The vaquero’s silver guns, his black suit, and his curly, black paper mustache jerked violently up and down. Controlling the rope, Tío Hector pulled hard to keep the piñata out of range of the child slashing the air with a sawed-off broom handle wrapped in blue and pink crepe paper. A dozen children stood ready to pounce when the child with the broom handle split the piñata, showering the goodies into their waiting hands. Luz was cutting across the yard to be with her girlfriends when she stopped to watch the vaquero sway in the breeze.
Like an old-time vaudeville hook, an arm around her neck drew her into a group standing near the rosebush. Wait till Mamá sees the empty bottles under the roses. She will be so angry. Her Tío Ambrose twisted her around to face her aunt.
“This girl here is going to prove to the world that all Mexican-Americans are not like what they see in the movies.”
Tío Ambrose’s wife pinched Luz’s cheeks and stroked the girl’s black shoulder-length hair into shape. Tía Gloria eyed the telltale signs of the woman blooming within; the thickening of lips, the drape of her long lashes over her brown eyes. “We are so proud of you, Luz.”
“Making it to the city spelling contest. Before we know it, we’ll be in Austin, going to the state capital to see you win there.” She leaned forward on her crutches, her shoulders hunched toward her ears as she supported herself. The hem of her long skirt fluttered with her movement. She had lost her left leg from below the knee to diabetes after she had had her son.
“Thank you, Tía Gloria.” ¡Híjole! What do I do? She looks like she’s gonna fall any second. Major embarrassment if she falls on me.
“She knows she has an obligation and a duty to our kind. We help each other out.” Tía Gloria dimmed the lights around her with her smile.
Here we go again with that “our kind” stuff. How am I supposed to know where I belong?
Tío Ambrose frowned as he plopped an arm over his niece’s shoulders. “I’ve talked with your father and I told him, this is no thing a girl should be doing. Too dangerous. You are so young. Such a rose.” He pointed at her with the hand that was holding the beer bottle.
Just before the party, he was telling me I was clumsy.
Tía Gloria blurted, “It’s men like you with attitudes like we’re such a rose that forces us women to be strong.” Ambrose stiffened. Tía Gloria glared at her husband like a matador watching the bull kick up the dirt.
“Tío Ambrose I’ll be all right.”
Phew! His breath reeked. I wonder who will fall down first—mi tía or mi tío?
She adjusted the weight of her uncle’s arm over her shoulder, smiling politely at her tío’s friends. Her uncle was an older replica of her father; thin, brown, weathered, with calloused hands and knotted knuckles.
Mr. Rosales grinned, “With those dark eyes, this little one can get my help any time.”
¡Ay! It’s time to get out of here. Got to warn my girlfriends—“Roman Hands” Rosales is on the make.
Her aunt slapped her husband’s arm and jerked her head in Rosales’s direction. Her uncle halted his friend with a raised hand. “Cuidado. Es mi sobrina.”
The short man shrugged. “For a squirt, she is the prettiest one in the family.”
Her uncle nudged her in the direction she had been heading.
San Antonio’s sweaty afternoon had cooled into a sweet, flower-smelling night. Throughout the backyard, mesquite-flavored smoke from the huge grill hovered over the heads of the people at the party. Everyone knows smoke follows the pretty girls.
Men in plaid and light-colored, short-sleeved shirts stood in groups, some with one foot on a folding chair, all waving arms, arguing into each others’ sentences, holding plastic tumblers filled with foam-topped brew. Ay Díos mío, how do they know what they are saying? No one listens to the other.
Women, in dresses of bright-colored flowers or ice cream stripes, sat on lawn chairs huddled in groups of two or three, exchanging news of their childrens’ accomplishments or judging the flirting abilities of the younger women. Listening to them, you’d believe that all their children were going to be doctors and lawyers.
The young women pretended to ignore the stares from the young men that they had seduced into noticing them. Young men envied the freedom of the small children as they divulged, with heads bent together, loud and with authority, their conquests, their chests growing bigger with every assertion. Ay, don’t they ever get tired of hearing their own voices.
Small children wrestled on the ground, grass staining the boy’s white Sunday-best shirts their mothers had ironed the day before. Girls ran with untied ribbons flying after their pretty flowered dresses. Boys practiced the cock walk—chest out, hips swinging— of their older brothers. Girls were caught between the urges to punch a boy’s face or kiss it. Just another family gathering.
