Carmen Morales is a twenty-nine-year-old transwoman who works for an insurance broker in Orange County while attending law school at night. She is summoned back to the Kern County home she was kicked out of twelve years before, by the Grandmother – “Abuela” – who refused to intervene. Her father has had a stroke and is in a coma. She spends several days there and determines that he has no health insurance, and Abuela convinces her to apply to be his temporary conservator.

In the course of her time in Buttonwillow, Carmen has reconnected with several members of her padre’s extended family in addition to Abuela. Her brother Joaquim (“Ximo”) and her cousins Kelsey, Inés, Lupe, and Jesus have been wary, but mostly supportive; another cousin, Gabriella, has been less so. Her Uncle Augustin was very accepting, but her senior aunt (Maria), married to Abuela’s oldest son Angel, was extremely hostile. In Chapter 16, Abuela and Carmen drop in on Angel and Maria, interrupting a discussion they were having about the conservatorship with Angel’s brothers Augustin and Javier and their wives. Carmen attempts to answer any objections to Abuela’s conservatorship plan, and does so to the satisfaction of the two younger brothers. However, Aunt Maria loses her temper at both Carmen and Abuela, and both she and Angel break off the conversation.

Chapter 17: Duende

The sign over the door read, “Gordito Gabriel’s.” The font was appropriately fat and exaggerated, and made good use of cheerful colors – a bold, medium blue, golden, sunbaked yellow, and a vibrant splash of bright Valencia orange. An Anglo might call it garish; to me, it brought a smile. Everything about the sign whispered, “Step inside. Your people can be found here.”

Still feeling emotionally bruised after my run-in with the tio’s and tia’s, the sign seemed to promise just what my spirit needed. I’d dressed accordingly, having indulged in an extremely rare bit of retail therapy and purchased a full, micropleated, asymmetrical skirt in fiery red.

Inside was just as advertised – the broad adobe tiles on the floor and colorful ceramic tiles lining the booths, the kitchen smells of onion and garlic, cumin, coriander, chiles and cilantro, the sounds of spirited conversations in English, Spanish, and shades of both.

A quick scan of the room told me that I’d arrived first. Wait at the bar, or grab a table? A generous smile and a cheerful “buenas noches” from the girl behind the bar steered me that way. Her thick plait of long, dark hair and laughing eyes reminded me of cousin Emilina, back when she used to work at Miguels. I ordered a Negro Mondelo, cocked one heel on the barstool’s crossbar, and tried to relax. After the day I’d had, it wasn’t easy.

Innie came through the front door just as I’d started on my beer. She spotted me and made her way over, but stopped at the sight of two men occupying the middle of the bar. “Fuck me! Desus and Mero!”

The younger of the two moaned, “¡Dios mío! It’s Immaculate Inés!”

I looked back and forth between Innie and the guys. “You all know each other?”

Innie shook her head in mock disgust. “Every single chick within 100 miles knows these two.”

The older guy laughed. “I am wounded, Innie! Whatever this lout has done to offend you” – here he gave the younger man a clout to the back of the head – “he takes it back. Why don’t you and your charming friend join us?”

“Down, boy! Me and mi prima here got business to take care of.”

“But we are men of business, aren’t we, Luis?”

Innie’s eyebrows rose in sceptical surprise. “Wait . . . when did you become ‘men’?”

“Mateo, stop!” the younger man pleaded. “Quit while we’re still alive!”

At this point I caught the eye of the older woman who was seating customers at tables and held up three fingers. She nodded and waved me over.

“Much as I hate to break this up, guys,” I said to the two barflies. “I really do need to talk with Innie.”

“Come back anytime,” Mateo invited.

“Leave her home,” Luis added. “I promise you’ll have more fun if you do!”

We were seated at a table at the other end of the room from the bar, got in a drink order and had chips and salsa served up.

As soon as the server left, I said, “Immaculate Inés?”

She growled. “Better than “Easy Inés,” right?”

“Well, sure. Still, I’m loving how well you do the whole bar banter thing. I kinda suck at it.”

