Damas, Dramas, and Ana Ruiz

by Belinda Acosta

  EIGHTEEN

  The first thing Diego wanted to do after he got his license was to go see Sonia. His tío Marcos had offered to buy the boy a car outright, since Ana was helping so much with Bianca, but Ana said that was too much and that Diego needed to do his part. So Marcos had him doing odd jobs at whatever worksite could use an extra pair of hands. In return, Diego had a few dollars in his pocket and he got to drive the big troca his uncle left behind when he was on the road.

  Because Marcos’s travel was taking him away for longer and longer periods of time, he suggested they all move into his house, since it was bigger and could easily hold Ana and the kids. But that would mean leaving the house Ana and Esteban built, and Ana could not do that. She just couldn’t. Ana and Esteban still met for their household meetings, sometimes in person, sometimes by phone, but the time was coming when they would have that one meeting they wanted to avoid. And it would take both of them by surprise.

  Diego got his license during the spring break. Ana could see her son wanted to experience his new freedom.

  “Please, ’Amá? Please?” Diego pleaded. He wanted to go to band practice and later invite Sonia out for a little drive.

  “Ay, mi’jo … I know you’ve been waiting a long time but—”

  “Please, ’Amá? I won’t get on any freeways. Please, ’Amá? Please? I have money for gas—and I’ll bring you back a strawberry Slush!”

  Ana smiled, a small, crumpled smile. When she and Esteban were first together, he took her to the Sonic for a strawberry Slush and would listen to her talk about her day at school. She remembered telling him how hard it was, and he would listen and nod his head. He didn’t ask many questions, but he always offered encouragement. Before every major test, she would fret and worry, and Esteban would tell her she had nothing to worry about. Then, when she passed the test with flying colors, Esteban was the only one who wasn’t surprised. He would mark the occasion with a strawberry Slush and a trip to the pet store on Zarzamora. The pet store was a good substitute for the zoo on the other side of town. Ana didn’t mind. She liked looking at the animals up close, and if the owner was in a good mood, he would let her hold the small kittens or chatter with the parakeets that ate birdseed from her palm.

  The day after she learned about the great Mexican muralists, Ana talked about them nonstop—Rivera, Orozco, and Tamayo were her favorites from the slide show her professor showed the class, but she was bien excited when she learned about some of the women muralists like Celia Calderón and Olga Costa. Esteban didn’t know what to say, but he listened to her carefully. The next day, he gave her a box of colored pencils and a pad of newsprint he bought at the grocery store. It was then that Ana knew for sure that she was in love with Esteban Ruiz.

  During their first year of marriage, the Slush was a Friday night ritual. They would pick up their food and drive over to Brackenridge Park or take the long drive down Zarzamora and onto Military Drive, talking about the future. After a few months, Ana began to notice that all those Slushes were expanding her waistline. The evening she suggested they share a Slush something strange happened. She wasn’t sure what to think of it, but her favorite drink tasted strange in her mouth. Esteban took a sip but didn’t notice anything different. It tasted the same as always to him. Ana took another sip. She couldn’t believe he didn’t taste the same metallic taste she did. When she started feeling nauseous in the mornings, she knew something was new: She was pregnant with her Diego. The metallic taste went away, and as she got bigger and bigger, she would pat her belly and ask, “Quieres un slushy, mi amor?” She would wait for one of those first, early flutters to tell her yes. Pos, she didn’t always feel the flutter, but she liked to believe her little one was in agreement with her.

  After the first trimester, the Slushes tasted fantastic to Ana—as long as there was a pickled jalapeño in it! Esteban gagged the first time he saw his wife stirring the bright red drink with the green jalapeño. The way Ana told the story, she asked her belly if it wanted a Slush before every trip. The first time the baby kicked back to say yes, she and Esteban sat in the car for an hour, gently caressing her belly, trying to tell the future about their little one.

  It had been a long time since Ana had told her children that story, but Diego never forgot it. Ana knew Diego wanted to spend time with Sonia, and the Sonic drive-in was the place to do it. But Diego was also anxious to go to the place where his parents had been happy. He needed to do this, especially after what he learned on his last job site. His Spanish was not so good, but he understood enough to know what “la otra” meant. When he heard it said along with his father’s name, he figured he had enough information to fear the worst, but not enough to really understand what was happening. He didn’t know if he wanted to know what was happening. He just wanted to go back to the place where his parents had been happy.