“Here you are. I was looking for you.” Luz stopped on her tiptoes to avoid bumping into her mother. Hijo, here goes the party. Mrs. Ríos’s hands were loaded with several plates topped with silverware, napkins and paper cups. She pushed the load off toward Luz’s middle. Luz quickly lifted her arms to catch the utensils. She swayed and took a step backwards with the sudden weight.
Oh, man, I just want to go hang with my girlfriends.
“Here. Take these to your abuelita’s table. I don’t want her coming into the kitchen.” Her mother, a head taller than Luz with the same brown eyes and thick black hair, wiped her forehead and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in one sweep of her hand. She cast her gaze across the backyard, checking each group of relatives and friends. All appeared well taken care of. With a shove to her daughter’s shoulder, she hustled Luz on her way. “Get going before your abuelita gets nosy.”
I’m always the one that has to do everything. She never asks my sister to do anything.
Luz looked with envy at her girlfriends. Colored lights hung from poles hooked on the fence; blue and white crepe paper, twisted together, dropped across the fence in the rear of the yard. In front of the garage stood a long table with a stereo on one end. The eight-year-old birthday boy eyed the brightly wrapped birthday gifts on the other end. There, her girlfriends huddled under a string of pink flamingos that glowed brightly. They were pretending not to notice the young men who were pretending not to notice them. The driveway was swept clean for dancing. Her girlfriends were choosing cassettes for the tape player that would entice the young men to move from their corner at the end of the driveway. They’re having all the fun. I want to be over there with them.
Luz’s girlfriends were motioning for her to join them. She raised the plates in her hands in the direction of her grandmother’s table as an explanation to them. Giggling, they turned back to the selection of the next tune, except for Ana and Olga.
Luz, still walking, caught Ana noticing a slight head movement from one of the young machos. Ana probably thinks Ricardo wants to be with her. Olga is nodding like she thinks he means it for her. Flirt all you want. He belongs to me, brujas! Luz sighed as she reached her grandmother’s table.
“Abuelita, let me set the table for you,” Luz said as she nodded respectfully at the three elderly women gathered around the table.
“Mijita, que linda. You are such a good help.” Abuelita looked at the two women on her left and nodded with pride. The cross-stitch of wrinkles across her face blurred in the smoke of her thin, brown cigarillo. “You will make a good wife soon.” Her black, felt reservation hat with the beaded hatband sat on the back of her head.
Oh, no, not more talk about getting married. Will she ever get off that kick? Luz almost tossed the dishes in front of each woman.
“This business of the spelling wasp.” Her grandmother leaned forward.
“Spelling bee,” Luz said with a deep sigh. Her grandmother was so ancient; she didn’t know anything.
“Sí, el insecto.”
Luz sighed again, louder. She never gets it, no matter how often I tell her. ¡Qué triste!
“This is not to bother with. You are of the age to think hard of marriage.”
Mrs. Fuentes, who was Olga’s grandmother, asked, “How old she is?” She had to lean forward in the chair because her feet didn’t touch the ground.
“Fourteen just last month,” replied Luz. The heck with the silverware. I gotta get out of here before they marry me off.
Mrs. Fuentes’ chins swayed. “My oldest was already born when I got to be sixteen.”
It’s going to be different for me.
Mrs. Tijerina, Ana’s grandmother, said, “You have a husband picked out from them.” She pointed with a shift of her eyes to the group of young men playing horseshoes beside the garage.
Luz rolled her eyes as one boy squirted another with a shaken-up soda. Oh, puhleeeze! “Abuelita, you know I’m going to college. The money I win at the spelling contest will help me get there.”
The tip of the cigarillo reddened as Aura sucked in air. “It’s that mother of yours.” Luz’s grandmother pulled her flat-brimmed hat low on her forehead, hiding her eyes.
Ay, I blew it. Time to hit the road.
“This thing with the college gets our kind nothing. It takes our children and turns them against us.” The ash from the cigarillo fell onto the table and burned a hole in the red-and-white-checkered, plastic tablecloth. “This is not good.”
Mrs. Fuentes nodded, leaned back, her feet swinging in midair, and folded her arms in righteousness.