“There’s fuck all else to do on the weekend, so . . . yeah. I know the ropes.”

“But you haven’t found true love?” I smiled to make sure she knew I was kidding.

“Fuck, no,” she snorted. “Not around here, anyway . . . and like I told you last week, that’s been my problem.” She waved a hand in the general direction of Mateo and Luis. “I bet I’ve met everyone like them in the whole area. And their brothers!”

“They seemed nice enough.”

“Oh, I’m sure they are. Seriously.” She took a more measured sip from her glass before setting it down. “After we talked last week – you and me and Kels – I did a lot of thinking. I know I’ve been bitchy as an old tia with hemorrhoids, and I’ve been taking it out on the whole pinche world. I don’t want to live like this.”

I nodded. “So, you’re serious about moving away?”

“Serious enough that I decided to stop thinking about it, and start doing something. I had a long talk with Poppa and madre a couple nights back. Finally.”

Based on my own conversation with Uncle Augui, I was pretty sure he would have been supportive. Tia Consolación, on the other hand . . . . “How’d it go?”

She shrugged. “It was a start. Madre cried a lot. It wouldn’t be an issue if ’Lina didn’t live so far away, but . . . I think she kind of got where I was coming from, by the end. She doesn’t accept it yet, and she sure doesn’t agree with me. But at least she gets it.”

“So, what’s your next step?”

“Been searching online for jobs. My best bet would be something like what I’ve been doing for Terrex, just . . . somewhere else. Anywhere else! Maybe in the Bay Area, or further north. You know, like, Seattle.”

I put in a pitch for my part of the world. “You might like SoCal better, you know.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. It always seemed so crowded and ugly down there.”

“As opposed to beautiful, bucolic Buttonwillow?”

“Yeah, good point. But you know they’ll expect me here every frickin’ weekend, if I’m that close. . . .” She leaned back, giving me a thoughtful look. “And, speaking of the ’rents . . . ?”

“Yeah?”

“You gonna tell me what the fuck happened this afternoon? They came back from Uncle Angel’s just before I left, and Popa’s madder’n I’ve ever seen him, madre’s in tears. Neither of ’em wanted to tell me what’s going on, but my spidey sense tells me you were mixed up in it somehow.”

“Yeah, kind of,” I sighed. “But honest to God, it wasn’t my fault!”

“Right. Sure.” She made a ‘gimme’ gesture with her left hand. “C’mon, spill.”

“Probably better waiting ’til Ximo gets here, so I only have to tell the story once.”

“Kels isn’t coming?”

“Nah, she begged off. Made some lame excuse about doing something with Gomer, but I think she didn’t think this place would be her jam.”

Innie gave a snort. “Oh, right, I forgot. Any place that has something other than Bud and Bud Lite on tap is totally sus.”

“Yeah, something like that. She might have snarked about the cloth napkins, too.”

“I get being careful with money,” Innie said, disgusted. “Doesn’t mean you have to make ‘cheap’ your frickin’ lifestyle brand!”

“I hear ya.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Well, whatevs. Now, about your story?”

“Seriously, don’t put me through this more than once,” I pleaded. “Let’s wait for Ximo.”

“You know what I really love about waiting?”

“What?”

“Absolutely nothing. Not into it, like, at all. So stop stalling. What did you do this time?”

I decided it wasn’t worth fighting over it. So I told her about how Abuela and I had gate-crashed the get-together where Aunt Maria hoped to drum up opposition to having me serve as padre’s conservator. When I got to the part where Aunt Maria had lost her temper with Abuela, Innie’s eyes practically bugged out.

“You have got to be shitting me. She said that? Out loud?”

“Just before storming off, naturally. And leaving her sorry excuse of a husband to clean up her mess.”

She let out a guffaw. “He’s such a weenie.”

“Yeah, well . . . that’s what I told him after he tried to blame me for Aunt Maria being a bitch.”

“Shut up!”

