The Fugitive Grandma Lives

Chapter 18 - Chichihuacuauhco

The Mendoza family lived in a trailer park on the outskirts of Palm Valley. Their mobile home was single-wide, sitting on a rusting chassis near an overflowing dumpsters designated for recycling. From their view at the edge of the park, behind the duct-taped windows and graffiti-strewn walls, they could catch a glimpse of a better future because the family had been through far worse places than this. Their talent for survival had been tested in many times in many lands. And it was being tested once again.

"Why did you go to Sal Holiday?" Gus exclaimed in accented English while his wife rinsed the dishes. They forced themselves to speak English to each other as much as possible since coming to the U.S., believing it was critical to give them an edge and transition away from the mentality of the world they came from. "That guy is the worst."

"He's the only one who can get you new papers," Gabriela explained. "How you gonna work without a new name and social security number? La Migra will be looking for your name after what happened on the golf course."

Gus sat on the couch, holding his head in both hands. He was still recovering from the driver to his forehead, suffering from headaches and troubled sleep patterns. "Sal Holiday is a diablo. Money won't be enough for him. If he touches you..."

"He's not going to do anything to me," Gabriela said. "Trust me Gus. I can handle it."

Gabriela knew it would be dangerous if her husband handled it. That was the reason why they had to come to the US in the first place. Her husband knew no fear when he met an evil man. Righteous rage would rise up like an unstoppable force, no matter what the consequences.

"It's getting harder to be here," Gabriela said. "It will never feel like home. We can never be ourselves."

"We have a home. We just have to keep it in our hearts. We can be ourselves inside. It doesn't matter what names we use."

***

Javier Mendoza, their 13-year-old son was hunched on the stoop outside their trailer, listening to his parents' conversation. He'd just returned from the local McDonalds, where he bought a soda every night and used the WiFi Internet access so he could finish his homework. He knew his father had lost his job and could feel the hard times coming back again, the way the air smells damp when a thunderstorm is drifting in. They had to stick to the plan best they could. He would study hard. He would get a scholarship or go into the military. He'd find a way to become a citizen and then he could sponsor his parents to stay.

He didn't want to imagine about what might happen if the plan fell apart. He realized that families could get torn apart. He knew what would happen to his parents if they were sent back. You can't think about what could go wrong, his parents always told him, you have to look ahead and keep moving forward. Otherwise you won't have a chance. His parents had lost their daughter in a terrible tragedy back in their homeland. They would do anything in the world to make sure they didn't lose their son.

He walked to the outskirts of the trailer park. There was a Joshua tree at the edge of the sand dunes where he went to think about his sister. It reminded him of the Aztec legend he heard in his native village, the story about the wet-nurse tree, Chichihuacuauhco, a place in the afterworld for all the babies who died too soon. He could picture them all feeding on the countless branches, all the precious, innocent souls who never had a chance to grow up in this world. His sister was one of them.

The tree reminded him that he was connected to a bigger family that extended beyond this trailer park, beyond this desert town, beyond the world he could see and touch and know. Life was cruel and angry, but the kindness of the mother tree lived out there somewhere, reaching out to feed the weak and helpless. He just wasn't sure if it was this world or the next.