Mrs. Tijerina nodded and ran her fingers over the rosary she always carried in her pocket. She checked to make sure that Ana was still within sight.
Looks like time for the human sacrifice. This here virgin is on her way. The three elderly women glared disapproval as Luz walked away backwards.
Before she took five steps, Mrs. Cuellar captured her by the arm. Her black curls bobbed along the sides of her head.
Ay, she’s so beautiful. Her face is like the magazine models, painted and smooth.
“Luz, your mamá must be so happy with you.” Mrs. Cuellar, pretty in a tight, blue-flowered, red dress, patted Luz’s hand.
Mrs. Cuellar had taken as many beers as Mr. Cuellar from the shed next to the back door. A huge metal washtub, full of ice, sat on top of the dryer in the shed, keeping the beer cold. Something always happens when these two have had one too many.
Mrs. Cuellar shoved Luz in front of Mrs. Ortíz. “You showed all those gringos at school that we Chicanas have brains. Brains and guts.” Mrs. Cuellar used her little finger to wipe off a smidgen of deep plum lipstick from the corner of her mouth.
Mrs. Ortíz put one hand on Luz’s right shoulder. Luz stared at Mrs. Ortíz’s neck that was a different color than her face, the thick make-up ending at the jaw line. Mrs. Ortíz, with lips the same plum as Mrs. Cuellar, jabbed the air with the long metal serving spoon in her other hand. “Don’t let no one tell you you can’t be smart just because you’re a girl.”
That’s dumb. They say I’m not smart because I’m Chicana.
Mrs. Cuellar and Mrs. Ortíz traded looks loaded with accusations and experiences.
“We need more women like you in the revolution. We have been oppressed for so long that we have to rise up and get stronger.” Mrs. Cuellar poked her face so close that Luz felt her eyes cross. “Men think they can do it by themselves. But it’s us women who do all the hard work. Women are stronger because we have to do more, put up with more.”
All I want is for Ricardo to take me to the Social Club dance next Sunday.
Mrs. Ortíz patted Mrs. Cuellar on her shoulder in agreement. “If it wasn’t for us there’d be no revolution.”
“We’re the ones that give birth to the warriors.” Mrs. Cuellar shot a fist into the air over her head. “Yes!”
Don’t let my abuelita hear you. She wants me married first before I even say the word “babies.”
Mrs Ortíz muttered, “Right on,” then they clinked their long-necked bottles.
Luz caught a signal from across the yard. She mumbled, “Excuse me,” and hurried toward her mother.
Her mother shook Luz by the arm. “Go be with your girlfriends and don’t be getting those two all stirred up. I love them dearly, but I’m in no mood for a revolution tonight.”
Luz opened her mouth to protest, but tripped over her feet when she was shoved toward her girlfriends. I get blamed for everything. It’s so unfair.
As she reached the table, Olga handed her a cup of punch. “That was close.” She blinked her thick lashes that accented her green eyes.
Ana nodded, eager for gossip. “What was it about?” Ana’s brown hair matched the brown of her skin and the brown of her eyes. She was all of one color. She looked beautiful and spooky all at once.
Luz shrugged. “They were talking about the spelling contest.”
Olga picked up several cassettes and pretended to read the song titles. “So what? You’re not gonna do it,” she said casually with a shake of her head.
“I’ve worked hard for this. I’m going and I’m gonna win.” Luz looked at the faces around her. They don’t believe me. “Big time win!”
“Luz, you gone crazy?” Olga arched her trimmed and colored brows.
“You’re serious about showing up?” Ana slouched against the table. Her long dangling earrings reflected light as she turned her head; her curled hair bounced with each moment.
Hijo, they’re both so fancy. My father won’t even let me wear stud earrings.
“You got somebody else that can do it better than me?” Luz fingered her hair.
Ana waved her hands around, flashing her different colored fingernails. “What if you lose? The whole school will be laughing at you. How embarrassing.”
You should know since everyone at school laughs at you.
Licking her lips, which were glossed mocha, Olga put down the cassettes. “You know Ricardo?”
Not like I’m gonna get to know him. Luz sipped from her drink. “You have to be blind, deaf and mute not to know how Ricardo is.”