“I pointed out that it wasn’t my fault his wife insulted his manhood. When he wouldn’t stop, I kind of let him have it. Sort of a symphony on a theme by ‘fuck you’.”

“Whoa!” She ignored my flight of poetic nonsense. “Who are you, and what have you done with the cousin who was scared of his shadow? Well, her shadow, but you know what I mean.”

I was about to shrug it off, but then I stopped myself. “You really want to know?”

She cocked her head, sensing the change in my mood. “Yeah, I want to know.”

“Carlos Morales was a coward,” I said abruptly. “I couldn’t get past being scared of what would happen if anyone ever figured out that ‘Carlos’ was a frickin’ lie. I lived in fear. I breathed it. I marinated in it. You know what I’m saying?”

“No.” She raised her hands, as if in apology. “Carmen . . . seriously. I had no idea.”

“No reason why you would – ’cuz I was lying to you, too. And you were out there, just being your wild, crazy self, telling guys off, pounding on ’em when they wouldn’t listen, and thinking your cousin was some kind of pinche wimp. Because he was. I was.”

“I never said that!”

“No, you didn’t.” I took a breath to steady myself. “You never did, because you were a good friend – the kind of friend I frickin’ should have trusted. But don’t tell me you didn’t think it.”

Innie was too honest to lie, even with her face. She looked embarrassed.

“Anyway,” I said, “I’m done with all that. I’m done with hiding, I’m done with apologizing for being myself, and I am past done with living in fear. La familia can just deal with it. Or not; I don’t care.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Well . . . I guess that explains the crazy story I got outta Kelsey, after I heard a rumor from a friend who knows one of the guys who works crew with Dace Guttierez.”

I blushed. “It wasn’t really like that.”

“That’s not what Kels said. I think she mentioned something about ‘ice bitch energy.’ Oh, and ‘scary as fuck.’”

“I wasn’t thinking when I pulled the gun.”

“She mentioned that, too.” Innie shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, I was never doing a lot of thinking when I did all of those loco things you’ve turned into legends in that weird-ass brain of yours.”

“Oh, so you didn’t do them?”

“Probably not like you remember. Anyway . . . Kels told me she was worried about you carrying a gun, after what she saw, and I guess I get that. Sort of. But I’m more worried about you not carrying one. Dace is a cochino. No fucking way he forgets you fed him to the cops. You know his type, same as I do.”

“Yeah, I do.” I sat and brooded for a moment. “I guess I need to call the police tomorrow and see whether they need to hold the Ruger for evidence.”

“You do that, okay? I’m glad you’ve started standing up for yourself, but we’re not talking about high school shit anymore, know what I’m saying?”

Just then the front door opened and Ximo stepped inside. I was surprised to see that he was wearing a stylish short-sleeved button-down shirt – unbuttoned, of course – over a crisp white T-shirt. I gave him a wave and he spotted us.

To my surprise – and far more, to Ximo’s – Innie got up and gave him a big hug. Her greeting – “Yo, squirt!” – had its roots in our distant past; these days, he towered over her.

He looked equal parts pleased and confused. “What’s that for?”

“For being a pinche hero – and for taking some body blows for my girl Kels the other night.”

“Oh, that!” He looked embarrassed. “I was more of a punching bag than a hero.”

She grinned. “Take it from a street brawler, compa – sometimes the hits you take matter more than the ones you dish out!”

He snorted. “Street brawler!”

“Aww, and here I was just starting to like you!” She tapped his cheek. “Don’t make me pound you, like that time after Church!”

“Okay, you two!” I intervened. “I’ve had enough fireworks for one day. Ximo, glad you could make it — I got you a beer.”

But they were both chuckling as they sat, so none of the barbs had been meant to wound.

Ximo took a pull from the beer, wiped his lips and said, “Thanks, ’mano,” before catching himself. “Fuck! I did it again! I don’t even know what to call a sister!”

Innie shook her head in disgust. “Did you skip kindergarten or something?”

“Now THAT’s the cousin I remember,” he said with a broad smile. “I mean, like, my brother turning out to be my sister is super weird – but not nearly as weird as you being nice to me!”

