Gabriella’S Maze

By Rebecca Garza

The actions of those who surround her cause ripple effects of hardship, cruelty and abuse in the life of Gabriella. Torn from what little she knows and loves Gabriella finds herself scavenging for kindness and learns to steer her path choosing not to dwell in what surrounds her but to exist in a life shaped by her own free will.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496974075

Rebecca Garza

Rebecca Garza grew up in an intercultural community and is certified in the legal secretarial field. Applying her knowledge of culture and language she became a communications facilitator. Rebecca’s pride and joy is her family. Among her favorite hobbies are enjoying nature, cooking, and writing.

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© 2015 Rebecca Garza. All rights reserved.

Front Cover Illustrated by Henry Chavez

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/08/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4969-7406-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-7407-5 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One Roots

Chapter Two Deceit

Chapter Three Beginings

Chapter Four El Barrio

Chapter Five A Confusing Father

Chapter Six My Simple Life

Chapter Seven The Big Gap

Chapter Eight The Summer Before We Crossed

Chapter Nine The Bridge

Chapter Ten Cruelty And Compassion

Chapter Eleven The Neighborhood

Chapter Twelve Our Own Miracles

Chapter Thirteen Better But Not For Long

Chapter Fourteen Concealed Pain

Chapter Fifteen My Own Path

Chapter Sixteen Mom’s Strength

Chapter Seventeen The Ability To Trust

Chapter Eighteen Dreaded Circumstances

Chapter Nineteen Driven Away

Chapter Twenty No Longer Our Home

Chapter Twenty One Finding The Way

Chapter Twenty Two Through The Maze

My intention with this book is not to give advice. Nor did I try to use it as a way to express what, in my perspective, is right or wrong.

We may not even realize it, but many times, we walk by a family at a shopping center, a grocery store, or down a street and we look their way with faint interest. Thinking only of what our eyes see, we make quick assumptions. Many times we judge those we observe solely by the environment which surrounds them.

A child from a poor home, with a drug addict for a parent is presumed to become like the parent.

Environments though, many times do not match personalities and our assumptions may, at times, be wrong.

In the 1970’s, during her childhood, Gabriella, her siblings, and her mother lived through financial hardships and they suffered physical and mental abuse. Gabriella though, learned not to dwell in the negative aspect of her life. As she grew, her mind developed an ability to re direct itself and to lock away memories which were too hurtful.

At a young age Gabriella’s three daughters asked her questions about her childhood. Much of it, though, was not for her young daughters to hear. She told them some of the funny stories, some of the scary ones, and even some of the sad ones. But Gabriella didn’t know what to do with the memories she kept locked away in her thoughts.

This is an account of it all.

Of the stories her Grandmother and her Mother told her about their lives. Of how Gabriella’s mother overcame her illness and fought strong through many struggles. Following her Grandmother’s example, her Mother raised Gabriella and her siblings bravely, with loving authority and always setting a good example for them to follow.

In this manuscript Gabriella also recounts her own memories, the ones she kept close to her heart and also the ones she kept locked away.

As the story unfolds Gabriella realizes how profoundly those who cross our paths impact our lives.

Observing others closely, she notices that some people steer us in the right direction. They encourage us and help us along the way. In Gabriella’s eyes, they are the angels in our maze. Others, she notices, affect our lives negatively. They hurt and discourage us. Some even purposely attempt to make us fail. But Gabriella recognizes that those who are ill intentioned also help us because every time we overcome a struggle we gain a little bit of faith, a little bit of strength, and a little bit of wisdom.

CHAPTER ONE

ROOTS

My family and I lived in one of the many poor neighborhoods in Monte Bajo, Madero, Mexico; a city that borders Jamestown, Texas. Our ‘Barrio,’ or neighborhood looked like a normal Mexican neighborhood, but the Barrio we lived in was not at all an ordinary one. Likewise, my family might have appeared normal to most people, but we were nowhere near normal.

Kids, get up and get dressed, my mother said to us in Spanish almost every morning. Mom’s face was red and sweaty and the smell of freshly cooked breakfast filled our small home.

Because we had no closet, my father had nailed a metal pole on to the corner of the light blue bare wooden wall. Mom used that pole to hang the few better garments we all had, along with my sibling’s school uniforms.

My mother had to wash often because my siblings each only had two uniforms for the five days of school. Every morning, before waking us up my mother ironed my sibling’s uniforms and cooked breakfast. Mom also carried two buckets to the red iron water pump that my father had installed on the corner of our lot.

Every morning Mom filled the buckets with water, carried one into my grandmother’s house, and the other one into our house for us to rinse our faces and brush our teeth.

Mom was strict, to say the least. As soon as we heard her voice asking us to get up, we immediately did so. We never asked for more time to sleep, nor did any one of us dare to nag or complain. Besides being strict, Mom was also rough. She was never gentle, with any of us. We were all used to her roughness, and to the rushed way in which she did things all the time.

