two washcloths were set on the sink, and they took turns washing their faces and hands. Meanwhile, Mrs. Mendes pulled two brown paper bags from underneath the kitchen sink. She opened the refrigerator and picked their favorite lunchmeat. On each piece of dark rye lay one slab of ham and a piece of cheese, one with mayonnaise and the other with mustard. She cut the sandwiches in half, diagonally, and threw the knife in the sink. Mrs. Mendes then reached up into the white cupboard to pull out two bowls. She placed them on the table, each next to an empty mug and a spoon. Mauricio and his brother raced out to the kitchen after getting dressed and fought over who was going to get up and grab the milk from the refrigerator.

“You get it. You’re younger!” Mauricio contested, and won as usual. Because it was getting late, Mrs. Mendes rushed them along with breakfast. She laughed as they both sipped the milk out of the bowl, making a silly slurping noise. They slammed their bowls back down on the table then got up to brush their teeth. Mrs. Mendes cleaned off the kitchen table and put the dishes in the sink to clean once they were gone. The boys met her at the front door. She pulled their collared shirts up straight and back down neatly. One after another, she kissed each one on the forehead. Mauricio and his brother picked up their backpacks and walked unenthusiastically out the door to school. Mrs. Mendes stood at the door waving until the boys were out of sight.

Mauricio Mendes was eight years old when he and his family made their first trip to the United States. They vacationed in New York with a friend of the family. Upon arriving, his parents got a feeling about the United States. The smell of fresh air not only spelled freedom for them, but a sense of a better future for Mauricio and his younger brother. His parents wanted a better education for their children, not for themselves, and thought this would be the perfect opportunity. When Mauricio left Brazil that glum February day in 1989, he didn’t know he wasn’t coming back…ever.

The Mendes’s had one thousand dollars to their name. They stayed at first with the Smiths, family friends that lived in New York. The living arrangement was tight. Every night Mauricio picked the puffiest and thickest jacket and shirt from the pile, and lay them down on the ground to form the best possible bed for himself. He lay awake at night, cold and uncomfortable, resenting his parents for this.

“Why are you doing this?” “I hate you.” “I miss home.”

Mr. Mendes went quickly from popular and respected bank manager to a jobless, homeless, no name immigrant. Mauricio had a hard time dealing with such a drastic change in his life.

“We had the best life.” “We had everything we could ever ask for.” “Why did we have to leave?”

The Smiths woke up early every Sunday and put on a nice dress or neatly pressed shirt and tie. Mr. and Mrs. Smith went to church every weekend, faithfully. A collection box was started in honor of the Mendes’s. The people of the church raised enough money for them to move to Massachusetts and start a new life.

They managed to rent an apartment in Lowell. Mr. Mendes got up in the morning, picked the wrinkly, blue, one-piece uniform off the floor, and threw it on. At the same time, Mrs. Mendes was getting ready for work herself. There was no smell of toast cooking or coffee brewing, just the smell of the crisp, clean, morning air. Mrs. Mendes ironed up her apron real quick, made sure the boys were already awake, yelled “goodbye”, and slammed the door as she headed around the corner to work.

Mr. Mendes couldn’t speak English. He didn’t speak much at work, but it wasn’t even necessary. While other employees of the computer company sat behind their cubicles with their feet up, he mopped their floors, cleaned their bathrooms, and emptied their trash. Mauricio’s mother worked in back at the Dry Cleaners around the corner from their apartment. She scrubbed all day at the dirtiest stains, her hands bleeding from poking herself with pins, as she was forced to tag every article of clothing in the store. Mr. and Mrs. Mendes both had jobs where they were seen and not heard.

Meanwhile, Mauricio and his brother were picking out their outfits for school. They loved the freedom. The boys grabbed a granola bar and walked to the corner of the street where they met the bus because, unlike Brazil, the school was not within walking distance. Mauricio enjoyed going to school. He walked up to a school with no bars on the windows and no locks on every door. School here had an actual cafeteria, making it easier for Mrs. Mendes, as she no longer had to make their lunch every morning.

It only took Mauricio two years to speak fluent English. He learned through watching television and going to school. Mauricio graduated from the high school on time and got a full-time job as soon as possible. Now at 22 years old, Mauricio wakes up every morning before his parents do. He puts on his pants and shirt, jumps in his white, “pimped out,” 1998 Mitsubishi Eclipse and heads to work in Tewksbury. He works at least forty hours a week in order to pay his car insurance and support his mom and dad. Mauricio is the Mendes’s main source of income. He couldn’t imagine going back to Brazil to live. He is completely and utterly happy with his life here in the United States and now understands the reason his parents wanted to come here in the first place. He is now proving to them everyday he is thankful for it.

He pulls into the vacant lot at work, quickly finding a parking space. He reached down over his stomach to unbuckle his seat belt. The white door opened and out stepped his Timberland work boots. He shut the door and his alarm sounded to assure him his car was locked. He paused for a moment before he unlocked the door of the shop. Mauricio turned back toward the open lot, admiring what seemed to be nothing. He took a deep breath in. The air around him was cool and calm, and it had a clean smell to it. He then released the fresh air back into the world, smiled for a second, and began his day.