“I’m not always a bitch,” she said, exasperated.

Ximo’s reply — a dangerously non-committal, “Huh!” — earned him a sharp but relatively good-natured punch on the shoulder.

Before they could take that tangent further, I said, “Ximo, I honestly don’t get tired of people calling me ‘Carmen.’ But ‘sis’ or ‘mana’ also work — and you know it!”

Innie leaned in and stage whispered, “If you want to piss her off, you can try ‘’manita.’”

He grinned wickedly. “There’s a thought!”

“Not helping, Innie!” I growled.

Ximo chuckled, but said, “It’s not that I don’t know the right terms or anything. I’ve just never used them, know what I’m saying? I’m twenty-five, I grew up with brothers — well, with a brother, anyway.” He frowned momentarily at the reminder of our missing brother, though I doubted Ximo could remember anything about him. “Anyway, suddenly I have an older sister, and I just don’t know how to act. Does any of that make sense?”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll work it out, bro. Promise.”

A waiter came and took our orders. When Ximo was done — he hadn’t had a chance to look at the menu — I asked when the music would be starting.

“Maybe a half-hour?” he replied, sounding uncertain.

“Music?” Innie asked, as the man departed.

“A surprise,” I told her.

Once we all had fresh drinks — a pitcher of beer, this time — Ximo said, “So . . . c’mon, Carmen. What’s your story, anyway? What have you been doing, all this time? And how did you become . . . well. You know.”

“Female?” I smiled encouragingly.

“Yeah.”

“I was born that way.”

His look of confusion was priceless, and Innie just about busted a gut.

“Listen,” I said, before he might take offense. “I’ll tell you the story, and I’ll answer any questions you’ve got. But . . . maybe not tonight? I’ve had kind of a shitty afternoon, and I probably need to fill you in about that.”

He nodded knowingly. “You talkin’ about Abuela’s ambush?”

“Huh?”

“Well, that’s how Gaby described it. Anna and I bumped into her at Frosty Freeze a couple hours ago. She told me that Paco told her you and Abuela barged into their folk’s house and tore them a new one. Or something like that.”

My mouth was hanging open.

Innie shook her head. “Crows on a powerline, remember?”

“Yeah, but . . . I gotta think crows are more accurate.” Turning back to Ximo, I asked, “Did Paco tell Gaby why Abuela ‘barged into’ their parents’ house? Which she totally didn’t, by the way.”

“Because she’s a mean old witch?” He shrugged. “I dunno. Gaby was a little short on the details.”

“And long on the indignation?” Innie’s question came with a knowing smirk.

“Same ol’, same ol’,” Ximo agreed.

I said, “Actually worse, since Gaby was kind of the instigator of this whole mess.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, I guess she overheard us talking to Abuela about the whole conservatorship thing last week, and . . . .” I stopped, because Ximo was shaking his head and looking embarrassed.

“No, she wasn’t listening in,” he explained. “But I told her what was going on, while she made Abuela’s tea. You know – when the witch got me out of the room so she could work you over.”

“Oh. . . . Well, I’m glad she wasn’t spying. But she clearly passed all of that along to Aunt Maria – and did it some place where Abuela overheard her. That’s why Abuela decided she needed to drop in on the ‘pool party’ when we drove by the house and saw all the cars.”

Innie gave a rueful chuckle. “Jesus. Anyone who underestimates that old spider is an idiot.”

I nodded in fervent agreement. “¡Eso que ni qué!”

After I told Ximo a short version of the story, he impressed me by focusing on outcomes. “So, you think they’ll stop you from getting appointed conservator for padre?”

I shrugged. “Who knows? They might try, though. And that’s why I wanted to talk to you about it, Bro.”

“¡Chingar! I don’t like the sound of this!”

Innie, too, saw exactly where I was going, and beat me to it. “She’s right, though, Ximo. Someone’s got to do it, and if they block Carmen you don’t want that ‘someone’ to be our pinche senior aunt.”