The first thing I did in the mornings was jump off the bed I shared with my siblings and pulled my flip flops out from under the bed. I used to put them on and sit quietly at the edge of the bed. I had to be ready to walk with my mother and my siblings to the corner of the street to wait for the school bus.

I was of school age, but because I was born in the United States, I was not allowed to attend school in Mexico. I used to just sit there, enviously watching my siblings get ready for school.

My sister Beatriz is four years older than me. Every school day she’d put on her white buttoned shirt, white skirt, and white stockings that rose all the way to the bottom of her knees. For some strange reason, Beatriz never wore regular shoes she instead wore a pair of hideous sandals. Beatriz’s sandals had two thick, dark brown leather straps, one of them wrapped around her toes and the other around her ankles. Those things even had a huge, ugly, thick metal buckle on the outside of the ankle strap.

My mother brushed Beatriz’s brown, wavy, shiny hair in a rough, rushed manner. Her strokes at our hair were so rough that they jerked our heads around and made our eyes tear up. Like the rest of us, Beatriz’s eyes got watery and she also kind of spout as Mom brushed her hair. But like the rest of us, she was too scared to cry, or to even let her know that it hurt. Mom used to part my sister’s hair to one side, and place a little hair pin above her left ear. Beatriz’s bangs sat perfectly on her white forehead and she always looked neat and pretty. And oh, how I used to wish I was going to school so that I could look and dress just like her, except for those horrible, sandals.

My brother, Rafael, is five years older than me but he has always been a bit slower than the rest of us. But since Mom never helped my sisters get dressed; neither did she help my poor brother. When Rafael finished dressing, Mom used to roughly tuck his white buttoned shirt into his khaki pants. Rafael used to leave his pants twisted, with the back seam centered on top of his right butt cheek. To fix his pants, Mom used to hold Rafael’s pants at the waist and she jerked them around his skinny body. He was never completely awake in the mornings so when she twisted his pants around, his arms flapped side to side like cooked noodles; and she unknowingly made him do the rag doll twist. It was quite funny and we all smirked at the sight of him but none of us laughed. Mom finished fixing his shirt and handed him his black belt and socks.

Rafael was still slowly putting on his socks when Mom was already impatiently handing him his shoes, which were quite old and over worn, but Mom used to make him clean them every morning. You can always judge a man by his shoes, clean your shoes Rafael, and hurry up, and put them on! she’d angrily demand. Once Rafael was done cleaning and putting on his shoes, Mom brushed his brown, wavy hair and quickly parted it to one side.

She then grabbed a funny round glass bottle, poured a bit of the strange smelling oil it contained on her hands and she’d rub it all over Rafael’s hair. For the time being, Rafael also looked nice and neat. Unfortunately, as soon as we’d step outside, dirt used to blow and stick to Rafael’s neatly combed hair. The dirt used to make Rafael’s hair look gray, and for the rest of the day, he looked like a little old man with ashy hair.

Once dressed, Rafael used to sit on Mom’s bed across the way from me and make funny faces my way to make me smile. My brother was about the only person who could make me smile.

Rafael and Beatriz were in elementary school, but my sister Jasmine who is six years older than me was in middle school and her uniform was different. Jasmine used to wear a white cotton shirt that had a burgundy stripe on each short sleeve and an ironed on patch of her school’s seal over the area of her heart. She wore a burgundy skirt and white stockings that, like Beatriz’s, rose to the bottom of her knees. However, unlike Beatriz, Jasmine wore pretty, black, shiny shoes with her school uniform. Tearing through knots, my mother used to part her curly, frizzy, brown hair down the middle and brush it tight into two big, puffy ponytails. Jasmine’s porcelain-like dark skin, pointy nose, and big dark brown eyes, stood out even more when Mom brushed it into those tight ponytails.

Once Mom finished helping my siblings get ready, she used to carry me sideways on her forearm to the ‘shower room.’ My mother used to dangle my body over the bucket of water, which she had brought in earlier that morning and she’d rinse and then dry my face roughly. She had, I guess, grown tired of attempting to fix my frizzy, curly hair so she just sprinkled water on it and scrunch it with her hands.

My mother was in such a rush that before she finished scrunching my hair, she would shout, Kids, go sit at the table.

Come on Gaby, let’s go have breakfast, Jasmine used to say, extending her hand my way. I used to take her hand and we’d walk towards the kitchen table. Jasmine was the prettiest girl in all the Barrio; she was certainly the prettiest girl I had ever seen. She was very nice to me; she used to help me up on a chair and she sat next to me every time we ate.

Our kitchen was a narrow rectangular hall. The refrigerator, table, and a small stove were all pushed up against the longer side of the kitchen. There was a space of about two feet between the table and the refrigerator, where my mother fit one chair, and three more chairs were packed tightly together on the larger side of the table.

My father was a jealous man and because he didn’t want other men in our home he, poorly, built our windows and doors. Our front door was made out of two by six inch wooden boards that were nailed together and supported by a Z style frame. The door was left open all day to let in air and sun light and my father also poorly constructed a green, metallic screen door. To keep insects out, the screen door, which was outside of the wooden door, always, remained closed. On the wall of our kitchen, above the area where the table was, there was a small window, which also had a green, metallic screen, through it, sunlight and air also came in.