  “Really, ’Amá. I’ll be careful!”

  “I know you’ll be careful, but it’s the other drivers I worry about.” Ana stopped lecturing when she saw how patiently her son was waiting for her to finish. “Be back by six.”

  Diego was a good driver, even if he was a little timid. He made his way the short mile to Sonia and Rafa’s house, happy to not show up all sweaty with a crook in his back from carrying his instruments. Diego didn’t want to show off, but he felt bien pleased to be driving up in his uncle’s big troca. He didn’t care that “De La Torre Construction” was stenciled on the driver-side door. His uncle could have left it locked up in his garage. Diego was thankful.

  As soon as he drove up, the boys looked up from what they were doing and came down the drive to check him out. Even Mr. Castañeda came out.

  “Nice ride, D,” one of the boys said. They all talked about the size of the engine, gas mileage, and what kind of kick it had on the highway. Diego was careful to let everyone know—especially Mr. Castañeda—that he did not drive on the highway and that he was a good driver.

  “Well, you must be a good driver if your uncle trusts you with his troca,” Mr. Castañeda said. Diego couldn’t tell if the man was as impressed as he wanted him to be.

  The boys wandered back to the garage. Diego saw Sonia watching them from the window and smiled. She waved and smiled back at him. This gave Diego the courage to ask the question he had been gearing up to ask.

  “So, Mr. Castañeda, I was wondering if after we practice, would it be okay if I took Sonia to the Sonic? Just for a little while. I have to be home by six.”

  El señor stared at Diego hard. He turned to look back at his house, and Diego was relieved to see that Sonia was no longer at the window. Mr. Castañeda turned back to Diego.

  “Ask me when you guys are done.”

  That was the longest hour of Diego’s life. El Rey didn’t show up that afternoon, and that by itself thrilled Diego. But the unknown answer to his question made Diego todo edgy. He fumbled where he never fumbled before, and the boys didn’t get it.

  “Dude! Qué tienes?” Rafa asked.

  “Nothing, man. I’m hungry, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” Tomás chimed in.

  “I could eat,” Rudy said.

  “I think we have some chips or something inside,” Rafa said. The boys began to pile inside the house when Diego pulled Rafa aside.

  “Hey man, I’m going to take off.”

  “Why? We’re going to keep practicing after we eat,” Rafa said.

  “Yeah, but … I got something to do, and—” Before he could finished, Mr. Castañeda was standing at the door with Sonia.

  “So, you’re ready to go now?” he asked.

  “Go where?” Rafa asked.

  “They’re going to the Sonic, and you’re going with them,” Mr. Castañeda said. This wasn’t what Diego had in mind.

  “And take the boys with you,” he added. “I don’t know where that Rudy puts it.” This was definitely not what Diego had in mind, but he didn’t know if he’d get another chance.

  The kids climbed into the large cab, w
hich had a narrow seat just wide enough for Rudy and Tomás, behind the front seat. When Mr. Castañeda saw that Sonia was going to get in to sit next to Diego, he put his hand on her shoulder and motioned for Rafa to climb in the cab first.

  “Ay, ’Ápá!” Rafa whined. Mr. Castañeda didn’t have to say a word, and Rafa dutifully climbed in the cab before his sister, giving her the passenger-side window.

  “Dude, you so owe me!” Rafa said to Diego between his teeth.

  “Hey, no holding hands, Rafa,” Rudy joked, shoving Rafa’s shoulder.

  “Yeah? Why don’t you take your hand out of Tomás’s pants?” Rafa snapped. When Sonia climbed into the cab the boys fell quiet. Diego carefully started the truck and began pulling away. Rudy wouldn’t quit.

  “Hey, Tomás is touching my knee!”

  “Cállate, cabrón!” Tomás said.

  Diego took the drive down Zarzamora Street, just like his mother had described from the early days with his father: past the greengrocer, the auto shops, the taquerías, the paleta stands, Laundromats, used furniture stores, video stores (chain, local, and Mexican movie stores), the shoe repair shops, the bakeries, the hairdressers, and all the little places that were the backbone of many families that raised children on their small, hard-won fortunes.