“Or, technically, Uncle Angel,” I amended.

Innie brushed off the correction. “Same thing.”

“No freakin’ way,” he said stubbornly. “Even if I wanted to do it, or was qualified to do it — no and no, in case you’re counting — Carmen’s the eldest. Why would the court pass over her? Just ’cuz Aunt Maria hates trans people? I don’t get it.”

“There actually is a good reason,” I said, trying to be objective. “Much as I don’t like agreeing with Aunt Maria about anything, she’s right about one important fact: padre wouldn’t have chosen me.”

“It’s been twelve years,” Ximo argued. “He doesn’t even know you’re alive. Who knows what he’d want, now?”

Innie gave him a thoughtful look. “Has your padre ever said anything about . . . you know . . . regretting that he drove Carmen away?”

“No, but that’s just how he is – he did the same thing with Momma and little Domingo.” Adopting a domineering tone that sounded like padre at his worst, Ximo intoned, “Those names will not be spoken in this house!”

“That’s our man, alright,” I sighed.

Innie grimaced. “Yeah, no help there.”

“There’s something else you should know,” I said slowly. “Because it’s the best evidence of what padre would want.”

Ximo gave me another look. “And I’m guessing I won’t like this one either.”

“You’re padre’s sole heir. He specifically disinherited me, Momma, and Domingo.”

Innie’s incredulous “¿Neta?” was drowned out by Ximo’s furious “¡Pinche Cabrón!”

I smiled slightly. “Bad enough that you both switched to Spanish?”

“Carmen—”

I cut him off. “It’s true. I found his will when I went through the papers in my old room.”

“When did he write it, though?” Ximo asked.

“About a year after I left — long enough for him to have cooled down.”

He shook his head, unconvinced. “That’s still over ten years ago! He’s had plenty of time to change his mind!”

“But we’ve got no evidence he ever did.”

Innie frowned. “Carmen, it’s a bitch and all, and I get that. But what’s it got to do with the conservator thing? No-one even knows about the will, except for you. You haven’t told anyone else have you?”

“No . . . but I will. If the court investigator asks about my relationship with padre — and I assume he’s going to — I’ll have to tell him.”

“Why?”

“I’m not going to lie in order to get appointed. No way.”

“Who said anything about lying?” Innie bristled. “That doesn’t mean you have to volunteer information!”

“No.” I spoke firmly, wanting to shut this idea down right out the gate. “I’m not going to sugar-coat anything. It’s like I told you earlier — I’m done with all that shit. Padre threw me out and disinherited me rather than accept that I’m trans. That’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. If the court thinks it’s disqualifying, then fine. It’s disqualifying.”

Innie shook her head, but Ximo was nodding, slowly. “Okay.”

“What do you mean, ‘okay?’” Innie looked at Ximo like he’d lost his mind. “It’s loco. Why tell The Man a god-damned thing?”

“Yeah, I get that,” he agreed. “So would anyone. So would Carlos. But here’s the thing . . . Carmen’s not like that.”

“Right. Because Carmen’s gone cray!”

He shook his head sharply. “No. It’s ’cuz she don’t take no shit anymore. She just does her thing and lets the chips fall where they fall.”

“I’m right here, you know.” My face was red.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, but without the grin I expected. “Look, I don’t want to do this conservator thing. I don’t. I don’t want to deal with no courts, or cops, or government. Sure’s fuck, I don’t want to deal with the witch. But you went toe to toe with Aunt Maria. Fuck if I let that pious bitch win.”

Innie raised her glass. “Yeah!!! Now that’s an argument that makes sense to me!”

“And I’m the crazy one,” I complained.

“Well, duh!” Innie smirked.

Mercifully, the waiter chose that moment to bring out the food, so we paused our discussion until he’d gone back to the kitchen. Before we got too far removed from the topic, though, I said, “Just so we’re clear, Ximo – I really appreciate your backing me up. I don’t want Aunt Maria winning either!”

“But if it happens, you gotta promise you’ll help me, right? Since I seriously don’t know what I’m doing?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, fuck!” Innie was starting in the direction of the front door. “You won’t believe who just walked in!”