Olga looked out from the side, her face hidden by a curtain of black hair. “I heard that he told this other guy that he was thinking of taking you to the Social Club dance.” ¡Andale! “But if you won, he wouldn’t be want to be seen with anyone that’s too brainy.” She’s crazy. He’s taking me. He told me so.
Ana flanked her. “And if you lose, he doesn’t want to hang with a loser.” She pointed with the fingernail that had a rhinestone stud in it.
¡Híjolé! Luz looked from Olga to Ana, then at the faces of the rest of the girls. “So what you want me to do?” Hands on hips, feet spread apart, Luz asked, “What are you getting at?”
“Don’t go,” Olga said and Ana agreed.
Órale, they got together and are wearing their bright green knit dresses. Olga’s hangs and flaps around her body with every breeze; Ana’s rolls like a range of mountains across her torso. My mother forced me to wear this yellow dress with a sailor collar.
She said with sudden anger in her voice, “Didn’t you both try out for the contest?” then she pointed at Ana, “Didn’t you make it to the semifinals with me?”
“Ay, I missed on purpose.” Sure you did. “I went far enough to show them I was smart, but not too far to get any of them mad at me.” And placed her hands on her waist.
Keep squeezing it all you want, Ana. You’re not going to make it any smaller than it is.
Luz’s dark eyes shrunk to black pinpricks when she asked, “Mad at you for what?” Like we all know who “them” is.
“You know the white girls think they have it all bundled up.”
Olga slipped in, her green eyes greener from the shine of her dress. “And guess who invited her to the dance while you’re at the competition next weekend?”
Ana moved to the table behind Olga.
“Is this what you call being a friend?” Luz took a step toward Ana, clenching her hands into fists. “If you go, I’ll make sure you got no hair to fix up for the thing.” Or something.
Taking a step back, Ana said, “¡Órale! I couldn’t say no.” She twisted her finger in the curls of her permed hair, entangling her fingernail stud.
“See, like I told you.” Olga stepped between them. “If you get too smart, the boys won’t like you.”
Luz heard her name called. Tía Gloria motioned to her that she needed another drink. We’ll see who’s too smart. Placing the cup on the table next to the tape deck, she tipped it over, then headed toward the punch bowl, leaving squeals of horror behind as the stain on Ana’s dress spread.
A few steps from the table, she was clotheslined by Mr. Cuellar, who wasn’t much taller than Luz, but had arms of solid muscles. “Here she is.”
Bad news. I’ve seen Mr. Cuellar make more trips than anyone else to visit the tub in the shed, except his best friend. Mr. Torres keeps filling his glass with ice. He’s keeping cool what he pours from the brown paper bag that he keeps in the car.
Luz had heard her mother fret over their drinking. Her father had promised her mother that he would watch over them. But he was busy at the grill, flipping meat, talking to the men around him, drinking from his own long-necked bottle.
“The pride of Los Mexicanos.” Mr. Cuellar saluted her with his bottle in the air.
The three men with Mr. Cuellar tipped their bright, red plastic cups in the air in salute. Foam spilled over a cup.
Oh, oh. Time to get worried.
“This here girl is gonna whip all those gringos.” Mr. Cuellar thumped the air with his cup.
“You show ’em for us,” the other men chorused.
Time to get the heck away.
“In two weeks, she’s gonna win and show all those masa boys who’s got what. She’s gonna show them that us Chicanos got balls. ¿Qué no, niña?”
Before Luz could answer, Mrs. Cuellar stepped into the group. “Leave the girl alone.”
Too late. Trouble has arrived.
“¿Qué? I’m only telling her we want her to win. To show these gringos that us Chicanos can be smart too. Manela, isn’t that what you want?”
I’ll just take a few steps back and get out of their way. Maybe even disappear.
Mrs. Cuellar positioned her small frame underneath his nose, her body as thin as a flute standing in front of a cello. “Vicente, don’t you dare. Luz is going for the women. She’s going to prove that we can be leaders as good as any man.”
What are they thinking? I’m just one little girl.
Mr. Cuellar commandeered the space around himself, standing taller, puffing out his chest, forcing his wife to step back. “La Raza. We have to present a united front. We go as one or we don’t make it. Luz is going to win for La Raza.” Mr. Cuellar yanked Luz between them, placing his hands on her shoulders.
I’m dead.
