Margarita Wednesdays

by Deborah Rodriguez

  But here is the most amazing thing. Sometimes, when you are very, very lucky, life steps up with exactly what you need, precisely when you need it. Or, as Cynthia put it later that day in Pátzcuaro, my angels were guiding me. When we returned to the B&B that evening, Sharon headed toward the kitchen, where Cynthia was waiting, and I retreated swiftly to my room. As I fumbled for the key I could overhear them talking.

  “Did you guys have fun?” Cynthia asked eagerly.

  “Well . . . sort of. Deb had kind of a rough day.”

  “Really? What happened?”

  “I’m not really sure. She seemed to have some kind of a meltdown. Something freaked her out, and I have no idea what it was.” Sharon lowered her voice. After that, all I could make out were a few words here and there, but I could definitely tell they were still talking about me.

  The next thing I knew, Cynthia was knocking on my door. “Want to join me for a cup of tea?” Her eyes locked onto mine in a way that told me I couldn’t, or shouldn’t, say no. Behind her I could see Sharon tiptoeing to her room, a much-needed glass of wine in her hand.

  Cynthia gently led me upstairs to the patio outside her own room, into an overstuffed armchair that swallowed me up in its soft, warm embrace.

  “Relax. Breathe. I’ll be right back.” As Cynthia headed back down to get the tea, I forced myself to close my eyes and willed my muscles to soften. By the time she returned I was sort of in a half daze.

  “Sharon told me you had a strange incident today,” she said as she handed me my cup. “I just want you to know that I think I have an idea of what you’re going through.”

  “Really? You do? Because I sure don’t.”

  “Ya know, Deb, you and I aren’t as different as you might think we are.”

  “In what way do you mean?”

  “I suspect we’ve both been through a lot in our lives.” Cynthia patted her lap, the two dogs leaping at the invitation.

  “That’s for sure; at least I know it is in my case. But I honestly have no idea what that has to do with me falling apart in a mall.”

  Cynthia ripped open a bag of chips. “Do you know what I did, Deb, before I moved down here from Canada?”

  I shook my head.

  “I was a licensed clinical psychologist.”

  Here we go again, I thought. Though I was remarkably comfortable in Cynthia’s presence, I had to admit that my first reaction was not a great one. No, sir, no more glowworms for me. The visit to that overpriced charlatan in Napa certainly hadn’t been my first encounter with a shrink, but I was pretty determined for it to be my last. But then again, Cynthia seemed so different. Maybe she was different. When I thought about it, it was usually when I actively sought out help that things seemed to fizzle or backfire. But help that had fallen into my lap often seemed to be something of a different sort. Indian Larry was a chance encounter, and who knows what good fortune could be chalked up to the little santo around my neck, now joined by a little silver Hand of Fatima, just for good measure. Maybe there was a reason that I just happened to tag along with Sharon for this trip, a reason that I freaked out in the mall, and a reason that I was now finding myself face-to-face with this little powerhouse of a woman who could somehow so effortlessly put me at ease. I just wished whoever or whatever was pulling the cosmic strings would do me the courtesy of letting me in on the plans. These surprises were wearing me out.

  “My specialty was trauma,” Cynthia continued.

  Bingo. I could almost hear the bells go off.

  “Yeah, weird, eh? Has anybody ever talked to you about trauma?”

  “Sort of,” I answered tentatively. “I was told that I might have PTSD. But I’m still not sure if that’s true or not. And even if I did have it, I thought it was gone by now. I thought I was pretty much over it.”

  Cynthia took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “If only it were that easy. It’s not. Trauma is something that’s often hard to pinpoint and acknowledge, and even then it takes a whole lot of work and a whole lot of time to overcome.”

  “But I sat!”

  “Huh? What are you talking about? You sat? How about if you back up just a little?”

  So I did. And once I started, everything just came pouring out, as if someone had opened the faucet full force. Cynthia literally seemed to be drawing the words out of my soul and into the warm night air that filled the space between us.

  When I finally stopped talking, Cynthia took a deep breath. “Wow. You do have some story, girlfriend.”

  “But I don’t get it. Why now? Why the mall? I think I’m going crazy.”