Ximo looked and his face grew tense.

“Guys,” I said. “He’s carrying a guitar! It’s not like he’s going to ask about your missing homework!”

Innie said, “Wait, what?,” followed almost immediately by “Mierda. You’re kidding me, right?”

I gave señor Cortez a wave and couldn’t help grinning when I saw his face light up.

Looking very distinguished in a tailored black shirt with a high open collar, he moved through the dining room gracefully, returning the greetings of many regulars with a certain grave courtesy. But when he got to our table he beamed in pleasure. “If it is not the very cream of clan Morales!”

I rose, chuckling. “Buenas noches, señor! Please forgive these two – I didn’t warn them!”

“Or they might not have come?” His eyes danced, then he turned his smile on my companions. “Inés, Joaquim – I am delighted to see you both looking well.”

Unsurprisingly, Innie recovered first. She rose and clasped his right hand in both of hers. “It’s good to see you, too, señor. Ximo and I were just surprised, that’s all.” Shooting me a pointed look, she said, “And we’ll talk to you about that later!”

By the time she was done, Ximo had regained his composure, gotten to his feet, and offered a firm handshake – even if he was still a bit hunched over, like a chavo who’s been caught acting up in class. “Señor.”

“Can you join us for a minute, or do you need to get set up?” I asked.

“I have a few moments; it looks like my colleagues are not yet here – but you must not allow me to delay your excellent dinner!”

We assured him we would continue to eat, so he took the remaining seat at the table, carefully setting his guitar case where it would not be at risk of being bumped.

Despite himself, Ximo was intrigued. “What kind of guitar do you have?”

“For these performances, my workhorse is a Cordoba C7.” Seeing the look on Ximo’s face, he added, “Spanish acoustical. Do you play?”

Ximo bobbed his head and looked embarrassed. “I messed around with an electric guitar a bit in high school.”

“Let me guess,” Innie teased. “You thought it would impress the chavas!”

Señor Cortez astutely leapt to Ximo’s defense. “Well, of course he did – and rightly! Señorita Morales, why else do men play musical instruments? Or do anything that is cultured, or civilized?”

That got a laugh from my younger brother – which was most assuredly the point.

“Beats me,” Innie replied. “But then, I haven’t seen vatos do much beyond sleep, eat, and drink!”

Instead of laughing, Cortez sighed. “It is true – it seems men have lost a feel for the romantic sensibility. Everything is reduced to its primitive essence. Love without romance, sex without love. Power, for nothing grander than the base thrill of exercising power.”

Ximo looked sceptical. “Maybe people just got tired of playing games, you know? At least it’s honest.”

“I would certainly agree that honesty is a great virtue,” Cortez allowed. “Yet, it is not the only virtue, and there are circumstances where it may not be the most important one.”

“There!” Innie smiled, triumphant. “My teacher said I could lie!”

“It is well that I was not responsible for your training in logic, young lady!” Cortez chided. “I said no such thing. But consider this: when one person finds himself attracted to another, that attraction is a matter of truth, yes? Yet, that is a truth that breeds uncertainty – perhaps the greatest uncertainty of all. For suddenly, the other person’s feelings are a matter of utmost importance. Existential importance! And how can that truth be known?”

“You could ask,” Ximo said, practically.

“You could!” Señor Cortez’ eyes gleamed. “But! But! If you ask, you risk rejection, yes? And, such an abrupt approach – such a blunt, uncivilized approach – might put the other person off, make them uncomfortable. Perhaps they have not yet decided how they feel about you, and, in their annoyance at being put on the spot, they might reject you.”

“So then it doesn’t work out.” Ximo shrugged. “Happens.”

“Amigo, if you are so indifferent, then your attraction is not strong, no?”

Ouch! Ximo looked uncomfortable, and I thought of his comments in the car the night of our run-in with Dace. He would only say that he and Anna “have fun,” and shied away from anything that might imply their feelings for each other were serious.

