Issue 24

Rebeca Abidail Flores

When Rosa and Maria first arrived, the candles were already lit and in rows of one red, one white, one red, one white, all with the sticker of La Virgen de Guadalupe facing the street. There was a small altar set up on the chain-link fence near the railroad tracks. In her lap Rosa carried two candles and an old photograph of Juan she kept from the seventh grade. At the age of eight, when Rosa had stood at the altar for her grandpa, she watched as someone put a photo up and then set down two orange flowers—marigolds. When Rosa asked her mother why people did that, her mother took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know. It’s just something we do.”

In the car Rosa held onto the candles on her lap as the car jerked back and waited patiently for Maria to park. Rosa stepped out of Maria’s car and remembered this conversation with her mom. The two friends joined arms and followed the little lights to the other side of the tracks.

“Marigolds. That’s the flower of the dead,” Rosa said. She was looking straight ahead, she noticed Ramon, gave him a nod, and he walked over meeting them halfway.

“Aye, thanks for coming,” Ramon said, going in to hug the friends.

“Yeah, no problem, I want you to know I’m sorry. Really sorry,” Rosa said.

“I brought some pan for you it’s in the car if you want it,” Maria said, pointing past the groups of people to her black Honda parked on the side of the street.

Rosa wondered if from here Ramon could see the dent in Maria’s car, she didn’t know if he could, but she felt secondhand embarrassment for Maria. Maria was not a good driver. The dent was from when she hit a concrete pillar because she wasn’t paying attention.

“Nah, I think we good right now but thank you,” he said, turning to look at Rosa. “¿Y usted? How are you taking it?”

Rosa folded her arms. She knew her eyes were puffy from crying. “I’m okay, I mean, I don’t know like, how do you not hear a train coming, you know? Like fuck,” Rosa said, her face turning red like the color of the curb.

Rosa was a quiet person and not usually vocal about her feelings, but this was a stressful time. Juan’s death had become a mental process for her, one where one day she’d be walking and suddenly begin sobbing and other days she’d be calmer. Rosa wanted to settle in on the correct words for her feelings. Her words had become so jumbled and out of place. Frantic, like a shaken-up Mountain Dew can.

Rosa saw Maria and Ramon give each other a look. Maria walked away from the group towards the altar with Rosa’s candles in hand. She placed them on the corner where the candles were already low, and she fixed the marigolds, and they looked fuller after she touched them.

Rosa was glad Maria had kept her distance from Juan. Rosa knew she would’ve been jealous if they connected. When Juan was alive, he was never alone. Always had a homie by his side, in the passenger seat, walking with him to the liquor store, eating lunch together at the construction spot, a homie by his side without fail. Maria’s mom had gone out with Juan’s dad for a hot minute back in the day. Their parents’ dating was brief and short-lived but with really loud sex. That was all the chisme Maria had mustered for Rosa.

Maria returned from the altar. “I thought there would be more time. More time to get to know him,” she said.

The groups of people huddled together. They started to drink.

Maria continued. “I assumed I’d get to know Juan the more that time went on. You know? Isn’t that stupid?”

Rosa began sobbing, and Maria held her. Rosa had never even considered that time could plop down into nonexistence. Juan was her age, and he was gone. The last time Rosa had seen Juan he was alone. A rare occurrence. Rosa was with Maria at the liquor store buying 40s and hot Cheetos. Maria pushed Rosa to talk to him whenever they saw him because of the crush she could not let go of.

When they saw him come out of the bodega, his skinny arms dangled from his dirty white tank top, he carried his head low.

“Hey, you, how goes it?” Rosa asked him.

He looked up, his eyes wide, meeting her gaze. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Maria said. “Guess what? My mom started dating again. She’s been going out trying to find her match. Isn’t that funny?”

Juan grabbed his right shoulder like he was in pain. “That’s cool.”

“How’s your dad? Is he dating? My mom wants me to find out,” Maria said.

