La Mujer en mi Vida

We would pick up “gente que acababa de llegar” too often. It usually happened when we would go to La Esperanza Meat Market right after paying el mandado, we headed home with bags of groceries and a handful of paisanos. There was always an extra taco of frijol to offer our compañeros.

“Venganse, vamos a la casa para que coman un taco,” Mama would tell them.

They would follow us into the car without saying a word, just a humble nod.

A total of seven at once sometimes, including Mami y yo rumbo al apartamento. The beat-up blue 90’s Taurus Ford that looked more like a low-rider carrying too much weight, the smell of sweat and dirt fogging up the windows. Empty stomachs humming, timid compañeros singing along to the melancholy voice of Ana Gabriel on the radio and sighing entre canciones. Slow but proud the Ford low-rider drove down Main Street and turned onto Rodriguez Street, three blocks away from La Esperanza.

Mom slowly got out of the car and made her way to the apartment with her walker sustaining her desire to help others. Meanwhile, I ran to the apartment to warm-up frijoles and tortillas de maiz, cut some queso fresco Mexicano en cuadritos largos and smelled the chile rojo para aseguar que no estaba echado a perder and before we knew it, lunch was ready.

Mi Madrecita, always taking the opportunity to help others, dando lo poco que teníamos porque donde uno come, cinco pueden comer. Mi Madre, a mujer warrior wounded but fighting courageously.

I sit here and wonder,

when did she surrender her flight and why didn’t I see it?