Innie was nodding. “Kind of what I was saying, I guess. I meet guys, and they’re interested, in a very limited way. But if I say ‘no,’ it’s like it’s no biggie to them.”

Cortez nodded gravely. “Which makes you doubt your worth, as it would anyone.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Ouch . . . didn’t mean to share that tidbit.”

“And I apologize if my statement made you uncomfortable,” he replied. “But, as I said, I think the problem is widespread, and tragic in its way. Our capacity to love – to love passionately, with all our heart and soul – that is what gives us the greatest art, the most moving music, the most inspired dance. In flamenco, there is even a term for this – duende. But the concept has wider application.”

“Good thing I’m no artist,” Innie said.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. But that same love, that same passion, is what challenges all people to be their best selves.”

“Well . . . not always,” I said, recalling my earlier conversation with my old teacher.

Cortez caught my meaning immediately. “You are right there, Carmen. Sadly. Any challenge great enough to bring us to our peak can also break us.”

Just then the door opened and a man and a woman came in, carrying instruments. They looked to be in their forties, and might have been a couple. Cortez rose and smiled. “I must go earn my supper. I hope we will be able to speak more later.”

As he made his way across the dining room, Innie said, “what was that all about?”

“What?”

“Your whole ‘not always’ thing, at the end. It sounded like you two were talking in code.”

“Yeah, I guess that was kinda . . . whatever.” I looked at Ximo. “I was talking about padre . . . and Momma.”

Ximo looked confused. “Huh?”

“I had lunch with señor Cortez yesterday. I didn’t realize that he’d taught padre, and he’d known Momma as well.” I paused, trying to think how to proceed. This was potentially difficult terrain.

“Carmen?” Ximo’s voice cut through my worry. “Go ahead and tell me. I barely remember her.”

In my mind, the image was as clear as ever. A woman with golden hair and intense eyes that bored into mine. “Just be good to your brother, okay? Take care of him.” But I had many more memories of being eight than of being five; I could well imagine that Ximo didn’t remember her.

“I guess that’s probably just as well, right?”

“Maybe. It didn’t help much, when I was little. I mean, Kelsey doesn’t remember her mom either, but that’s ’cuz she died so young. You and me, we were always the kids whose momma dumped them.”

I put a hand over his and squeezed. “Yeah. I know what you mean about that. And how much it hurt, that she never even tried to contact us.”

“Jeez, you two!” Innie shook her head. “You’re starting to make me appreciate my pious, overprotective madre!”

“You should,” we said in unison.

“Yeah, well . . . I’ll think about it. Anyway, Carmen – what did señor Cortez say about your parents, that got you upset?”

“Not upset, exactly. It’s just something I’d never thought about. Apparently padre was incredibly possessive about Momma, and would get seriously jealous if anyone else – or at least, any guy – was talking to her. But . . . señor Cortez and his wife weren’t sure that Momma was in love with padre.”

“Yeah, well . . . who wants to deal with a guy who treats you like he owns you?” Innie’s tone screamed, “can you blame her?”

I shrugged uncomfortably. “Could be a chicken-and-egg thing, though, don’t you think?”

“You mean, padre was jealous because Momma didn’t love him?” Ximo looked thoughtful.

“Something like that. Maybe, anyhow.”

“Oh!” Innie played with her food for a moment and looked uncharacteristically uncertain about whether she should proceed.

“C’mon,” I said. “You’ve got something. Spill!”

She looked back and forth between us for a moment. With evident reluctance, she said, “I just remembered something, and I’m not sure I should say it.”

“Go ahead,” Ximo said gruffly.

“Well . . . you know my madre and Aunt Maria have always been tight, right?”

We both nodded; mine was maybe a bit more impatient. Everyone knows those two are peas in a God pod.

“I overheard them gossiping once, years ago, about some jezebel – their words, not mine! – who had made all the men in the family loco. Except, madre was sure the woman hadn’t corrupted Poppa.”

“And they were talking about our momma?” I felt my face flush.