“Right. They were going out.” Juan half turned and started walking away backwards. “Yeah. That didn’t work out. Listen, I gotta go.”

Rosa saw the gap between them widening. “Maria’s mom can’t stop talking about your dad, you know?” Her voice was a shout.

Juan walked straight towards the park, and Rosa stopped herself from calling out his name and saying, wait up. Instead, the two girls walked in the same direction behind him, they saw him get smaller and smaller, the 40 heavy in the plastic bag hurting Rosa’s fingers.

That was five days ago. Rosa winced in pain, trying to light a candle at the altar.

“Damn these are cheap as shit,” she said. The orange glow in the sky gone, purple population clouds directly above the grieving friends, the way the sky gets during the middle of summer in California, the trees rustled in the warm breeze and the clouds moved above the group towards the mountains and away from the railroad tracks.

Ramon walked over and took the candle from Rosa’s hand. “You’re supposed to tilt the candle when you’re lighting it like this,” he showed her, making a path for the lighter to enter without touching his skin.

She took the candle back from him. “I know, alright.”

“Well if you know, why’m I showing you?” He laughed and gave her a light push on the shoulder.

“Really, you’re going to give me attitude when it’s your cousin?”

He squished his eyebrows together. “I was playing with you.”

She took a couple steps away from him, the lit candle in hand. The altar was made out of the fence, a wooden box holding 99-cent-store picture frames of smiling Juan and baby pictures of him held onto the fence by ribbons. Rosa set down the candle making sure to continue the pattern. One red, one white, one red, one white.

She turned back to see Maria hugging herself in the middle of the street, talking with Ramon. Rosa and Maria weren’t cousins or even distant cousins of Juan’s, but they were familia. They grew up together in the same neighborhood. Hop the fence together, let you have the last tall can, leave the window open so you can climb in to sleep when your mom forgets to wait up for your no-good ass, kind of family. The crowd cleared and Rosa started walking towards Maria.

Ramon was standing next to her. “She’s gonna be alright,” Rosa heard Ramon say. She didn’t know who he was talking about, but he left Maria’s side and went to meet more guests.

“Who are you guys talking about?” Rosa looked at Maria for an answer.

Maria looked afraid. “My mom. She really liked Juan.”

“He was a very good guy,” Rosa said to Maria. Rosa knew she was lying. She was crying again. “The realest one out here, no doubt.”

“He was almost my brother,” Maria said holding a beer to the sky.

Rosa watched more family members gather, a cousin spray-painting Juan’s full name on a curb, a tía passing out fruit, his friends holding red cups, little nieces and nephews throwing marigolds at each other. Rosa smiled at them.

She went to grab a beer, and when Rosa returned, she thought she heard Ramon tell Maria, “I mean, we all know. I mean no earphones in the world are that strong.” When she joined them again, there was no mention of the statement. It confused Rosa, and this time she had no urge to cry but to scream.

“This beer sucks,” Rosa said. “I’m going back to the altar.”

Maria nodded in her direction. “Okay.”

Rosa left Maria and Ramon. The box pushed against the chained fence as it wobbled against the coming wind. The tracks sat right in the middle between the small cul-de-sac and an abandoned dirt lot. Rosa held the picture of Juan in between her linked arms while looking at the concrete. She remembered the day she overheard him say he liked to read and to sing. Rosa was hooked and did not need any more convincing than a cute boy saying he liked reading. From then on, she wanted to know more, and she took any opportunity to talk to him. It helped that he was from the neighborhood and he never felt like everyone else they had known growing up on the block. When he dropped out of high school, she would see him come home from work holding his tool bag in one hand and he would wave at her with the other. She tried saying hello sparingly maybe on Monday, not Tuesday or Wednesday, maybe on a Saturday on her day off. She wanted to give herself the confidence to approach him with attraction and maybe a little sexiness. She left it at hellos, believing that one day she’d be granted the courage. Now more than anything, she wanted to tell Juan that she was sorry.

