Chapter 2
Being back in Grimstone felt like I had entered a wormhole where time stood still.
It was still the same as I remembered it.
Full of culture, hard workers, and rebellious souls.
Grimstone was a small town right by the border of Mexico.
It was usually a pit stop for tourists. The families that live here were ancient to this land.
It constantly smelled like cow manure and a mix of the best Mexican food that would melt in your mouth, captivating your taste buds.
“You’re coming downtown to make tamales, right?” Ma asked, coming in with her basket of herbs and cafécito.
“I want to make ‘males, Mama!” Birdie jumped up and down.
“Well, I guess we will both be there.” Chuckling, I tapped Birdie’s nose, and she twitched it like a bunny.
“Bién (Okay)!” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Be there by six, we’re donating a few dozen to the homeless. Plus, I’m sure your familia would like to see you. You’ve been back home for a month and haven’t seen anyone. Get out of the house, live a little, mija (daughter)!”
She’s right, I was avoiding everyone like the plague. I just wasn’t ready. I needed time to grieve my failures. The whole town was already spewing rumors about my failed marriage and how I was falling apart at the seams. You couldn’t ever have any privacy in this town.
After our baths, I got Birdie and myself dressed.
Ma had a thing about punctuality when it came to time.
If you’re on time you’re late. If you’re early you’re on time.
I looked at the clock on my dashboard then glanced at myself in the rearview mirror.
I could see my thick concealer covering the dark circles under my eyes.
The vibrant graffiti caught my attention as we passed the old brick walls; the culture still rich and kinetic.
Grimstone was a small town with humble beginnings but rich with roots.
Where the Mexican food ignites your taste buds and the music warms your soul.
The sounds and aromas drew me in. I could feel the sun’s rays beaming on my olive skin as I rolled my windows down.
You see, the moon healed me. But the sun revived me. The sun wrapped its rays over my freckled skin, embracing me in all its entirety. The wind carried the smell of fry bread in the air, the aroma so strong I could almost taste the honey that kissed it right on top. My taste buds were salivating.
They were homemade from the indigenous Yaqui’s that owned the land.
Their beautiful long, black braids and brown skin illuminated like brown sugared honey, under the desert sky sun rays.
It was the best you ever had. They rolled and flattened the dough perfectly and placed it in the boiling oil.
A tradition passed down from mother to child.
The sweet delight, confiscating the bitter tinge life leaves on your tongue.
A pinch of sugar, and the best part, honey, made locally right from the farms that surrounded us.
I forgot why I despised this place for so long. The warm embrace of the town hugged me and melted my insides. Home. I could hear the live music bouncing against the old brick buildings walls. It echoed in my heart chambers, the vibrations transcending my beating heart.
“Wow, look at the colors!” Birdie pointed to the skeletons dancing on the brick walls. A piece inspired by Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). It’s a soul’s progression where we celebrate past loved ones crossing the bridge to visit us when the veil is thin.
A car line up of lowriders showed off their hydraulic systems as they bounced in the street. People stopped to take pictures and videos, as Birdie clapped and giggled at the jumping cars, their music bumping through the streets and alleyways.
The only thing that came out different from that damn wormhole was me, and not in a good way.
I was more lost than ever, a tangled mess trapped in my head.
As much as I never saw myself coming back to this town, nothing was worse than being in Vadon’s mental prison.
I wish I could piece myself back together, like Birdie pieced her puzzles, but that’s not how life worked.
Life was just one big, unsolvable puzzle, and it was kicking my ass.
If anything was keeping me alive, it was my little Birdie and her resilience.
Nobody this young should have to be so strong.
The Robles blood rang true in her veins.
She was wise and in tune with the environment around her.
I was terrified she would remember this difficult time in our lives, and I knew that scar would be my doing.
The same broken family wound I still suffer from, it's a curse bestowing upon my bloodline, like it was written in stone. Yet, nothing is worse than living with an abusive man. They called it “The Robles Curse.” An omen that we won’t ever find true love, not without a heavy price.
My father abandoned my mother and I, and my grandfather and my great-grandfather before that both died; death being their cross to bear.
Eternal love it seems, wasn’t in our cards, and I’d be damned if that curse touched Birdie.
If I had to take the fire and utilize it to make her warm while it killed me, so be it.
I left with zero dollars, the clothes on our backs, a thundering heart, and a fear of the unknown.
I’d never set out to be a single mother, but here I was in all my glory.
Hair tied up in a bun, sweats, broke and all.
I suppose this was where it had started, and where it would finish.
Right in this town, Grimstone. Somehow this mysterious western town built of rubble and dirt instilled a moral compass in me that ran deep.
I left broken and I came back broken. I laughed to myself, pulling up to the building.
I was a walking contradiction in all its fucked up reality.
I didn’t even know who the hell I was anymore.
I was just walking flesh with no direction.
I walked in clumsily, carrying Birdie and the bags of masa. “I’m here! I made it.” I was early, just how Ma liked it. I set the masa down, as mi familia (my family) all flocked to Birdie.
“Mira, la chiquita preciosa (Look at this precious little one)” my Tia Selene gushed, pinching Birdie’s cheeks.
“I’ll just be over here, don’t worry about me.”
Birdie was loving all the attention as they swiftly took her to make her a plate of tamales.
“Don’t worry, prima, we didn’t forget about you.” Raquel punched my shoulder playfully.
I dropped my purse and hugged her so tight as tears stung my eyes. Rocky just stood there, awkward, patting my head.
“Yes, I missed you too, big cousin.”
Rocky stood at five-foot-seven, compared to my five-foot-three frame.
“Oh look, it’s a cutesy reunion of the Ya-Ya’s,” Penelope said sarcastically, as she came around, wiping her hands full of masa on an old rag.
“Chill, Penny, our prima is going through it,” Rocky defended me, then silently mouthed, “Be nice” to Penny.
“I am being so nice it hurts,” she deadpanned back. Penny’s hug suffocated me as she towered over the both of us.
“The puta sucias(fucking bitches) are back,” Rocky mumbled from the bare hug, making us all chuckle. “Honey, you look thin, estas bien flaca. And you need magnesium, asap!” She crinkled her nose, looking puzzled at Penny.
Penny, wore a designer dress, and twirled me around, making me feel silly in my flared jeans and boots. “Yeah, they call it the divorced diet, I guess.” I was trying not to talk about this, but royally fucked myself.
“Yeah, we heard.” Rocky and Penny side-eyed each other.
“Never liked the puto anyways!” Rocky took a bite of her red tamales.
“Aquí, come.(Here, eat)” Penny handed me a plate of freshly made tamales and Mexican rice as people lined up for their plates along the alleyway.
Birdie was elated helping Ma serve everyone.
Maybe being around family was exactly what we needed.
I looked at all the homeless people in line for their plates of food and a moment of gratitude shook me.
All these people didn’t have a home or a family.
I was rich in the most humble and important of ways, and didn’t even realize it until now.