We used to sit at the table, Mom served our breakfast and then she’d stand there like a soldier. She’d look down at us and with one hand on her hip and pointing towards our plates with the thick, blue, metal, serving spoon with the other she used to demand, You kids better finish everything on your plates!

Back then, traditionally, adults ate first, and children were served rice and what was left of the meal. My parents and my grandmother though, did not agree with that custom, in our house, it was never followed. In fact, my mom never sat down to eat breakfast with us, or any meal for that matter. She used to serve us first, make sure we ate well, and she’d sit down to eat after we were done.

Mom was a very good cook so the food was always good and fresh, but we were just kids, and sometimes, we couldn’t finish our food. Finish the entire tortilla! The tortilla is the face of Jesus, and none of you should dare throw away even a little piece of the face of Jesus! Mom used to say to us in a stern and serious tone. If that didn’t motivate us enough, she’d remind us, Many children have nothing to eat; you kids are blessed every time a plate of food is placed in front of you, eat! so with great appreciation for the food that was placed in front of us, we ate.

Right after we finished our breakfast my siblings and I walked to the wash room, quickly brushed our teeth, and we rinsed our hands. We walked out of the house along with our mother and Lobo, our dog, came along. Lobo was extremely protective of us, and terribly smart, we never even had to call him.

We lived on May street so we used to walk two blocks west down our street and stand at the corner where May street makes a T intersection with Juarez, the larger street. Beatriz and Rafael turned right at the corner and then walked into their school’s gate. Keeping a watchful eye, my mother stretched her neck to watch Beatriz and Rafael walk in. When she saw them go inside, she relaxed a bit. She then reached into the pocket of her red and white plaid apron and gave my sister Jasmine some coins for her to pay her bus fair, and her lunch.

A few minutes later we’d see a dark cloud of smoke coming down Juarez Street, and hear the bus’ noisy engine. As the brown bus approached, Mom lifted her arm, pointing her index finger to the sky and yelled out, One! That was how to halt the bus. When the bus stopped and the doors opened, Jasmine, some of her school mates, and some of the adults from the neighborhood, who were on their way to work, would climb aboard. Jasmine would take a seat, and when the bus started moving, Mom twisted me around by my shoulders, and held my hand. We’d start walking back home, with Lobo right beside us, of course.

My maternal Grandmother, Mercedes, lived next door to us. Her house was only about fifteen feet away from our kitchen door. Every morning, after my siblings left for school, Mom and I walked up to her door and Mom knocked softly on it. Mother, come and have breakfast with me, she used to ask. Come on in, Grandma would respond.

Mom opened the screen door and Grandma would put her hair brush down on her little table, and lovingly opened her arms towards me. Come here Gaby, my little crystal! she used to say to me. I’d run up to her, hug her, and press my hot cheek against the fresh, soft, wrinkly skin of her upper arm. Just let me finish braiding my hair, she used to say to Mom, And I’ll come with you. I used to sit next to her, smelling the soft perfumed powder she would wear. I’d smile up at Grandma as she looked down at me smiling with tender, loving eyes.

Grandma showered every morning, but not the way we are accustomed to showering today. She used to heat a pot of water on her stove top and pour it into the bucket full of water that Mom brought in for her, to warm it up a bit. She closed the unpainted, wooden shutters and wooden doors to her little house and showered pouring water on herself with a plastic tumbler. She got dressed in a corner of her concrete house, and then opened her window shutters and doors. Grandma would then grab her broom and sweep the water out of her home and onto the dry, cracked earth.

My family and I also washed the same way; our single bedroom and kitchen, like Grandma’s house, also had a concrete floor, but connected to our bedroom was our shower room. A small wooden floored room that had a small hole Dad cut on the center of the floor through which water ran out.

When Grandma was done braiding her long, thick, gray and black pony tail, she used to stand, take my hand, and we walked out of her house together. We took a few steps and walked into our house. Grandma used to sit at our little table while Mom heated up some tortillas over the flames of our small gas stove. I used to stare thoughtfully at the tortillas when they were over the flame and wonder, was Mom offending Jesus by putting his face over the fire? I used to stand there, pondering over that thought.

Mom and Grandma ate what was left of the breakfast and then talked and talked. I never really paid attention to what they said, but I do remember hearing anger in Mom’s tone of voice. After a while, it got a little quiet, Mom took the dishes outside to a table that was right outside the house and wash them. When she was done with the dishes Grandma sprinkled the dirty dish water onto the dirt so that less dirt would blow into our houses. Later on in the day, Mom cooked lunch and after we ate, she continued with her chores.

I spent my days sitting on the sidewalk, feeding the birds, and Lobo, and watching Mom work. In the afternoon, shortly after my sisters and brother came back from school, Mom again cooked for us, and made sure that we ate. She then showered, and got she dressed for work. Before leaving she always reminded us; I am leaving to work, behave and mind your Grandmother.