The night after Juan’s vigil, Rosa had a dream that she was a camera watching the universe fall in love with a void. Void spoke slowly, holding on to Atmosphere in the tight confines of the aircraft.

“If I go to the hologram and try to see you right through it, you don’t look like anything.” Void moved from the bed, turning front eyes towards the lookout window.

“Maybe a fuzzy image from a lost memory I’ve been trying to erase or grow into. I don’t know where it comes from. I want to have sex in the hologram. I get lost sometimes, and I try to hold on in your stars, and I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

Void paused and turned back to face Atmosphere. “Still there is you. You and the pointing of stars and I can’t reach because I am not full enough.”

Atmosphere took a hand to Void’s face. Speaking low and putting Atmosphere’s face to Void’s. “Keep me being fuzzy with you.” The camera went dark.

When Rosa awoke, she went straight to her phone to look up the meanings of dreams, but after not finding anything useful she threw herself into shitty reality TV love stories or watched the news. It was no better. Trump was taking office and the fear of what this could mean for her family pushed thoughts of Juan away to the back of her mind where she wanted them to stay.

Rosa called Maria.

“Have you been seeing the news?” Rosa asked, starting to cry again. “We are no longer going to hide. I need to get my mom citizenship.”

“Okay,” Maria said.

Rosa wiped away the boogers from her nose that were already forming.

“Like now. How do you apply? We need to apply.”

“Okay.”

“My mom knows English now, it’s way better, she’ll pass,” Rosa said, pacing. “I mean she taught herself how to read and write, she can learn a couple of answers.”

“You should do that,” Maria said and hung up.

Rosa threw herself into helping her mom acquire U.S. citizenship. Mrs. Ramirez almost gave no objection. The Trump Administration was something they were all worried about. “It will be just like we’re stealing the citizenship right from under them,” Rosa reassured her mother.

Rosa wanted to feel in control. She prepared the paperwork for her mom and bought her audiotapes for her to study. Rosa applied for citizenship for her mother. She thought of it as a collective effort and accomplishment. She thought about who might approve of the long list of applications. Thousands of patient families waiting for a response from citizenship acceptors. In a matter of months, they approved her mother’s request for the oral exam, and Rosa felt like a sellout.

Rosa hid from her own mind. There were so many rules. Her mother was exempt from the English Language Requirement because of the 50/20 rule. The rule states that if you are of age 50 or older at the time of filing for naturalization and have lived as a permanent resident in the United States for 20 years, you can choose to take the exam orally. Still, the exam must be taken in English.

They waited. Mrs. Ramirez was so nervous she constantly worked her memory in the back seat of the car and in the dark of her bedroom. Cassette tapes and CDs that would play over and over, who was the thirty-fourth president? Dwight D. Eisenhower. Her thick accent sounding nothing like the robotic female voice asking the questions.

“You have to sound just like the robot if you want to pass,” Rosa told her.

When the time came, Rosa asked Maria to drive Rosa and Mrs. Ramirez to the immigration office for the test. Mrs. Ramirez wore a red jacket, a scratchy thing she’d purchased from a corner thrift store. Rosa was proud, and her mother looked her best for the exam.

“Thank you, Mija, for driving us. It’s all been happening so fast,” Mrs. Ramirez said to Maria.

“Of course, no problem. Suerte,” Maria said, smiling from the wheel.

Mrs. Ramirez continued, “It’s been twenty-five years since I came on my two little feet on a work visa. You know, I never told Rosa this, but I walked from Guerrero to the border with my visa in one hand and dreams in the other,” she said, laughing. “I did everything the right way. The acceptable way.”

Rosa held back her disdain for her mother for saying acceptable.

Maria parked and told Rosa she would wait here in the car.

Rosa guided her mother into the downtown department building. More waiting. They sat in hard old wooden chairs that could barely hold their weight. They waited to be interrogated.

