I drop my backpack to the hard wooden floor and proceed to throw my tired body on to the bed.
I look around at the walls full of pictures of my nieces and nephews. Some black and white , others color. One particular photograph was taken by me. It hangs proudly and very distinctly from the others. Possibly because it is a part of me. My vision and my idea. It is a close up of my niece. Shes looking right into the camera as her baby soft hair slightly covers her left eye. Shes smiling, I remember asking her to pose for a picture that day, except this picture was taken when she wasn't trying to pose. When she was just enjoying a Sunday fall afternoon tossing around in the leaves and dry grass.
My rosary is burning a hole in my pocket as I stand in front of this image. I reach for the control and lay my head back to surf through the endless satellite channels. When I come to terms with the fact that I might just suffer a thumb cramp from all the clicking I come across the perfect channel! National Geographic- Documentary on photojournalism! Ahhh my escape I think and upon selecting the channel I'm prompted with the following " You are currently not subscribed to this channel, please contact your dish provider" USELESS! your USELESS! I yell at the control, as the rosary continues to burn a hole in my pocket threatening me with a 3rd degree burn. I can hear the soft mumbling voices in a melodramatic tone coming from the next room. My mothers pleas do a quick jog around my mind. My aunts lectures began a long distance marathon in my mind and my father and cousins faces cheer both of them on. Maybe its the frustration of these pleas and lectures in my mind, but I swear the Rosario in my pocket begins to mumble. I feel it moving around tossing and turning in a violent panic. I hesitate a bit but finally reach into my pocket. I feel around and grab my chap stick, but feel the distinct cold touch of the smooth glass Rosario beads. It wraps tightly around my finger like a tiny newborns hand would. I had no other choice but to pull it out of my pocket and allow it to breathe. The voices are louder as they have broken into a no rhythm song, at this point I am convinced they don't know the meaning of beat . Each voice can be heard distinctly and I can tell who is singing and who is just mumbling along. I smile at the thought of my younger cousins mumbling to this song they don't know the meaning to. All they know and have been told is that its the right thing to do, that they should do it, that if they don't they aren't good little boys and girls, I imagine their angry faces of boredom and my aunts pinching away shooting death stares after every other prayer, I cant help but to laugh out loud, a deep laugh that makes my whole body shake. I can hear little me in the mix, in a half asleep high pitched voice. 1/4 annoyed, 1/4 bitter, 1/4 enraged and finally 1/4 deeply rooted in the words I don't know the meaning to.
I'm to young and too busy annoyed at the fact that I am missing the ninja turtles marathon, or Jerry setting up a trap that Tom will surely fall for like a damn fool. Too busy with these thoughts that I don't look around and see the peace that streams from each adult body present in the room. How tightly their eyes are shut, how fast their lips move and how tightly they clench their Rosario. A thought jolts in my mind, if I could be five again I would stand in front of my kneeling aunt and watch her very closely, observing every part of this ritual she does, Id even reach in and poke her eyelids to see if I could break into this deep peace she would be in. I could see her now, angry as a bull being poked and disturbed, shed reach out grab my arms and kneel me next to her. I'd want to ask her what I am doing on this cold floor, I'd want to ask her what I should be saying now that I am on my knees, and I'd want to ask her how I could get to this state of peace she is in, but I don't. I just kneel and think that this is punishment, that this is just as unfair as Tom never wining against Jerry! and so I plot to someday draw up an episode where Tom wins and finally eats Jerry! Stupid mouse.
I'm 22 and I have yet to draw out the plot where Jerry gets eaten, I have set up many scenarios but none have been great enough to reach the paper. All these scenarios thought up during hours of catechism classes, first communion, confirmation and any other "Charlas" which my mother thinks I might need. None ever made much sense to me and led to the following letter at the age of 15, after being confirmed:
Dear God,
If that is your name, I don't get it. Please send me more information then enraged teachers throwing words I don't understand from the bible, Please send me more information then a frustrated mother, father and aunts. I want to get you, I really do but I don't get them and I don't get how they explain you. Help me find you, because I cant seem to find you through them. What I do know is that I am very afraid of you, afraid to write these thoughts down, will you punish me? will you send me to hell when I die because I don't get it?
Signed
A Potential Believer
P.S Please don't send me to hell just yet, consider the fact that I am being honest.
At this point my mother and aunt are reaching the finish line in my mind. They are about to win the race as my feet leave the room with the useless dish network and photographs of my nieces and nephews. Like a shy 3 year old hanging on to their mother I peak into the room and notice everyone in a zen like trance. No off beat singing, no broken up loud prayer, just a room full of adults and children with their heads bowed, on their knees, eyes closed and silent. I don't join them, I just stand there trying to explain to myself what it is there feeling, trying to stare hard enough to see through their flesh and bones and into there souls. I remain unnoticed as the silence continues. Why flashes in and out of my mind followed by what followed by has them on their knees.
The silence breaks and a soft soothing hum comes from my aunt, it forces me to close my eyes. I open them and I find myself in my room in our old house on Jennings road. The lights are off except for a small lamp. I am not alone, a women sits on the other side of the bed, I cant recognize her but she is humming and moving the Rosario beads in between her fingers. I want to reach for her to see if I can make out who she is but I cant move. I just sit there watching her, hearing her, observing her. Suddenly her Rosario breaks and tears begin to roll down her face and I sense a deep pain inside me, I don't know what is causing this pain but its strong enough to bring me to tears. I cant stop my sobbing, and she doesn't stop sobbing. "Mija no llores" ( Daughter don't cry) she says as she turns to me and proves that I am not a ghost. She bends down to pick up the beads and holds them out for me to see. I look deep into her face and I know who she is, mi abuelita. How could I have forgotten her prayers each night before she laid next to me. "Mira Mija, todo se puede con un poquito de fe. Nada se queda deshecho por mucho tiempo, veras que pronto con fe el rosario se arreglar." ( Look daughter, with a little bit of faith everything is possible. Nothing remains broken for to long. You will see soon that with faith the rosario will be fixed). She kisses my forehead and turns back around to continue her prayer. I continue to stare at her and notice she isn't mi abuelita anymore, but my tia on her knees with the rest of my family. I take a step into the room and kneel next to my aunt.."Es la fe y con fe"( It is Faith, and with Faith) I repeat over and over again..."Es la fe y con fe"( It is faith, and with Faith)...
La Cumbia Del Mole
Lila Downs
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