6/25
rWhen I was younger going to Mexico was a mixed experience. I loved the second night of traveling when we would stay at a hotel watching television, and taking a long shower. I hated the first night when my family would stay cramped in our car parked by a forest reserve in Texas feeling sticky from the humidity, our backs cramping up as we tried to fall asleep. Then there was the third day, the day we would arrive to our town seeing the familiar signs, no longer stuck in the endless desert of Northern Mexico, we were surrounded by lush green mountains and lakes. We could recognize the name of the towns as we got closer and closer. Then before we knew it we were at the top of the hill, seeing a statue of Mary the Virgin. My parents did the sign of the cross and my sister and I squealed in excitement as the car drove down the hill and into our pueblito.
It’s Saturday and I’m at Emily’s place. She’s chatting with her roommates, with her laptop next to her. She has her usual 100 tabs open, looking for housing options for later in the summer. I developed her habit of 100 tabs, except mine are full of job applications. We’ve been at it for a few hours now and we’re getting tired and distracted. I start watching Bojack Horseman playing in the background, but my mind is elsewhere. Something is missing and I am trying to think what it is.
In our pueblo, there are things I absolutely love and absolutely hate. I love the warm weather and I love going to my paternal grandma’s cool house, and eating breakfast that my tia prepared for us. I hate that their television has only 6 channels and 2 are repeat channels, and worse it’s all in Spanish and I’m too lazy to translate the cartoons. I love the amount of plants and flowers my grandma has in her courtyard, backyard, and throughout the halls. And I being the urban American that I am hate the bugs that come along with these plants, and I scream running to my parents, as a bug crawls up my leg. I hate that they tease me, because for them this is as normal as the sky being blue, and the hourly ringing of the church bells down the street.
When I first went to Emily’s house the night before I gasped and said this house is like Mexico! She smiled, and I explained. As many older generation people are returning to live in Mexico full-time, they are building houses. The houses are usually Western-styled, usually two-stories,and with indoor bathrooms. But still they aren’t quite like the big suburban houses of the U.S. It’s different. There’s usually a gate upon entering, but not like a white picket fence. The windows are wide to keep the rooms cool, but there’s also railings (probably to prevent animals from coming in.) There’s a long narrow staircase, because the ceilings are built very high. The homes don’t have any carpet, because scorpions can hide in them. There are at least 4 bedrooms crammed in the house, a few jammed in the first floor, and the remaining upstairs.
As the evening arrives, my mom mentions she’s going down the street to my great aunts’ house. My sister and I join her. My great aunts always get excited to see us, and we greet them with big hugs. As my mom catches up, my sister and I walk into one of my great aunts bedroom. We look through the pictures, at the small statues scattered throughout the tables, and try to read the Spanish prayers. Then my sister and I begin arguing, “You do it!” “I’m not going to you’re going to!” Finally my sister goes to my mom, and whispers something in her ear. My mom gives her a look and shakes her head, and says, “You tell them what you want.” My great aunt Maria asks my sister, “Que quieres bonita? What do you want, pretty girl?” My sister mutters, “Can we play loteria?” My great aunts laugh and say, “Of course! Get the cards! They’re hanging by the door.”
Emily’s roommates go into their rooms and we’re back to working. I ask Emily if we could go on a small trip somewhere. Emily says, “Sure!” She puts her laptop away, and I check on google maps to confirm the location. The evening is warm, but not humid. It’s surprisingly comforting. After a whole afternoon being absorbed on our laptops, a walk in the warm evening would do us good. We head over to the train and take the train a few stops. We look at the setting sun, and I think how nice it is to be living by an elevated train as we take it further into Brooklyn. I tell Emily how I found the place a few days before while job hunting. I didn’t get the job, but I did find something else. We get off the stop and we’re walking through the neighborhood. Families are outside, there are murals, Spanish music is playing throughout the streets, and all the signs are in Spanish. I found a small piece of home.
For those unfamiliar, Loteria is a game similar to bingo, but rather than numbers there are images. There are 16 pictures on each card, and if all 16 pictures get called the person wins. Pictures can include the moon, the star, the rich man, the devil, the flower pot etc. There are 54 images total. It’s a total game of chance. My great aunts each pick their favorite loteria card. My sister picks her favorite one with the rich man, and the dame on the top. I look for my favorite with the woman in the canoe, and the frog. My great aunts are more daring and pick two or even three cards to play at a time. Each card played is worth 1 peso. My great aunts start asking everyone pitch in their peso. One great aunt is always counting and re-counting the money to make sure no one is playing a free game. As this is happening, my great aunt Josefina starts blessing the cards with her hands and my sister and I copy her in admiration. The rest of the women laugh.
After the cards are given out, next is the pinto beans. A big bag of dried pinto beans sits in the middle of the table, and we all take 16. Now there are 3 ways we know how to use the beans. One way is putting a bean on the image once they’re called. Another way is taking off a bean when the image is called. The last way which my Aunt Josefina loves, is taking one bean off the called image, and placing it on an uncalled image. This could mean an uncalled image could have multiple beans on it. I think it’s magic how she does beyond the two traditional ways, moving the beans throughout her card and I imitate her method. It’s important to pay attention to the methods, especially if you’re not sure if you skipped one of your pictures. For instance if you think you forgot the rooster on your card, but you see your neighbor has the rooster, check to see if the bean is on the card or off it, it could be the difference between winning or losing the game.
Once all the cards and beans are given out, and the money is counted for it’s time. My great aunt begins, “Corre con la....” We’re all looking intensely at a cards, one person mutters, “I haven’t got a single one yet....!” We shush them, because we don’t want to miss hearing the next card. I ask, “Has anyone called out the frog yet?” Again there’s a hushing sound. “Pay attention!” my mom advises me. It’s towards the end of the game, and every image counts. Two of my aunts are waiting for the bell, meanwhile my sister has been waiting for the palm tree for the last minute. But alas, my great aunt dealing the card wins with the rooster. We all grunt in frustration, my great aunt Flora claims, “She cheated!!!” Then we look at the remaining images left and everyone yells in frustration, the bell was next, and afterwards the palm tree. The frog wasn’t there, I missed it earlier. Among the disagreement, my sister and I smiling ask, “Can we play again?”
This goes on for at least an hour or so, until the evening turns to night. My sister and I use our winnings to buy some treats down street, off the corner of my paternal grandma’s. The corner store owner know us, and my mom talks to the owner while my sister and I are peering through the treats. The daughter of the owner is playing on her tricycle behind the counter. A family in line behind us want to buy some paletas. My sister and I finally decide.This time I have enough to buy a pack of cookies, and my sister buys her beloved Penguinos. We proudly give the owner the 15 pesos. My mom explains it’s from loteria and he remarks that we were really lucky this time. We walk back to our paternal grandma’s house, excited to talk about the close calls and winnings from loteria.
Emily and I arrive to this mini Mexican grocery store. Outside there is fresh produce and families are sitting next to them gossiping. The television is on a Spanish channel. I find my favorite pack of cookies, and Emily continues to look through the snacks. I ask the man working there if they have any Jumex. He shows me the aisle they sell it, and we talk for a bit. I ask him what part of Mexico is he from, how long has he been here, and I tell him about myself. I tell him I like his store, because it reminds me of my pueblo in Mexico, and he says good I’m glad. Emily and I leave the store with bags full of snacks and Jumex drinks, as we head back to the train. On the train ride back, I tell her stories of Mexico, the mosquito bites, the mountains, the televisions with 6 channels, and my great aunts, and how warm nights like this make me feel most at home.