“Do you know how Dad received citizenship?” Rosa asked her mother.

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of your amiga because you never know if they have it,” Mrs. Ramirez said. “Dad had passed his test during Reagan amnesty in the eighties.”

“Really? He’s never said a word.”

“He doesn’t like talking about it. He snuck in through the border in a blue truck hiding with five other men.”

Rosa imagined the musty car rumbling in fear as it approached the border.

“Dad didn’t cross like I did,” Mrs. Ramirez said. “The guy next to your dad started shaking in panic and your dad held that man next to him down. Suffocating him till he passed out, can you believe it?”

Rosa looked around at everyone in the waiting room to see if anyone else had heard her mother’s revelation. No one looked up.

Her mother’s leg was shaking. “Don’t tell your dad I told you, and don’t even think about sharing our business with your friend. You hear me? They may not have it.”

“Yes, Mom,” Rosa agreed.

“The things we will do to get here,” Mrs. Ramirez said. She straightened her shirt. “How do I look?”

“You’re going to do great, Mom.”

The front secretary called her name. There were no more papers to fill out. Her mother disappeared into a hall. Rosa was relieved, and she went to join Maria outside.

Maria was leaned against her black Honda. “How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s so nervous she just dropped the biggest bomb on me.”

“No way. What happened?”

Rosa shared the story. Maria’s eyes widened, and she laughed.

“Wow. Your dad might be a spy.”

Rosa laughed too. “Is it weird if I’m proud of him?”

“I have no idea.”

“Thanks again for driving us. This means a lot.”

“Of course,” Maria repeated. “I’ve been seeing Ramon.”

Rosa was shocked. “For how long?”

“Since the vigil. It’s been going pretty great. I think something is finally going to stick with him.”

Rosa was disappointed. “I thought you wanted to be done with him?”

“Life is precious,” Maria said. “Juan is gone. Look at your mom. I don’t feel like denying my feelings.”

Rosa didn’t know what to say. For months, she’d been trying to forget about Juan’s vigil. “Well, if you’re happy,” she said.

Maria nodded.

“Hey, do your parents have documents?” Rosa asked.

“No, they don’t.”

An hour later, Mrs. Ramirez ran out cheering. She passed the test. She was a U.S. citizen. Rosa felt relief. She thought about this joy and the security it would bring her family, and then she thought of Juan and the guilt she felt after she saw him in that bathroom after failing him and how sorry she felt. There was no security for him.

“I want to eat a hamburguesa con queso,” Mrs. Ramirez said. “Miss driver can you drive us to a burger joint? Gracias!”

Rosa’s mother rolled down the window, and as soon as Maria merged on the freeway, she heard her mother shout into the wind, “Estoy aqui. Aqui, ven ha garame migra.”

Maria laughed. Rosa watched as the cars zoomed past her blurry vision, her eyes swelling with tears.

Rosa’s family shared nothing of Mrs. Ramirez’ accomplishment. No family was told, no friend on the block, there was no gloating. Her father said it would be in bad taste, as many of the people in the community had no papers.

Rosa didn’t understand why they should hide something so monumental. Trump had been in office for months now, and Rosa thought it was time to do something. Rosa boasted about her mother in pride. Maria told her mother, who then told her pastor at a different church, who told the pastor at the church Rosa’s parents attended. People began to talk, and one day in the white building where her family went to church, while Rosa was sitting in the back hiding her phone in the Bible, her mother made a speech from the pulpit. She was vague, jumping around without saying anything concrete, she just thanked God for all that he had done for her.

When Mrs. Ramirez took her seat, a round woman sitting across from her started to shout, “You don’t know. No sabes lo que es luchar.” Her scrunched face stared at Mrs. Ramirez, waiting for an answer.

Mrs. Ramirez’ hands went in the air in protest, her wrinkles falling to the sound of the church member.

“No trabajas en el campo. Tú no luchas,” the woman said, shaking her feet and crossing her arms.