  “You’re not crazy.” Cynthia reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. “You know, Deb, I quit the therapist racket a long time ago, but if you want my opinion, I’ll give it to you.”

  “Please. Be my guest.”

  “Okay. But remember, you asked for it.” Cynthia tossed a chip into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “First of all, it wasn’t the mall. It was the frame of mind you were in before you went to the mall.”

  “But I was so jazzed to be there!”

  “I’m sure you were jazzed. And I’m sure you were also relaxed. Panic attacks happen when you’re gearing down. People who have experienced trauma tend to stay on alert. But you let your hair down, you let your guard down. You felt safe. Then something happened.”

  “But nothing happened! That’s what I’m telling you.”

  “Something did happen, to your body. You were startled by Sharon’s absence, and it triggered an adrenal reaction. It’s like a rush, like a drug. Your body is acting as though you’ve put yourself into what we call unreasonable risk.”

  “But I’m really good in risky situations! I swear!”

  “I have no doubt about that. You seem like a tough cookie. But that’s when you’re on alert. You’re ready, you’re pumped, you can handle it.” I sank back in my chair with a sigh.

  “I know. This is heavy-duty stuff.” Cynthia poured us both more tea.

  “You’re telling me. But how does not being able to find Sharon have anything to do with anything?”

  “Well, think about other times you’ve had panic attacks. What were the situations?”

  “They were all kind of different. But a lot of times they seemed to have something to do with getting lost. I have this huge fear of being stranded. I used to force myself to drive in Afghanistan, but I was so afraid of being lost and alone. Being lost over there means you could be killed or kidnapped. You were warned every day against doing normal things like walking or driving. But I used to do those things all the time, just to feel like my so-not-normal life was just a little bit normal.”

  “And how were you about that before you went to Afghanistan?”

  “I know I had some issues, as a child, about being lost, but what kid doesn’t? I was always that kid at the supermarket courtesy desk, waiting for my mother to be summoned by the lady on the PA system. I do remember, I think I was around four years old, how I used to fall asleep calling out to my mom, over and over, just to make sure she was there. Being an only child, I had this huge fear of something happening to my parents, of being left all alone.” Cynthia nodded and waited for me to continue. “But it seems like any fears I had going into Afghanistan became even scarier during my time there. I’m just now beginning to realize I was probably sort of a mess before I even went to Kabul, and came out of there even more of a mess. I felt like I had been chewed up and spit out. And by the time I reached California I didn’t even know how much of a mess I really was!”

  Cynthia shooed the dogs off her lap and leaned forward. “You know, Deb, it sounds like Afghanistan probably wasn’t your first offender.”

  “Well, then, who was?”

  Cynthia shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not a psychic.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just that it wasn’t like I was abused by my parents or anything.”

  “Honestly, Deb? I have no idea what your relationship with your parents was or wasn’t. But many of
us have had times in our lives when we’ve felt trapped or manipulated, either emotionally or physically.” A sudden shift in Cynthia’s eyes told me she knew, firsthand, what she was talking about. “And I’m sure that you, like me, have witnessed and experienced things that have made you realize that there are humans out there who are not good people, who don’t believe in the ‘do unto others’ system. We’d like to believe everyone operates that way, but they don’t.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “You must have seen a lot of ugly stuff go down in Afghanistan. And in a trapped situation,” she went on, “it’s not always you who’s the one being assaulted. Sometimes it’s just the act of witnessing an offense that causes the most pain, that causes a spiritual wounding. A person who has been a witness to any kind of an assault gains a deep awareness of what human beings are capable of doing to one another. To the outside world it looks as though they came away unscathed. But that’s far from the truth.” Cynthia paused, and propped the earpiece of her glasses on the edge of her lip.

  My head was starting to fill up with so many thoughts and questions and hazy memories that it felt like it might explode. Half of me wanted Cynthia to stop, but the other half was excited by all these new ideas.

  “You know,” I said in a quiet voice, “I’ve tried all my life to hide my issues from other people. Everyone always thinks Debbie’s just fine, Debbie’s so strong. Nobody knows that sometimes I’m afraid. Nobody knows how much I hate elevators, how I have to take Xanax just to step on a plane, how I have panic attacks that come from nowhere. No one would have a clue.” Cynthia had given me so much to think about. She seemed to have my number, even if she, or I, wasn’t entirely aware of all the details. “So now what do I do?” I asked her. “Never go shopping again? I don’t think I could bear that.”

