Inching Through: Part II of II

By: D. Dahlia




Alex opened her eyes to a cerulean light; power-lines and old houses stacked side by side stood solid along the cobblestone roads. Miniature cars zoomed by, and one by one the lights in the passing homes switched on. Snores and muffled music from portable CD players cooed inside the bus. Alex stood and stretched from her awkward sleeping position, fetal on two seats with the narrow plastic armrest and her cardigan as a pillow.

She grabbed her purse and made her way to the back of the bus where the toilets were. Taking out her travel toothbrush, and toothpaste and with her bottled water, Alex brushed her teeth, washed her face with the bathroom soap and made herself somewhat presentable in the faux mirror. With a wet paper towel, she washed her neck and her underarms. Inside her purse she fished out a small bottle of lavender lotion and rubbed the smell of bus and sweat out of her skin.

Also in her purse was a red dress Alex had purposely saved to change into on the day to meet her host family, the Ledezmas. It was a bright reddish orange that she would wear with her black cardigan, the cardigan she wore on an almost daily basis, as well as her black doc martins, which came up to her knee. It was her favorite outfit, and mother’s least favorite.

Back to her seat, refreshed and craving coffee, Alex applied some makeup and pulled her hair into braided pigtails. The bus soon rolled to a stop and everyone began waking up. Alex pulled out her itinerary and started scanning the crowds for her soon-to-be teacher, Don Arturo who was to have a sign with her name on it. He was to drive her to her host family’s house and then to the school for orientation and a tour but he was nowhere to be seen.

After most of the crowd had gone and Alex had all her bags, a man walked up to her and tapped her shoulder. In his hand was a sign with her name on it; he was about 30, handsome, tall and thin with broad shoulders and a very big smile. After introductions, they walked to his car, it was red, small and like every other car she had seen on the way over. He had a coconut air freshener and was listening to Mahler.

The drive to the Ledezma’s was quick, so quick that Alex couldn’t really see the city passing before her. Don Arturo, who spoke English better than she did, talked about the school, the current students and the culture in a rather rehearsed manner. Out of habit, Alex blocked out his words as she took a mental tour of the city as it passed swiftly behind the class. He must have asked her a question because suddenly he placed his hand on her forearm to get her attention.

“I’m sorry, I am just so tired of being mobile, and I could really use some coffee.” Alex’ tone was so honest that Don Arturo laughed and made a sharp right turn, making Alex grab onto the door handle as tightly as the coconut-scented tree wound around the rearview mirror.

“We have a while until orientation, we’ll stop at my favorite café and I’ll call Señora Lolis to let her know not to expect us for a little while longer.”

Alex was more than happy to stop, the drive, being hungry and nerves had stirred a woozy feeling. A break from movement and a chance to see the city up-close was something she couldn’t resist. Café Azul was inside a small plaza, much like the plazas Alex had passed through in all the small towns on her way to Zacatecas. This plaza was much nicer however, and the archways and bricks gave the city a more European finish on top of the traditional Mexican architecture.

The café was decorated with masks and photographs of masks. Alex assumed it was just a theme but finding her curious observance made Arturo jump back into his tour guide mode. “You’ll find that masks are a big part of our culture. They not only represent what human truths we always hide but what truths we have always tried to achieve. You’ll learn all about this in classes, in fact we’ll be taking a trip to the Rafael Coronel museum of masks next Friday. You’ll see it then. These are the more modern ones; the museum has masks that are older than our city. My favorites are the death masks, they are more imaginative and often more colorful than the war masks and matrimonial masks.” Arturo’s eyes fogged over as he tried to make a mental picture of a mask to describe what he was talking about. Alex studied his face and how displaced his eyes suddenly looked in their sockets, she rubbed the goose bumps out of her arms wondering how morning coffee could leave her so creeped out.

In spite of her chill factor, the coffee hit the spot, and finally awake, Alex and Arturo engaged in real adult conversation. Come to find out, they had both started reading the same book, though for different reasons, which were the poems of Jaime Sabinas. The poems were rather topical and made for good translation exorcises for Alex, however Arturo found them to be “spiritually uplifting”. At any rate, it was a thing to talk about, and the conversation carried them for three hours.

They began walking to the Ledezmas from the Plaza, exerting physical energy was refreshing and Alex was pleased to find some sun after 17 hours in a bus and a foggy morning. For a second, the familiar was no-where to be found but in the sun and air, but a pair of black oxfords cradling two boney feet walked up to her. It was the same lady from the bus. Carrying the same mason jar, the older lady took Alex’ face in her hands and kissed both of her cheeks, and for no reason at all, hot tears streamed down her face.

Unable to translate this recent experience, and with no explanation from the older leaving as quickly as she appeared, Alex and Arturo walked in silence, utterly stupefied.

“I sat next to her on the bus the whole way here.” Alex interrupted the silence so suddenly that Arturo barely caught her words. “She will be hard to forget.”

They reached the Ladezma home. On crutches, Senora Lolis opened the door. To Alex’ surprise she was as fair skinned as herself, having blond curly hair that was barely graying at her temples and light green eyes. Her skin was almost a Grecian olive tone and her freckles complemented her high cheekbones.

After introductions and a cup of hot chocolate, Arturo left Lolis and Alex to their dinner and to become acquainted. They settled in her kitchen, which was over-decorated with cows and sunflowers, which she explained slowly in very simple Spanish were gifts from all over the world that her guests had sent over a period of nine year. Alex would never forget the conversations she would have in that room, especially the nightcaps which usually involved Mezcal and Marlboro Reds. Those nights Lolis would talk about her husband, who remained nameless since "one isn’t to mention the dead after they have passed", he was called “mi amor” most times, and other times just “él” which squeezed out of Lolis’ mouth in an almost angry whisper.

After setting up her room and surviving a cold shower, Alex left the house eager to explore this new city, to find her way on her own to the school. Her walk was a maze of staircases, and bridges that lead pedestrians above heavily trafficked streets and through ancient aqueducts. The sky dipped and curved over the tops of gothic style roofs and heat hovered like a cloud. You wouldn’t know it was nearing fall, even here, where even youthful men and women’s eyes lacked luster, and sat heavy in their sockets.

Regardless of how romantic this new city was to Alex, the stars weren’t as bright as they were back home, and the men and women made any idea of romance seem entirely impossible and foreign. Alex took it all to be a great façade, a city with intricacies from here to there, and bougainvillea threading it all together; an odd position to be in on her first day. To be in an entirely new place and existence, watching fall stroll in and take over with great thunderstorms, somehow unable to be a foreigner, and unable to recognize those that were.