Rosa was sitting in the back, she looked up from her phone. She was angry for her family, but Rosa felt her chest opening as she sat in the back of the church like an opened wound. For the entirety of the service, Rosa let the woman’s words pour into her chest like sun through a magnifying glass burning an ant carrying fruit.

Rosa fled from the church. She ran into the street and ran so far and long that when she was staring at the grape fields, miles from any church, any altar, any government building, she had no choice but to collapse and cry. Rosa had only learned shame from the Bible and criticism from its servants, and then she thought about the past. She placed her head on the pole holding the grapes up, holding them strong. The party warped and shaped under memory to one simple truth, she had failed Juan.

That night, a month before his death, the carne asada lingered from eight o’clock at night to one AM Saturday. The air cool but just the right amount to wear loose tank tops and small shorts. Rosa showed up to the party with Maria and Lupe hoping to see Juan and some of the other guys. She hoped he’d get drunk, follow her around like a puppy, and steal a kiss. Instead, he stayed next to his homies laughing and dancing on a low coffee table, babysitting one cup of beer.

“Talk to him more,” Lupe said to Rosa, nudging her in his direction.

Maria snorted and drank more of her beer. “Ya right. She’s never gonna do it.”

“I will. I just need more of this,” Rosa pointed at her butt, laughing.

“No, you don’t. You need to get over it,” Maria said, placing her beer on the burgundy carpet next to her foot.

Rosa looked down and then once more at dancing Juan. His white shirt clinging to his thin frame with sweat. She left the group, she wandered around the house and sat outside drunk. She could hear the loud music booming from inside the house, and she wanted to go home and lay in her bed, under a thick blanket, and daydream herself to sleep. She thought about how warm she would feel and how badly she needed to use the restroom. She wandered back inside, her beer swirling in her cup and the music loud in her ears. She pushed past leaning drunk guys on the wall and tried opening the bathroom door, but it was locked. She knocked hard and started jiggling the cheap lock. “Aye,” she said. “Who’s in here? I have to pee. Open. Open!”

Rosa jiggled it open and pushed herself in. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve been drinking. I need to pee.” She looked up and saw Juan. He startled her, she took a step back, his hand raised, holding a red lipstick, lips cracked, his hand shaking in midair.

Juan set the lipstick down and instantly apologized. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry.” He moved frantically towards the door.

Rosa, confused and then realizing, smiled at him. “It helps if you use ChapStick,” she said. “And go like this,” she stretched her lower lip flat.

He rubbed the sweat off his hands on his pants. “I’m leaving now.”

Rosa put her hand up. “Wait, don’t you wanna try it?”

“Nah it’s cool,” he rubbed his hands on his pants again.

Rosa smiled at him. “C’mon, try it.”

He opened the lip case and flattened his lower lip. The red color shining beautifully with his brown face.

“Wow,” Rosa said, shaking her leg. “It looks nice.”

Juan set it down and looked at himself in the mirror. “Can I tell you something?”

No. I gotta pee, Rosa wanted to say. “Sure,” she said, jumping up and down a little.

“I want to go out like this,” he said. “Do you think I should?”

Rosa took a step back. Afraid. “Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know? Maybe not tonight? Isn’t your mom here?”

Juan put the lipstick down on the sink gently. He wet a piece of toilet paper and rubbed his face clean. He pushed past her.

Rosa sat on the toilet and peed. Not thinking.

Later, Rosa found Maria and Ramon at the kitchen table playing king’s cup. She walked over, eyeing Maria and Lupe laughing with excitement. People pushed in and out of the patio. The air hot, making the girls stop dancing and go search for water.

Ramon called out. “Aye, what’s up? You enjoying the party?”

“Yeah, it’s fun,” Rosa responded, avoiding his eyes as she spoke. “How much beer is left?”

“I don’t know,” Ramon said, throwing his hands up when cumbia started playing over the loudspeaker. “Aye, too much for us to finish,” he said, laughing.

