Upa

There is a word in Spanish for carrying a child in your arms — upa. The last time I asked my mom for upa was the day before my aunt came to visit. I told her it was embarrassing to be carried from my room to the kitchen every day for breakfast. After my aunt left, I had grown accustomed to walking, and when I finally did call for upa, I had grown too big for my mom’s arms.

Many years later, I descended down the cliffside, thinking I would kill myself on the slippery surface of the tall stones, wondering how I would explain this to my mom if I were to fall. I was surrounded by drunk Frenchmen, unsure of how I, sober, was struggling more than them, feeling closer to them regardless, than I had ever been before. But when I finally made it to the beach, all my thoughts cleared up. The magic of a calanque. I took off my shirt and ran into the cold water. I let the ocean carry me in its waves all afternoon. I didn’t even have to call for upa.

Reed Jadzinsky is a student based in Portland, Oregon. When writing, he enjoys exploring different coffee shops across the city.