  Cynthia smiled. “Just us talking is a good thing. But if you want, I can give you some tools that might help you next time you feel this kind of thing happening.”

  Cynthia’s words were music to my ears. I loved tools. Like my mother and her whole family, I could fix anything and everything with the proper tool. I carried a deluxe Swiss Army knife in my purse at all times, just in case.

  “Here’s the phrase I want you to remember: That was then, and this is now.”

  “That was then, and this is now,” I repeated, feeling like a Girl Scout taking the oath.

  “So, like today. You think Sharon has vanished. But this is the Morelia mall, and chances are she’s getting some coffee.”

  I nodded.

  “You have to think to yourself, ‘I assume the worst-case scenario because I’m aware of what the worst-case scenario can be. But that was then. And this is now. And now the chances are that, for instance, Sharon has just gone to the restroom. Or Sharon is getting a cup of coffee.’ You can’t just rely on other people to calm you down. Someone else telling you it’s going to be all right will never work. The words, and thoughts, have to come from within. Do you think you can do that?”

  “I can try. I’ll try anything not to feel like such a crazy person ever again.”

  “Stop it. You’re not crazy. But I’m not saying it’s not going to happen again. Though at least now you have some tools to work with, a way to start coping with the PTSD.”

  “I hate that label.”

  “I understand. And honestly? Trauma has become sort of an overused term these days. But it is good to have a name for it, because it’s hard for people to explain an injury that’s invisible. And I suspect that it may not be the classic war-zone syndrome, the one that legitimized the diagnosis for the rest of the world, that you’re suffering from. What happened over in Afghanistan did leave you raw and exposed, and for certain paved the way for a whole host of issues to come back and bite you in the ass, hard.”

  “I guess I can buy that. But I still can’t believe what happened here today. And I’m still blown away that I met you. It’s all so weird.”

  “Not so weird. It’s all a part of the magic in this area. It draws that energy out of you. The trauma will eventually stop controlling you, just maybe not as quickly as you’d like.” Cynthia stood and held out her hands to pull me to my feet. “Sleep well, my friend.” She hugged me with a strength a girl her size had no business having. “Meet me downstairs at breakfast. I have something I want to show you.”

  I headed wearily down to my room. Appreciative as I was for all Cynthia was trying to do for me, it was a lot to digest, and I still really wasn’t sure what I believed. But I couldn’t get the thought out of my head that meeting Cynthia was somehow meant to be. And maybe, I was beginning to think, moving to Mexico was meant to be. Despite my implosion at the mall, there was no denying that I was feeling a little more like the old Deb, in the good way, every day. Mexico seemed to be giving me something I desperately needed. I was genuinely grateful, and looking forward to the day when I could figure out how to give back something in return.

  “GOOD MORNING, MARY SUNSHINE,” CHIRPED Cynthia the next morning as a cup of steaming hot coffee seemed to magically appear in her outstretched hand. “Sleep well?”

  “Arumph,” I mumbled, my tongue seeming to have stayed behind in that nice cushy bed.

  “Take a slug and follow me,” she ordered. I dragged behind as Cynthia marched toward the far back wall of the courtyard. “I wanted to make sure you saw something before you went home.”

  “It’s a wall, Cynthia. And I’m gonna need some more coffee.”

  “Suck it up. You’ll get your coffee in a sec. And I’ll have you know it’s not just a wall.”

  “Okay,” I said, anxious for that refill.

  “People often tell us they get odd sensations here at Casa Encantada, but especially in this spot. They say it’s the same feeling they get when they’re out visiting the pyramids around here.”

  “Huh. Interesting.”

  “It is interesting. The pyramids often seem to leave people in a state of high energy, an otherworldliness. It’s all positive—not scary, just different.”

  “That’s kind of cool,” I had to admit, remembering how my skin tingled that first night, when Sharon and I were walking around town.