Rosa linked her arm with Lupe’s and looked over her shoulder looking for Juan. “Y tu cousin?”

“Oh, he’s gone. Something about not wanting to be more tired than he is for work.”

“He’s still doing construction?” Rosa asked.

“Yeah still, he says he doesn’t like it,” Lupe said, looking at Ramon.

“Can’t imagine what it’s like. Do you think he’ll find a new job?”

“Why would he?” said Ramon.

Rosa looked around once more for Juan. “I don’t know? If he hates it, shouldn’t he find work he likes?”

“Does anyone like the work they have?” Ramon said and looked over to Maria. “What about you? You still working at the dentist office?”

Maria moved closer to Ramon, gripping her red cup and laughing. “Yeah, still, that shit sucks.”

Ramon laughed. A white light beamed from outside. The music stopped. Three words boomed into the space. Oh, shit, cops! Rosa panted and ran towards the fence, and then she left for home.

When she got to the front gate, it was locked. She walked to the alley to climb the back fence. She was surprised to see Juan there in the dark of the alley. His skinny arms gave him away.

“Hey!” he shouted.

“Oh, fuck, you scared me. What is the matter with you, why are you in the alley?” It was late, and he was carrying a big backpack.

“My dad is in there with some woman, and I don’t want him to see.”

“See what?”

“Nothing.”

Rosa was still drunk. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?” Juan gripped his backpack.

“I mean we never see you anymore, and I like seeing you.” Rosa thought about the lipstick.

Juan dropped his backpack. “Can you do something for me? You’ve lived on this block longer than anyone. Can you hide this backpack for me?”

“Why what’s in it?”

“Can you keep it?”

“Why what’s in it? Why can’t Ramon keep it? Or Lupe?”

“Because they’re nosy.”

Rosa thought for a second. “Who were you going to give it to before I showed up?”

Juan looked irritated. “Look, just bury it in your yard and I’ll come swoop it when I can.”

“When will that be? And why can’t I just put it in my room or something?”

“So, you’ll do it?” Juan’s voiced sounded rushed.

“What are you keeping from your dad?”

“It’s not my dad I’m scared of.”

Rosa was still drunk. She agreed to the burial of the backpack. Juan helped her hop the fence to her backyard, and she gave him a shovel. In the morning, Rosa went to see where Juan had buried his backpack, but the shovel was missing, no dirt patch, no sign of a backpack burial.

In the grape field, Rosa thought about Juan’s death, his suicide. That night she saw him she’d felt powerful, like now he would owe her, and she hated the thought. She had been so obsessed with him, and she felt so much shame from machismo, from the church, from herself. Here, looking through the straight line of the grape field, she had no choice but to face it. She reached for a grape, they were so little. Green and not ready. Her hands would not be the ones to pick this fruit.

It was not a big town but not a small one either. There was enough smog for all the residents to breathe and feel suffocated. She remembered the last time she really talked to Juan. The last time he was Juan. The last time anyone heard his big laugh. The last time she really saw Juan.

At Juan’s vigil, Rosa had faced away from the cul-de-sac and towards the houses.

She had placed the photograph she had of Juan on the altar and paid her respects. Rosa rubbed the dirt off the picture to reveal a toddler jumping into a pool with a Spider-Man suit on. She took out her red pen and painted in his lips very thinly. She cried, let out a small hiccup, her mind on two words. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Ramon talked and looked beyond everyone’s heads in the group, looking to the sky. “I remember when he used to dance at the parties. I think I’m going to miss that the most. He was so cool. I think I wanted to be like him more than anything.”

Rosa admired his honesty. Lupe walked over and placed marigolds on each side of the altar next to the fence, almost like a landing strip. For you my cousin, her note said.

The candles stayed on the lot for two months before the dirt made the altar unrecognizable. The candles were in rows one red, one white, one red, one white, all extinguished.