My mother was a hard worker. She, and several other ladies from our neighborhood, worked long hours at a factory that was not far from our neighborhood making parts for blenders.

Grandma Mercedes, her mother, took care of us when my mother went to work; she took care of us even when Mom was home. Grandma was strict, just like my mother, but she was gentle and she never spanked any of us. When we were being rowdy, she’d simply stand in front of us and snap her fingers twice. At the sound of her fingers snapping, all four of us immediately sat and quieted down. We all minded and greatly respected her.

My siblings and I always addressed Grandma Mercedes with love and respect, and she never had to even raise her voice at us. She raised us in such a way that just by the way she looked at us we knew what she wanted us to do. When people visited, for example, and she wanted us to sit, she would briefly look our way, and then at a chair. When she wanted us not to talk she’d look our way, tighten her lips a bit and nod softly and we knew exactly what we had to do. When she instructed us to do chores or to go shower, we did so, immediately.

Grandma was a widow, my grandfather, her husband passed away seven years before I was born. I often asked her questions about him, but finding the time for her to answer my questions quite a challenge.

Grandma, can you tell me about Grandpa? I asked her one evening. In a while Gaby, let me prepare the food, she responded. She prepared delicious potato and meat balls and served them over tomato sauce. As a side she gave us rice and fresh cooked lentils for dinner. After we were done eating, she and Jasmine washed dishes, and we all helped clean her house. She then sent my siblings to go shower, instructed Jasmine to help me shower, and after that, she sent us all to bed.

That next day, after Mom left for work, I again asked Grandma to tell me about Grandpa. She was about to start telling me his story but we heard an engine coming down the dirt road and saw a car stop in front of her house.

It’s my son, come children, let’s go greet him! Grandma urged. We walked outside as my Uncle Leonardo, Mom’s brother got off of his fancy car. Grandma went to greet him and so did we. She invited him into her house and we all walked inside after them.

He was carrying a plate in his hands that smelled divine, but Grandma still asked him, Want something to eat? No Mama, I came to bring you this plate of food, he answered. Thank you, Grandma said as she took the plate from him, placed it on her table and added, I’ll eat it later.

They sat and talked for a while, my uncle joked around with my siblings and me, and Grandma just smiled.

I used to like my Uncle Leonardo a whole lot, but that day, I wanted him to leave so that Grandma could tell me about Grandpa. Mama, eat the food on the plate, My Uncle said to Grandma, but Grandma replied in her bossy sort of way, I’m not hungry right now I’ll eat, in a while.

My Uncle stayed a few more minutes, and then said, Well, I guess I have to get going. Don’t let that food go bad Mama. I won’t, she replied, and we walked him out to his car.

Immediately after my uncle left, we all walked inside, Grandma warmed up some tortillas, took the big plate, and divided it into five portions. Come eat kids, Grandma said to us. Grandma, you shouldn’t share this food with us, my aunt says she won’t let Uncle Leonardo bring you any more if you keep doing this, Jasmine said to Grandma. She can go to hell, if they give me the food it’s mine, and I’ll do with it what I want. Sit and eat with me kids, Grandma responded. At Grandma’s demand, we all gladly shared the expensive plate of cabrito, or goat. It was delicious!

A few evenings later, I again asked Grandma to talk to me about Grandpa. Unfortunately, just as she was going to start talking, Sonia, the lady who used to buy and sell used clothing from house to house knocked on her door. Grandma invited Sonia in, and boy, was that lady talkative. It took her an immensely long time to show Grandma all the garments she had in her big, colorful thick plastic bag. After what seamed to me like an eternity, Sonia finally picked up all the garments, except for the few Grandma selected. She put them in her bag, took Grandma’s payment and the old garments Grandma didn’t want anymore, and left.

The next day, before I got the chance to ask Grandma to tell me about Grandpa, we all heard an all too familiar sound. Fidencio, the man who used to sell fruits and vegetables, was coming down the dirt road on his wooden wagon pulled by his mean, scary mule.

Many people were afraid of that mule because one time, when Erasmo, one of the neighbors, was a drunk, he leaned on Fidencieo’s mule’s hind and the mule kicked back and broke several of poor Erasmo’s ribs.

I was petrified of that mule, Grandma, on the other hand, was not at all scared of it. That day, as always, she rushed to grab her little coin purse and then ran outside to stop Fidencio. Every time Grandma approached him, that skinny dark man jokingly pretended not to see her and he’d keep going. Stop you idiot, can’t you see me?! Grandma angrily demanded.

As Fidencio smiled, deep wrinkles formed circles and lines all around his eyes and he stopped the wagon. He seemed to enjoy Grandma’s insults, as did many others who knew her. The mule brailed with flared nostrils as Grandma approached. Teach your stupid mule some manners! Grandma used to scream at Fidencio. She’d grab the mule’s bridle, slap him hard on the cheek, shove his angry face away and curse at the mule and at Fidencio like there was no tomorrow. Fidencio, smiled, but Grandma just frowned and she cursed some more.