Mrs. Cuellar grabbed Luz’s hands and tugged the girl forward.
I’m dead for sure.
“Luz is going to win. She has to, but only to prove that Chicanas are just as smart as the men.” Mrs. Cuellar’s complexion glowed the same warm plum as her lipstick.
Híjo, when they get mad, they turn the same color.
Mr. Cuellar jerked Luz backed closer to him. “Luz has to win to make all Raza look good.”
I just want to win a spelling contest.
Mrs. Cuellar pulled Luz forward, closer to her. “All you care about is that people believe you men have the biggest balls.”
I hope my abuelita didn’t hear that.
Luz’s eyes ping-ponged between the man and the woman. Her head followed the words going over it, her hair swishing back and forth.
Mr. Cuellar pointed a stubbed fingernail at his wife over Luz’s right shoulder. “All you’re talking is gringa’s crap. Women’s rights are for the whites. My mother was happy taking care of her family. As it should be.”
I’m going to get killed in the middle of their fight.
Mrs. Cuellar poked the air over Luz’s left shoulder with a red-tipped finger. “Jodido, your mother never knew where her husband was at any given moment.”
Now they’re swearing. My abuelita is gonna be angry.
Luz’s mother plucked her from between the couple.
Luz’s father wrapped his arm around Mr. Cuellar’s shoulder and steered him to the grill. “Compadre, I need your help with the ribs.”
Mrs. Ortíz clutched Mrs. Cuellar’s arm and walked away. Both shot scowls at the remaining men. The men raised their hands in defense and backed away.
Luz’s mother gripped her arm. “I told you not to cause any trouble.”
“But Mamá, I was just…”
“Enough. Put your brother to bed. I have to stay in the kitchen.”
I wasn’t doing anything and I’m the one that gets into trouble. Yeah, being a kid is a whole bunch of fun.
Her mother reached for the sleeping child from the comadre who was holding him. Lifting the child’s head, she gently lay him on Luz’s arm. Luz slipped her other arm close to her mother’s body and cradled the child’s bottom. Immediately, her mother walked across the yard to rescue someone from Mrs. Cuellar’s tirade. Luz carried her brother to the bedroom, soothing him with soft noises. Qué cariño.
Luz pulled back the blanket in the crib. One hand under his head and the other under his bottom, she lifted the child over the railing and lay him down in the crib. She tucked the blanket around the child’s body, making sure her brother had the pacifier in his mouth. She patted his back until he fell asleep again. There, there, little one, enjoy your dreams while you can. Before the grown-ups start in on you.
Through the window, she watched the people enjoying themselves in her parents’ backyard.
Her Tía Gloria was biting into a corn-on-the-cob. She wanted Luz to open doors for other Mexican-Americans.
Her Tío Ambrose danced a cumbia. He wanted her to be safe from a dangerous world.
Her grandmother watched the dancing. She wanted her to get married.
Mrs. Ortíz and Mrs. Cuellar jabbed the chest of a man. They wanted her to be a Chicana feminist revolutionary.
Mr. Cuellar stood next to the grill. He wanted her to change the world for La Raza.
Ana danced with both arms wrapped around the neck of Ricardo. Her girlfriends wanted to stay in their world of being smartly one step behind.
Her mother sat with the ladies at the big wooden table. She wanted her to go on to college.
Her father stacked food hot off the grill onto trays. He wanted her to win because it was her obligation and duty as a Chicana.
Luz pressed her hot forehead against the cool window pane. She felt the beat of the music through the window. Loud, rhythmic, vibrant. So many words. Revolution. La Raza. Family obligation.
“What you doing here all along, prima?”
Luz answered her cousin without looking at her, recognizing the voice. “Putting my brother to bed.” Híjo, she’s lucky. Aura has our grandmother’s name and wears a black felt reservation hat just like her.
Aura moved to the other side of the window. “The relatives. Putting on the pressure, ¿qué no?”
Luz sighed. I want a hat just like that.
“You know they all love you.”
“So much love is heavy to carry.”
Aura studied her cousin for a few moments then leaned against the wall. “You know I’m the first ever in my family to go to college. So the family expects great things from me.”
Luz whipped her head around. “Don’t start on me too.”