  “It is cool. We wonder if there might have been a pyramid at one time on top of the hill behind us, where the basilica is now. It’s all speculation, but from what’s been excavated it’s clear that this is not a ‘natural’ hill.”

  I have to say that when I reached out to touch the orange surface, I did feel more than just the bumpiness of the adobe against my palm. It was sort of like a little jolt, as if I had brushed up against an electrified fence or had been jolted by one of those dog zappers. But who knows, I thought. The power of suggestion can be a potent thing.

  Cynthia must have read the doubt on my face. “We had a guest once, a guy who worked for NASA. Even he kept telling me he felt funny every time he approached the back of the house. A scientist! He also explained to me about the vortex. You’ve heard about the vortex, eh?”

  I shook my head.

  “They say Pátzcuaro is a vortex. Some say there’s an energy flow that interacts with your inner self, that facilitates prayer, meditation, and healing. Most places in the world have a certain amount of vibration, but here it’s outrageously intense. The NASA guy told me he wished he had brought his equipment with him, to show us. He said that butterflies and birds feel the natural vibration; they’re drawn to this spot, almost pulled into it.”

  I didn’t say that I did sort of feel the same way, personally, about Mexico in general. “So why is that?”

  “It’s the pyramids. You know about the power of pyramids, eh?”

  I shrugged my shoulders, making a note to myself to read up on that later. Cynthia continued. “A lot of people believe that the purpose of building the pyramids was to harness the cosmic energies. Think about it. If the interiors of the pyramids could be fresh and energized, the mummies would be well preserved. Pyra means fire, so think pyramid, fire in the middle. The pyramids harness the fir
e, or energy, and preserve it within. There have been tons of experiments showing how pyramids can keep food fresh longer, make razor blades sharper, even bring sick plants back to life. So of course it makes sense, as so many have claimed, that exposure to pyramid vibrations can alter your mental, physical, and emotional states. It’s all about the aura.”

  As I’ve said, I am far from a woo-woo type of person, but the fact was that the slight dizziness I had felt as soon as we arrived in Pátzcuaro had still not gone away, and I was beginning to wonder if it had anything to do with what Cynthia was talking about. It wasn’t a bad feeling, it was just a strange one, like having permanent butterflies in your stomach and an extra beat in your pulse. Whatever it was, it was not to be denied. Nor was the feeling that my encounter with Cynthia was meant to be. I didn’t know quite what to make of it all, but I did know one thing: I would be making the trip to Pátzcuaro, and Casa Encantada, again, soon.

  AND THEN A FEW THINGS happened that I never saw coming.

  Noah had gone back to Michigan and was working hard to live up to his end of our bargain. He had stopped drinking, on his own, cold turkey. I was proud, and extremely relieved. But now that it was time for me to step up to the plate, I seemed to be dragging my feet through the Pacific beach sand. I had offered Noah a three-week temporary visit. I really looked forward to seeing him, and was hopeful about witnessing the change that, he swore over and over, had come over him. On one hand, having family nearby sounded truly wonderful. And yes, Mexico seemed to be the great do-over spot, the perfect place to start fresh. And we all knew Noah needed that. The problem was that I was still worried about his ability to stay sober here, and was concerned about the challenges of earning a living, should we agree that he could stay longer. But there was something else that was fueling my reluctance. Here I was, trying to get my own act together, trying to build a new life for myself, on my own. Did I really want my empty nest invaded by a full-grown duckling?

  Cynthia and I had been talking regularly by phone. One thing we had recently discussed was the idea of moving from surviving to thriving, something she assured me was totally possible for those suffering from trauma. I was so ready to thrive it was killing me. Just being in Mexico had caused something to shift inside me, and I did feel like I had changed even a little more since my return from Pátzcuaro. After a lot of effort devoted to thinking about everything Cynthia and I had been talking about, I thought that maybe I was beginning to understand myself better. Between our frequent conversations and e-mail exchanges (hers always ending with the sign-off “Love and Light”) things were slowly starting to make a little more sense. Was it really such a smart idea for me to take on the responsibility of caring for Noah when I was just beginning to learn how to properly take care of myself ? Even on airplanes they tell you to secure your own oxygen mask before putting one on your child. But a deal is a deal, and down he came.