Hand over what I usually buy and don’t you dare give me anything rotten, or I’ll throw it at your face! she’d angrily say to Fidencio. No Mercy, I know I can’t fool you, in fact, I saved the best for you, Fidencio responded as he handed Grandma the prettiest fruits and vegetables. She handed them to us and we carried them into her house and set them down on her table. She paid Fidencio, smacked the mule on its hind and Fidencio drove away, happy as ever.

Grandma was a beautiful lady, and even at her old age, several men were still interested in her. I remember one in particular, Sergio, who often knocked on her door. Grandma used to open the door, and a nervous Sergio used to say with stuttered voice, M-M-Mercedes, h-hello, I-I was thinking of-of you, and I b-b-brought you this ch-ch-cheese. Grandma stood straight faced looking right at Sergio as with unsteady hands he offered her the fresh, stretchy, delicious cheese that he used to make himself. Thank you, she used to say while frowning her forehead, she’d take the cheese and slam the door right in front of poor Sergio’s face. Grandma then turned to us and signaled for us not to talk. When we’d hear Sergio walk away, Jasmine would say to her, Grandma Sergio likes you. Ahh! Screw Sergio! Come, eat some cheese, Grandma responded.

Grandma used to stand out under the tree in the evenings smoking her cigarette and sometimes, Gustavo, another one of her gentlemen callers approached her. Poor Gustavo used to dress in his shiniest shoes, neatly ironed dressy brown pants and a white, perfectly ironed shirt. He even wore his expensive looking cowboy hat and a lot of his nice smelling cologne to go and court Grandma. When she’d see him walking towards her though, she used to whisper angrily, Oh! Here comes this stubborn son of a gun again! She’d angrily put her cigarette out and walk into her house and poor Gustavo had no choice but to walk away.

One evening, before the sun went down, Grandma and Jasmine had already washed dishes and I again tried to ask her to tell me about Grandpa. Tinggg… Tinggg… Tinggg…, we heard. It was the sound of the bell from Joel’s, the ice cream man’s three wheeled, white, little box cart. Grandma hardly every bought ice cream for us but luckily, that day, she turned towards us, smiled and we smiled back. Do you all want an ice cream? she asked, Yes Grandma! we all responded in a chorus. We started bouncing our bodies up and down a little and she said, Beatriz you get very good grades, Jasmine you are very helpful with the chores, and Rafael you are very obedient and so are you Gaby. Come on, I’m going to buy you some ice cream. We walked out of her house, Grandma stood right outside her door, gave Jasmine some coins, and said to us, Go choose an ice cream.

We walked towards the ice cream cart which Joel had stopped on our front yard right under the shade of our big tree. He stopped there almost every day to take a break, but we hardly ever bought ice cream. That day though, he smiled when he saw us coming, opened the largest of the silver lids on top of his little white cart and with just a bit of help from my sister Jasmine, I was able to peek inside.

Jasmine carried me, she pressed me against the cart with her knee I leaned on the side of the ice cream cart, held on, and looked inside.

There was a lot in there to choose from; rompopes, which are sweet cinnamon kind of egg-nog flavored but way better tasting icy pops which come in a rectangular plastic tube. Different flavored bolis, which are fruit flavored ice pops in long plastic tubes, natural flavored paletas or popsicles, and wonderful esquimales. That time I chose an esquimal, which is a watered down ice cream bar with a thin chocolate coating and I enjoyed it immensely. Jasmine chose a tamarindo paleta, Beatriz chose a rompope, and Rafael chose a pineapple-flavored boli. My siblings and I truly enjoyed our ice cream, and because Grandma didn’t buy anything for herself, we all offered her a bite but she declined. She turned on a cigarette, which she seamed to enjoy as much as we enjoyed our treats.

We were not allowed to speak when another adult was present, but as soon Joel walked away with his ice cream cart, I asked, Grandma, can you please tell me about Grandpa? Grandmother Mercedes looked down at me and nodded with a soft smile. She sat on the wooden rocking chair under the shade of our big tree, sat me on her lap and said, "Your Grandpa was born in 1892, his name was Juan Samuel. He was a widower, his wife unfortunately passed away during child birth along with their first child. Samuel was born and lived in Rio Verde, a small city in the south part of the United States. There he owned a cattle ranch but a few years after the passing of his wife, Samuel sold his property and his livestock to come to Monte Bajo. He invested his money on shrimp boats and put them to work here, in the Gulf.

Samuel was forty years old and he was visiting Montalvo, Nuevo Laredo, the city I am from, when we saw each other for the first time. He showed interest in me, but we did not speak the first time we saw each other. I was seventeen years old and back then, young girls we were not allowed to talk to men.

Samuel wanted to meet me, so he stayed in Montalvo longer than he had originally planned. He spoke to my brothers about me, and a few weeks later, with my father’s permission, he hired a band of mariachis and serenaded me. A serenade was the proper way for a man to show his interest in a lady.

