Perched outside in our bright, tropical-colored stringed chairs, we watch as the men parade back and forth, donned in all black and wearing tattered huarache sandals, their guns slung close to their hips like prized sashes. They position themselves like soldiers and survey attentively, making sure no movement goes unnoticed. Some of the men sojourn in the cars waiting to dart off at any moment if needed, while the others snatch a snack at the diminutive con-venience store across from our house. I observe as the owner of the small store, Santiago, sits back as the men grab what they want, fully understanding they would not pay. It was out of fear, not agreement with their beliefs or practices, that he was known as one of their rats. The men suddenly get a call and, just like that, they are gone, leaving only a trace of dust.
The scorching sun finally recedes into the horizon as I sit listening to my mother and her childhood friend Rosa talk.
“Do you remember how many people lived here before? How we use to stay up all night talking outside? How we could roam and do what we pleased?” asks Rosa.
My mom replies in a bothered tone, “Yes I remember. Now these men have taken the life out of this place.”
Noticing the newfound darkness, Rosa rises and tells us, “I wish I could stay longer and talk some more, but they don’t like us being out when it is dark.”
With Rosa’s departure, we agree it is time we also go inside.
My mom stares at me and putridly says, “Why? Why did they have to choose El Cirian?”
"The scorching sun finally recedes into the horizon as I sit listening to my mother and her childhood friend Rosa talk."
The dirt road that leads to the small convenience store and Karina's home..
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