“I wasn’t. I was just…”
“I can’t tell my elders anything, but you. Forget it.” Luz surprised herself at the anger in her voice, her hands in fists. “Everybody’s telling me what they want. I would like to do the things they want me to do. I would like to be a revolutionary. I would like to win. But…” Luz shook her head. “I don’t know if I can. I don’t think I have that kind of courage.” She lowered her voice. “I mean I’ve never gone hungry. My parents have always given me everything I’ve wanted.” Luz straightened and stretched her hands in front of her. “I mean, I’ve never even known a migrant worker. Who am I to be representing La Raza?” There. I’ve said it. So shoot me.
Aura looked out the window for a moment, and almost as if she were speaking to someone outside, said, “Being raza is an attitude.”
Luz shook her head as if to disturb the pesky thoughts. “Then maybe I just have the wrong attitude.” Wrong attitude. Wrong color. Wrong everything.
“Whether you are a winner, light enough, rich enough, even poor enough, whatever, because you were born raza, the system will never let you forget it. Every time someone like you or me pushes on this door that is trying to keep us shut out, it’s good.” Aura used her head to indicate everyone at the party. “But they never got the chance, even though it’s the system that put up the roadblocks.”
“You talking about racism?” I know things, too.
“Racism. Genocide. Oppression. Whatever name you put on it, it’s real. It’s out there. And that’s why it will be different for you than it will be for the white girls you compete with. No one is going to kill them for trying.”
Mrs. Ortíz stuck her head into the room. “Luz, come outside. There is something for you.”
Hijo, don’t they ever let up?
The three women stepped out into the backyard. Everyone had assembled on the driveway. Mrs. Ortíz steered Luz to the table where the stereo had been turned off. In front of the group, her parents waited for her.
Hijo, I must be in major bad trouble. I always get blamed for everything.
Everyone applauded and cheered, calling out Luz’s name over and over. Her father raised his hand for quiet.
“Luz, everyone is very proud of what you’ve done. We all got together and pitched in to buy you…” her father choked on the words.
Wow! I’ve never seen my dad like this.
Men and women assembled on the grass shouted words in fun.
“¡Órale!” “Hand it to her already.”
“Ya, es tiempo.”
“Here. This is for you from all of us.” Her father handed her a box with a yellow ribbon tied around the middle.
“For me?” Luz put her hands to her face. She looked at the crowd, then back down at the box.
“Open it,” was shouted from several in the group. She twisted and yanked the yellow ribbon off the box and ripped the paper off. She lifted the lid and gasped. “¡Díos mío! I can’t believe my eyes.”
“Show us. Show us,” came from the group. From the Styrofoam nest, she lifted an electronic dictionary and speller. The instrument fit on her hand. The keyboard filled the bottom space and the wide LED readout tilted up. Her father pointed. “These buttons help you find the word in Spanish, French, or German.”
“Only one of those counts,” shouted Tío Ambrose as he raised his red plastic tumbler and everyone laughed.
Luz grinned. This familia is a roller coaster.
Her parents stood on either side of her. Her father squeezed her with his arm around her shoulders; her mother clutched her other arm. “We are all so proud of you.”
The clapping and the cheering died off as Mrs. Ortíz and Mrs. Cuellar stepped forward. “We have something for you also.”
Hijo. Where can I run?
Luz gingerly set the electronic speller down on the table and then eyed the woman. Mrs. Ortíz shoved a large, rectangular box into her hands.
Her father held the box with both hands as Luz slipped the wide blue ribbon and foot-wide bow from the box. She set the box down on the table and flipped the lid up with one hand. She gasped, as she let the lid fall backwards.
Her parents edged forward. Olga and Ana stretched on tiptoes to get a better view. The cheering audience quieted, holding their breaths, watching.
From the box, Luz lifted an organdy flowered dress with a bright blue sash around the waist. She held it up for everyone to see. Family and friends clapped and hooted and shouted. A bit of green came over Ana’s face as she ogled the dress and smacked her lips. Aura gave her a thumbs-up signal. Abuelita pushed her wide-brimmed hat to the back of her head, her smile cracking her face into a thousand more wrinkles.
Mrs. Ortíz and Mrs. Cuellar grinned and wrapped their arms around each other’s waist. “We never said you couldn’t look beautiful while you were changing the world.”
Familia. They can make you crazy and they can give you what it takes to get ahead.