When I heard the music, I peeked out my window, and saw him standing out there so I put my night gown on, and I fixed my hair. A few minutes after the music stopped I turned my petroleum lamp on and I looked out the window, that meant I was also interested in him, Grandma said with a smile, and continued. With my father’s consent, we spoke, we got to know each other and a few days later, your grandpa returned to Monte Bajo to supervise his business.

From that point on, he visited about once every two weeks, and a few months later, he asked for my hand in marriage. My parents, Elvira and Jesus, spoke with your grandpa’s parents, Victoria and Jose, and they all agreed to our marriage.

Your grandpa loved music; he especially liked corridos, which are similar to ballads. Corridos though are the result of the way news traveled in the old days. Back then, men had to travel long distances to deliver news and to accurately remember the events, they used to sing them in rhymes. The rhymes start with the date of the event, the place where the event occurred, the names of the people involved and a small rhyme of what happened.

Many corridos tell stories of brave men from the Mexican revolution some of Pancho Villa, an intelligent and highly skilled general who was known for stealing from the rich to give to the poor. Other corridos tell stories of Emiliano Zapata, another brave general, who declared: ‘I prefer to die standing than to live kneeling down.’ Your Grandpa hired a band that played corridos and norteña music, or music from the north of Mexico, to play at our wedding.

For us to dance our first song as husband and wife he also hired a band of mariachis. I think dancing is ridiculous, and I didn’t dance with your Grandpa, nor did I dance with my father on my wedding day and they both respected my decision.

I didn’t dance at our wedding, but your Grandpa danced and drank until he passed out. The day after the wedding, I stood there, staring down at him, wondering when he was going to wake up.

Samuel’s shrimp boat business was based in Monte Bajo, so we left Monalvo and came to live here. I have sixteen sisters and four brothers, and your grandfather helped most of them move here, to Monte Bajo. He helped my father and brothers find jobs working on the rail road and they settled in.

Shortly after we married, Samuel and I bought a ranch here in Monte Bajo we called, "El Estero Seco, which means, The Dry Lagoon."

We had seven children, unfortunately, two of them passed away at a young age, Grandma said. She paused a while and then continued, Samuel was an extraordinarily good provider; we never lacked food, shelter, or money.

Unfortunately, a few years after we married, during one his fishing trips, while swimming in deep ocean water, he was stung on his leg by a poisonous fish. His leg started cramping up while still in the water and the pain was so great that he started seizing. Luckily, the crew men pulled him out before he drowned, turned the boat around and sailed to land as fast as they could. The crew men said that the pain was so intense that it caused Samuel to fall in and out of consciousness. By the time they reached land the men didn’t know if he was dead or alive.

When they arrived, some of the men took your Grandpa’s limp body to a clinic, and Francisco, one of the crew members, was sent to pick me up and take me to see him. When I heard the horse driven wagon rushing down the dirt pathway, I knew something had gone terribly wrong. ‘Mercedes, Samuel is extremely ill; he was bitten by some kind of sea animal. Hurry, I’m here to take you to him. They have him at the clinic!’ Francisco said.

I ran, grabbed my purse, and climbed on the wagon leaving my children behind. Francisco drove fast and I kept asking him questions, but he just gave me uncertain answers.

When we arrived, I rushed into the clinic and saw your grandfather barely conscious, sweating, and in excruciating pain. A nurse had treated his wound, ‘Are you his wife?’ a doctor asked as he approached, ‘Yes doctor, I am,’ I responded. ‘I don’t know if something bit him or stung him, and we sincerely do not know what is going to happen to him,’ he said. ‘Whatever it was took a deep chunk of skin, right now, that is all we know,’ he added as he lifted the gauze off of Samuel’s upper thigh. Underneath the gauze, was a wound that was about an inch deep and about an inch around, there were red streaks around that area and his leg was overly swollen.

The doctor and the nurses worked diligently to keep Samuel alive and he survived, thank God. He was conscious but as days went by, his leg had no improvement and the doctor decided to transfer him to Mexico City. There, he would be treated by specialists because he was in danger of losing his leg.

Thanks to God, and to the wonderful doctors and nurses who treated him both here and in Mexico City, Samuel survived and he did not lose his leg. For a very long time, though, he was unable to work. He had to rely on his workers to run the business while he recovered. Unfortunately, the men left in charge began stealing shrimp and money from him. They eventually stole so much that your Grandpa decided to sell his boats, while he still had something left to sell. We lived off of the money he received from the sale of the boats for some time and when that money ran out, we sold the ranch and lived off that. Thank God, before that money ran out, Samuel regained his strength, was able to walk again, and he started working for our good friend, Nicolas.

Your grandfather ran Nicolas’ milk business and in return, Nicolas provided a house with all the commodities for us to live in along with a steady income for your grandpa.