“I don’t know . . . . I’d never really thought about it. But when you talked about what señor Cortez said, it suddenly occurred to me that’s who they must have been talking about.”

“Momma some kind of ho?” Ximo shook his head. “Just as glad I didn’t know that when I was in school.”

I snorted in agreement.

Then, mercifully, señor Cortez and one of the other musicians began playing a guitar duet and my attention shifted to the raised platform where they were sitting. The composition was intricate, and I could barely follow the guitarists’ fingers as they flashed across the strings.
“¡Arriba!” I said, in wonderment.

“Seriously,” Ximo agreed.

“Not bad for an old fart,” Innie snarked. But I could tell she was impressed as well.

People started getting up and dancing in the spaces between tables, which made me smile, remembering my thought when I saw the sign outdoors. Your people can be found here. And my people, by God, know how to dance!

But when I looked over at my brother, I could see that his mind had returned to our conversation, and the emotional tangle left by the failure of our parents’ relationship. For all that he barely remembered her, Momma’s abandonment had evidently cast a long shadow over his childhood. I wished with all my heart that I had been able to help him more, when he was younger. When it might have made a difference. But the past, as I knew only too well, could not be repaired.

It could only be transcended.

“Hey, bro?”

“Ya?”

“You really want to know about this loco sister you’re suddenly stuck with?”

That earned me a half-smile. “I don’t know – when you say it like that, it sounds like I should worry!”

“I can tell you how I got here, someday. . . . But I can show you who I am.” I rose and made an inviting gesture with both hands. “Aquí. Ahora.”

“Yeah?”

I pulled my new skirt up a couple inches with my left hand, resting it on my hip, and raised my right arm above my head in a graceful arc. Then I let my feet fly, stamping quickly and authoritatively in time with the music. “Oh, yeah!” I grinned, teasingly. “Think you can keep up, hermanito?”

I thought he might balk, but he surprised me, getting to his feet lightly and holding out an imperious hand. “Let’s see what you’re made of – hermana!”

I laughed, took his hand, and we launched, my dancing skirt swirling around my legs as I spun.

Some people lose themselves in music, but for me, it’s the opposite. When I’m dancing, all the barriers that hold me back, that keep me from being myself, disappear. I let the music in. Let it sing in my blood. My feet become light and my body loose, fluid.

Free.

I could see Ximo’s sadness fade, replaced first by mischief, then challenge. And finally – ha! – by defeat.

“You are a demonia!” he panted. “Let me catch my breath!”

Innie had been watching with a bemused grin on her face, so I grabbed her. “C’mon, street brawler!”

She laughed like a good sport, and gave it her best. And when she was done for, I danced with Luis, then Matteo, then several others. I didn’t even bother to get names. When I dance, I dance!

I danced down my insecurities, my fears and my terrors. I danced down the memories that tried to drag me under, the betrayals and the regrets. I danced until the joy rose in me. Rose and bloomed, expanding ever wider, until there was no room left for anything else.

Señor Cortez came down and danced with me while his two companions played. He spun me like a master, and I could see it in his eyes – the understanding of where the music had taken me. As we danced, the other dancers formed a circle around us and began clapping in time, as the music grew faster and faster.

When we finished, we got cheers and raucous exclamations from a crowd that knew its shit when it came to dancing. Señor Cortez bowed low, then brought my hand to his lips. “Duende, Carmen!”

“Sí, señor. Duende.”

As the crowd clapped, Señor Cortez rejoined his partners and I danced my way back to the table with Innie and Ximo in my wake. When we arrived, Ximo collapsed into his seat.

My feet continued to move, and I teased him in a sing-song voice. “Who am I, ’mano?”

“I have no idea!”

“Who am I, mi prima?”

“Some crazy lady,” Innie grinned. “Sure’s fuck no-one I know!”

I held my arms wide to embrace the whole world, ran my feet through a quick-fire series of steps, touches and stamps, then threw my head back and proclaimed, “I am Carmen! Catalina! Morales! And this – this! – is who I am!!!”

— To be continued

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