  When the kids got to the Sonic at Zarzamora and Buena Vista, Rafa made an—cómo se dice?—executive decision.

  “We’re going to sit over there,” Rafa said, pointing to one of the empty picnic tables in the small courtyard in front of the burger joint. The boys didn’t argue. The ride made the backseat seem smaller, and the boys fell out of the cab, stretching their legs and darting over to get a look at the menu. Diego rolled down the windows and ordered for himself and Sonia from the driver-side monitor. When the carhop brought their food, they ate silently, watching the boys at the picnic table flirt with one of the female carhops, turning their attention to their food like vultures when it came, and then, stuffed with french fries, onion rings, burgers, and soda, leaning back with their elbows resting on the table, their backs to Diego and Sonia, to watch the world go by.

  “They have good hot dogs here,” Diego said. Why did I say that? he thought. Everybody knows they have good hot dogs here, tonto!

  “Yeah, they’re good,” Sonia chirped. Diego felt better.

  “My mom used to love coming here,” Sonia said. “She liked their Slushes.”

  “Yeah, my mom, too,” Diego said.

  “Oye, when are you going to show me some of your lyrics?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Diego said. He had forgotten all about his book of words, which he’d kept stored under his bed ever since he found out about his father. “I don’t have anything good yet,” he said. “I had some stuff, but it all looks really stupid now.” Diego had been writing about love, and he believed all the flowery words, even after his parents’ split. But after what he thought he found out about his father, the words sounded empty to him. Was all this love stuff a big, fat joke? Could he promise undying love, as he wrote in his secret journals? Or was it a promise he was destined to break? Would he do the same thing as his father one day? He didn’t want to believe it, but he didn’t want to believe what he had heard about his father, either.

  Sonia could see something was bothering Diego and moved closer to him. She slid her hand under his hand, which was resting on the seat. Diego pulled it away.

  “What’s wrong?” Sonia asked.

  “Nothing,” Diego said. “I just—I don’t ever want to do anything to make you hate me.”

  Sonia reared back. “Where did that come from?” she asked.

  “I just—I don’t want to be that guy,” he said. “I don’t want to be that guy who makes promises and then doesn’t try and keep them. I don’t—I don’t know …”

  The boys burst into loud guffaws, and Diego and Sonia turned to look at them. They had ordered a chocolate sundae during a shift change, and—mira!—there was El Rey bringing their order to them! The boys were floored, seeing Rey in his carhop getup and with his hair stuffed under a Sonic baseball cap. But they were having a little too much fun, Diego thought. He climbed out of the troca and walked over to them.

  “Hey man, we ordered this sundae with nuts and three spoons,” Rudy said a little too loudly. “Take it back, and can we have three cherries?” Rudy and Tomás laughed like hyenas, while Rafa counted the change in his hand.

  “Man, I told you we didn’t have enough,” Rafa said, and then to Rey, “Hey dude, I’m sorry. Can you take this back?”

  “No, man. That’s not how it works,” Rey said.

  “I got money! I got money!” Rudy laughed, digging in his pockets but coming up with nothing. “Dang, man, can’t you float us?” Rey was getting nervous. His boss was giving him a look from inside the store.

  “Be cool, man. I need this job,” Rey said.

  “You what?” Rudy said. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Shut up,” Diego said, taking the sundae from Rey and shoving it into Rudy’s hand. He reached into his pocket for a five and gave it to Rey.

  “Thanks, man,” Rey said quietly, making change and giving it to Diego, before he turned and walked away.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Diego said.

  “I was just having a little fun with him. No harm, no foul. Chill! Did you see how he looked in that getup?” Rudy scoffed. “Dang!”

  “Yeah? And what are you doing with your sorry self? Eat that thing in five minutes or I’m leaving your stupid ass behind,” Diego said. Rudy looked to Rafa and Tomás for support, but they decided to side with Diego.

  “We’ll wait in the truck,” Rafa said. As the boys piled in the truck to wait for Rudy, Sonia smiled a soft, knowing smile. Diego wasn’t that guy; he was the guy.