Samuel was in charge of everything from taking care of the cattle to paying the workers. He really seamed to enjoy working on the farm and it was around that time that I became pregnant with your mother. I did not expect to have any more children, Leonardo, my youngest, was at the time fourteen years old. My being pregnant came as a complete surprise to us, but your grandfather was overjoyed by the idea of us having another baby. When your mother was born, he loved her just as much as he loved our other children, but he spoiled her much more.

When she was a toddler, your grandfather got her into the habit of taking a plastic tumbler to him while he was milking the cows. He used to squirt milk directly from the cow’s udder into your mother’s cup; that is why her cheeks are so red!" Grandma said with a big smile on her face and I smiled her way.

She continued, "Samuel later started working less at the farm and more as a security guard at a gas station that was near the Amistad International Bridge. Monte Bajo borders the United States, and people, from all over, visit this city. Most of them are from the United States. When tourists come here, they drink themselves to the point of intoxication and many of them behave like animals. While working at that gas station, your Grandpa met a gringo," Grandma said.

We call white people with colored eyes and light skin who are from the United States gringos. Some say we call them that because when Pancho Villa caught solders from the United States they were dressed in green, and to address them, he used to say, green, go, that’s what some say.

She continued, "That man asked for Samuel’s help, he wanted your Grandpa to interpret for him. Samuel used to speak more English than Spanish so he agreed to help the man. One tourist recommended another, and Samuel started earning money working as an interpreter and a guide here in Monte Bajo.

Samuel used to take gringos to "La Zona Rosa, or, The Pink Zone, an area here in Monte Bajo where all the, ladies," work, where all the cantinas are. He helped them communicate with whoever they wanted so that they could have their fun, and he earned damn good money doing that.

Those crazy gringos didn’t just leave their dollars behind. There are many people in this city with blue or green eyes and light colored skin. Many of them are the result of some wild tourist’s brief visit," Grandma said smiling and shaking her head in disapproval.

Mom walks with a pronounced limp, I was curious as to why so one afternoon I asked Grandma, What happened to Mom’s leg, Grandma? "When your mother was two years old she walked outside and saw Elsa, our neighbor who was hanging her laundry out to dry. Your mother was spoiled and she loved attention, so she began twisting and swinging her little waist to show off her pretty, pink dress to Elsa. ‘Do you think my dress is pretty Elsa?’ your Mom asked, ‘Yes Gabriellita you look very pretty,’ Elsa responded.

I was also out washing laundry as well and I just nodded at your mother’s conceitedness, and I continued washing. Your mother took a few steps towards the house and we heard a thump. When we turned around, we saw your mother on ground, arching her back, and twisting her body. We ran towards her, I thought she was having a seizure so I picked her up, started screaming out for Samuel and carried her into the house. When what we thought was a seizure went away, we tried calling her and calling her, but she wouldn’t come to so Samuel got on the horse pulled wagon and he went to get the doctor.

While we waited for the doctor I asked Elsa to please touch Gabriellita because I thought she had given her ojo, or the evil eye. Elsa touched her but Gabriellita had no response. I grabbed an egg, and swept it over her body saying a prayer, but your mother remained unconscious. Her body was limp as a rag doll and as much as I called her, she wouldn’t come to.

When the doctor arrived he examined her and diagnosed her with polio. He warned us that many children die from the disease and told us that if she was to survive, she would probably never walk again.

Gabriellita remained unconscious for three days, during which Samuel and I were terribly anxious. We remained vigilant, praying and caring for her as best as we could. I hardly slept during those three days. When she finally regained consciousness, we felt immensely relieved.

When she tried to move though, her right leg didn’t follow, ‘What’s wrong with my leg Mom?’ she asked. ‘It’s broken Gabriellita, do not to try to move it, ok?’ I said to her. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she would never walk again," Grandma said in quiet and thoughtful tone.

One morning, after my siblings left to school, I asked my mother, Mom, can you tell me about your childhood? While she folded clothing, she sat next to me on her bed and said, "When I was little, I had to be carried around all the time because I have polio and was not able to walk. Your grandma, trying to bring my spirits up, used to point towards a little statute of the Virgin Mary and she’d say to me, ‘Have faith Gabriellita, the virgin is going to give you the leg of one the little angels that surround her and you will be able to walk again.’ The angels, of course, never gave me the leg, and I hated them for it.

One morning, Doña Cecilia, one of our neighbors, knocked on our door and Mama, went to answer. ‘Good morning Cecilia,’ Mama said, ‘Good morning Mercedes, I hope you don’t get offended, but I noticed Gabriellita is growing so I brought you this cart. Maybe your sons can fix it and you might find it useful to carry her in,’ Doña Cecilia said. ‘Cecilia, you are not offending me at all. You are doing me a huge favor, fixing this cart is going to keep these two jerks busy,’ she said, referring to my brothers, ‘and, I’m sure it will work wonderfully to carry Gabriellita in. Thank you very much,’ Mama said. Doña Cecilia smiled, ‘You are welcome.’ she responded and she walked away.

