Emily Fetterer

Sweet spicy perfumes of chilies, soap, bougainvillea, and taquitos permeate the courtyard. With full bellies and clean outfits the children wait for their mothers and grandmothers. I’m twirling Monse’s pigtails like silky ribbons around my fingers. She has found my treasures of the day. Her sticky fingers pull out a marble and sweaty mint colored Chiclets from my pockets. She isn’t waiting. The late afternoon light through the pepper tree casts tiny shadows on the patio that’s become a mini soccer field for the gordos. Chely and Cece play endless card games while Carmen and a few women finishing up the dishes motherly coax the girls to laughter. Eager but cautious voices echo from the English class beginning in the toddler classroom and the hum of casa at night begins. We chat, dance, and play around the kitchen mimicking the kids around the sand box. The leftovers from Gloria’s kitchen alongside avocados, papaya, and thick stacks of steaming tortillas make our simple meal feel like a Mexican thanksgiving. I’m reminded again of the children at lunch time crowded around their red wooden tables cracking themselves up and cutting each other off with a story or joke. Sueño takes a few off to bed and the rest of us trip up cobblestone alleyways following the faint mariachi to the jardin. Corner carts sizzle hot meat and onto steaming sopes and the air is thick with elote and atole. Couples giggle and entire families take their role in this night play. Our bellies our full and we lie back in this taxi covered in Virgen de Guadalupe paraphernalia and let the breeze and memories of a favorite day take us home to Casa de los Angeles.