  Ten years later, when Rafa would give the toast at their wedding reception, he would say how if it wasn’t for him, the young lovers would have never gotten together.

  NINETEEN

  Bianca was usually all about the holidays. She loved the tinsel and the wrapping paper, the blinking lights, the music and all the fa-la-la-la-la that went with it. But this year had been different. She told herself it was her father being gone so much and that the orders for her bags had been bien popular, pero a lot of work. That, with the quinceañera, had taken a lot of her time. But no, something else was not right, and Bianca didn’t know what it was. N’ombre, she did know what it was. But you can’t make the horse follow the water, verdad?

  It didn’t come to Bianca what was missing until she found herself sitting in church with her cousin at the annual Mass of Guadalupe on December 12. This was the Mass held on La Virgen’s feast day. Rich or poor, puro Mexicano or Mexicanos Americanos, los famosos or not, it was the day when all good Mexican Catholics showed reverence to La Diosa de las Américas. It was a special Mass where the appearance of La Virgen to Juan Diego was acted out. Carmen, Bianca, and Diego had all done their time acting out the role of La Virgen, Juan Diego, or the Bishop. Bianca still had the costume her mother had made for her, kept in a box wrapped in pale tissue. It was one of the happy memories Bianca had of her mother. The measuring and the fitting, the attention to each cosita, the way her mother made sure the sash fell just so, and how all the gold stars were embroidered on the cerulean-blue mantle made Bianca feel, pos, divine.

  Like her Bianca, Teresa de la Torre loved clothes. Bianca liked watching her mother get dressed up for a night out with her father or for one of the many social events they attended. Marcos was ready in no time, waiting in the outer bedroom, reading the paper with Bianca on his lap, the both of them waiting to see Teresa come out from the huge closet looking like a vision. Marcos would complain about all the events and fund-raisers they had to go to since they were the past Charro Queen y el Rey Feo. Pero, whenever he saw his delicate wife appear from the closet, more beautiful than the time before, he got todo wobbly in his knees. To Bianca, her mother looked like a princess—or a fashion model. She was amazed that the woman could walk into the c
loset wearing nothing more than a robe, her hair tied into a quick knot, and then make her way through the jumble of shoes, belts, and scarves, and come out looking bien fancy.

  “Are you a fashion designer, Mami?”

  “Oh, no!” Teresa laughed, taking her little girl into her arms. “Maybe one day you will be the designer. I see how you like to draw.”

  “Really, Mami? I can be a designer?” Bianca asked, looking into her mother’s closet and wondering if she would ever be able to work the same magic as her mother.

  “You can be anything you want to be, mi’ja.”

  And Bianca believed her.

  ...

  Bianca and Carmen liked to attend the Guadalupe Mass together. Years after they had grown out of participating in the Mass, they still liked to go and see the adorable hombrecitos dressed as mini Juan Diegos as well as the chicas dressed as Guadalupes (who had no idea of what a virgin was but knew being one was good), to the girls who were old enough to have outgrown dressing up for the pantomime play but couldn’t give it up because their stage mothers wouldn’t let them. Or, maybe they couldn’t give up the spotlight. Who would want to give up a starring role as La Diosa de las Américas, even if you were playing it with a herd of girls in look-alike costumes?

  This year, they counted twenty Virgens, twenty Juan Diegos, twenty Bishops, and at least that many other characters. They all stood in identical poses, one right after the next, in the front of the church before the congregation. Adults took turns reading the story of La Virgen of Guadalupe making her appearance to Juan Diego at Mount Tepeyac, her instructions to tell the Bishop to build a church on the mount, and how the Bishop did not believe. It took Juan Diego five tries (five!—the Spanish Bishop did not believe the humble indio), but La Virgen gave him strength and urged Juan Diego to go back and try again. On his last try, the humble Juan Diego opened his tilma and fully bloomed red roses, not in season that cold December day, fell to the Bishop’s feet. Only then did the Bishop believe. And the rest was, as they say, the start of something big. You can’t be a good Mexican and not know who La Lupe is. She is petitioned for everything from relief of common pains to communicating with the departed. She is sought or carried for guidance and solace, which is what Bianca was in serious need of after a month of dreaming of her mother. She was not happy when Carmen made them get to the Guadalupe Mass late.