‘Julian, Leonardo; take this cart to the back of the house, repair it, and make rails around the edges with the wood that is back there!’ Mama said to my brothers. ‘I want to come too!’ I said to my brother Julian, ‘At least we won’t have to carry you anymore, you are getting heavy!’ he said as he carried me to the back of the house. Julian sat me on the wooden steps, and he and Leonardo argued more than they built, but after a few days, they finished the wooden cart.

My brothers were terribly mischievous so to keep them busy, your grandma used to ask them to take me out for rides around the neighborhood on the cart. Almost daily, Julian and Leonardo pulled me on the wooden cart towards the house of a mentally retarded man they used to call, ‘Juan the Round.’ My brothers used wheel me down the street towards Juan the Rounds’ house, stop close to his front door, and signaled for me not to make noise. Leonardo quietly poked his head into Juan’s front door, looked towards my brother Julian and signaled him to get ready. Leonardo would then scream out, ‘Juan the round!"

I smiled and nodded as Mom continued the chuckle worthy story, "Juan hated to be called round and with angry, heavy steps, he used to rush towards the door. He despised my brothers so much that he prepared a tin bucket full of dirt rocks to throw at them. After hearing my brothers’ insult Juan would chase after us, throwing rocks our way. ‘Hold on tight Gabriellita,’ my brothers used to say to me as they jerked hard on the cart’s handle and run fast over the rocky, bumpy dirt road.

I held on tight because my body bounced high off the cart as my brothers pulled me over the bumpy, rocky road. Some of the rocks Juan threw came very close to hitting my brothers, and some even landed on my cart. Luckily, Juan didn’t have very good aim and since he was quite heavy, he tired easily. After just a few minutes, he’d give up running after us.

My brothers were tall and skinny, and they were extremely fast runners. Left with no other choice, after screaming at us the few cuss words he knew, poor Juan stomped his way back into his house jerking his arms around and grunt angrily.

Once Juan was out of sight, my brothers would pull my wagon towards the side of the road, and they laughed so hard after their evil doing that they’d sometimes choke and could barely speak. ‘His aim is getting better. He got me this time,’ Julian said as he lifted his shirt and showed Leonardo a red mark on his back. ‘Oh! That’s gonna hurt tomorrow. His aim might be getting better, but he’s getting fatter and slower too.’ Leonardo replied laughing and red faced while I looked their way nodding and throwing pieces of dirt rock out of my cart."

Mom paused and then she said with the biggest smile on her face, "The soda delivery truck drove past us that day and I asked, ‘Can I have a soft drink?’ ‘Are you are crazy?’ Julian replied. ‘Yeah, that truck doesn’t carry soft drinks; the side of that truck says Laxatives for cows and horses, right Julian?’ Leonardo said to Julian with a serious expression on his face. ‘Yes, that is exactly what it says,’ Julian responded. They looked at each other trying to hide the smirk on their faces and I didn’t know how to read, so I just frowned and stopped asking.

Leonardo was bad, but Julian was twice as terrible. We, of course, had to respect our parents and our elders, but my brother Julian used to get a kick out of teasing our grouchy Uncle Raymundo. Uncle Raymundo was my father’s brother and he visited often. He used to dress in a fancy suite and he used to wear an expensive hat and a clock that hung from a chain on the inside of his vest.

To greet him, each one of us had to kiss the back of his hand and one of the times he visited, Julian waited to greet him last and when my uncle held out his hand for Julian to kiss it, Julian pulled on it, lifted his leg, and he farted loud right on my uncle’s face."

Mom took a second to laugh and when she caught her breath she said, "My uncle’s face turned red and his proud expression faded into pure rage. ‘Run Julian, Run!’ I shouted at my brother. Julian took off running, and our furious uncle ran after him. My uncle, of course, didn’t catch Julian. He gave up after a short run and started walking back to the house livid, red faced, and out of breath.

‘Don’t get upset Uncle, I was playing with you!’ Julian yelled out to my uncle from about a block away. ‘You don’t play with me boy! You don’t play with me!’ my uncle furiously replied as he angrily walked back to the house. We all tried our best not to laugh, ‘Calm down Raymundo, Julian is just a kid,’ your grandma said to her irritated brother-in-law with a smirk on her face as he followed her inside the house. My uncle sat at the table and started sipping coffee Mama made for him and he continued gripping about Julian, who, by the way, had to wait outside under a tree until my uncle left.

With Julian and Leonardo, there was hardly a dull moment. Sometimes, they would start bickering about something stupid, and their argument would end in a fist fight. My brothers used to punch each other until their faces would bleed. The first few times I saw them fighting, I pleaded to your Grandmother, ‘Mama stop them! They are going to kill each other!’ ‘Let them fight, they’ll get tired of punching each other after a while, you’ll see,’ my mother calmly responded while smoking her cigarette. After seeing them fight each other several other times, I no longer got nervous, instead, I learned to laugh at the torn lips and swollen faces they would wake up with the following morning."

Mom got quiet and said, "Day after day I asked but the angels never gave me their leg so I started exercising mine. When I