That Saturday, I leaned over our tiny, cracked mirror as I attempted to put on some makeup. I was wearing one of my few beautiful dresses for events such as this dance; a flowing, pale red dress that had once been my mother's. Even wearing it makes me think of her, though I try not to. Tonight of all nights would not be the night to remember the grief of her death.
"I will not stay out late," I remind my father, who is in the kitchen, sweeping and reading some papers at the same time.
"Esta bien," Papá assured me. "It's alright. You will be with a group, si? With your friends… Teresita and Isabel, verdad?"
"Si," I reply, putting on my small gold hoop earrings. "We are meeting there and will walk home together. I would not be going, only I promised Consuelo and…"
"Don't worry," he said, putting the broom down and coming towards me. "I should be the one that is worried. And I am," he added quietly, before quickly saying, "But as long as you stay with a group at all times…do not wander…and come home directly, then I will not worry."
"I will," I said, pulling on my shoes. "You know I am always one step ahead! If I wasn't…then I would not be your daughter!"
He laughs at this and takes my face in his hands gently, kissing me lightly on the cheek. As I returned his gaze, I noticed that though he smiled his eyes were pools of emotion. He was still worried for me! I could not blame him, I was worried for myself.
"It will be fine," I announced, reassuring both of us. "When you wake, I will be home."
He nodded again. "Have a good time, m'ija." His voice faltered, he waved me out the door before he was forced to show his emotion.
As I stepped out into the settling cool dark I felt my stomach tighten. My father's worry had made me worry. But, thankfully, it was not too long before I found Isabel.
I was filled with warmth when I saw her, my childhood friend; the warm happiness of good memories spread down to the tips of my fingers. I had not seen her in so long; her family had moved to the countryside, looking for work. She was walking somewhat aimlessly around the block, brow furrowed with thought.
"Isabel!"
I called happily. "Looking for something?"
She laughed
without even seeing me, knowing my voice. She turned until she saw
me.
"Que casualidad. What I was looking for found me instead!" she smiled such a familiar smile.
I ran to her and caught her in a wild embrace, before I spoke again.
"Oh, Chavela," I said, calling her by her nickname, "you look as brown as a frijol!"
She nodded. "The sun can do that to you when you work outside all day! Not all of us can afford to keep our complexions as bonita as yours, 'Nita."
"You always were the charming one, querida," I said sweetly, but insisted, "Cleaning by day and sewing by night has not been wonderful either…especially since…"
"I heard about your mamá," she said gently. "I prayed for her, and for you and your father. Things are hard for people everywhere these days. Mi papá says that with politics these days, our best investment is to save for a ticket to América."
A shiver went down my spine. Every time I heard that word, I was filled with exhilaration. Was it a hope? A premonition? A bit of both?
She must have noticed my expression because she added, "Don't worry, nena. It'll be some time before we've saved up for a voyage; I have three brothers and a sister, remember?" I laugh as I do remember them, her goofy brothers and little wide-eyed Sophia.
"Enough chat," I said finally, linking my arm in hers. "We talk as if we have nowhere to go! I did not get dressed up just to see you, Chavela, despite what you think."
"Ai, gracias, 'Nita," she pretended to be hurt, but smiled all the same. "I suppose we should escort each other to the dance then?"
"Por supuesto. Of course."
I am so happy as we walk down the crumbling sidewalk together, I had forgotten what such a feeling felt like. Everything about Isabel was familiar, the sound of her laugh, her voice, how the ends of her lips turned up as she hid a smile. Even her cascading dark hair, which she kept in a loose bun, just as I did. Such a familiarity was comforting; after all the events that had happened over the last few months, I hadn't realized just how much comfort I really needed. Es mi culpa, it is my own fault. Perhaps if I did not hide my emotion so much…if I grieved openly like every other person, then perhaps I'd be better off. But I don't. Which is why being with mi amiga Chavela, even for a moment, was such a joy. Because at that moment, I could immerse myself in her familiarity, in the memories that surrounded her. Memories of better days and happier times, through which I could forget.
Solamente por un momento.
Only for a moment.
