El templo en Tijuana | Part I

My Mother's core memory of the temple on the hill.

My Mother tells me stories. The following is an interpretation of the stories she has graciously shared with me about her childhood in Mexico. I feel strongly that my calling is to listen, archive, and pass on the stories of our family as my Mother has with me. Names have been changed to protect the privacy of family members and friends. Thank you. - M

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I.

It’s today. The meeting. And I’m going with her again.

Mama likes to take me now. She was taking Mimi with her but now she picks me. Aurelia is the oldest girl and has always gone. And Mimi is older than I am so it makes sense Mimi went first.

But Mimi won’t go anymore.

“It’s scary,” she told me. “I don’t like it. I really don’t like it.”

All I have ever heard from Mimi about those meetings was how they gave her the shivers and goosebumps every time she went. She wouldn’t stop talking about how dark el templo actually is on the inside even on the sun shiniest day of the year. How weird the resos can be when everyone is chanting together.¹ I would listen to everything she said. But if I asked her too many questions, she would make a face and leave the room.

She told Mama that she can’t stand those meetings anymore.

As for me?

— I like them.

Mama is visiting us this weekend so she made breakfast this morning. Chorizo, eggs, and friend potatoes with onion. And she always warms up lots of fresh tortillas right on the fire. Mama gets us fresh tortillas every morning from the market when she’s here. During the week, I warm them up just like she taught me.

She’s here almost every weekend. She and Papa live far away in America. Mama takes the bus to visit us. I like it when she’s here. Last week, she even brought my new baby brother, Lito. Everyone came to see him. He sleeps a lot. He looks so cute when he sleeps. I felt so big when I got to hold him. I used to be the smallest, but not anymore. It’s nice to be big for once.

I’m so full from breakfast I could nap but I know we’ll be leaving soon. We clean up the dishes, all the girls. Then, we get ready. Mama changes into a pretty dress and grabs a big hat. I pick a dress I like but I don’t have to wear a mantilla, that’s only for when we go to misa.² Mama says goodbye to everyone, let’s them know we’ll be back later this afternoon, and then we start out on our long walk.

Sometimes I wonder why she doesn’t take someone else with her. With Lito in America, I’m the youngest here. Aurelia goes already, but I also have a lot of brothers and cousins. I start my very first year of school soon, so maybe that’s why?

Also, I know I’m pretty brave. That could be it?

But I’ve been thinking more about it today — I bet she takes me because I’ve been having those dreams.

Those scary dreams.

The dreams about people I know.

Dreams about dead people.

The dreams are a little different each night. I had another one last week.

In that dream, I’m standing in front of a tree. A really big dark brown tree. I can’t see the top. And I can’t tell if it’s morning or nighttime. I’m all alone, except for this tree. No wind. No birds. But there are lots of low branches, perfect for climbing.

So, I start to climb.

It feels like a ladder. I reach above me and then take a step on a branch.

I reach above and take a step.

I reach and step.

Reach and step.

Again and again.

I’m really climbing now, higher and higher.

I keep going.

Higher and higher.

Oh no — it doesn’t seem to want to end…

Reach and step.

I really want to give up now. I want to go back down. Or I want it to stop, I’m tired of climbing.

But I keep going, higher and higher.

I’m scared. I want to cry.

Higher and higher still.

I don’t know where I am or where this tree came from…

Reach and step, but slower now.

I think I see something… I see a light!

Yes, a light!

I climb faster, I know I can make it.

I reach the light and find a room.

And like a surprise, I find someone in it! There’s someone else in this tree with me! It’s like a treehouse now.

Oh wow, there’s a man in this treehouse!

I try to see who it is… His back is turned to me but I can see he’s wearing nice, clean clothes and — he’s shaving!

Shaving??

Before I can say anything, the man turns around and smiles at me.

That face — it’s my Tío Pepe! But he’s so young. Like in his pictures. And he’s so happy.

“Hola, Tío Pepe!” I wave and smile back. I have so many questions.

“Hola, guerita!”³ He laughs, turns, and goes back to shaving.

“What are you doing? Why are you shaving now? What are you doing here in this tree?” I’m bursting, maybe he knows why we’re up here…

But he doesn’t turn around again. He doesn’t say anything else to me. He just keeps shaving his young face.

I can see he’s being really careful with his big razor. I don’t want to bother him.

“Okay! Bye, Tío! It was good to see you!” I say as I look for my next step up the ladder.

I start reaching and stepping some more.

Hmm, maybe if I keep climbing, I’ll find someone else I know?

I reach and step once more, and then —

I woke up.

Looking up at the ceiling, I finally knew where I was. But I’m too excited that I saw my Tío Pepe, and that he was so young — so, I jumped out of bed.

I ran to look for Mama.

“Mama! Mama! I saw him, I saw Tío Pepe in my dream! He looked so different…” I started telling her.

“Mija, you saw Tío Pepe?” She asked me, slowly.

“Yes, yes, I did!” And I started telling her about how he looked and what he was doing.

Mama became quiet. She wasn’t mad. Or sad. Just quiet.

And serious.

Finally, she said, “I just got a phone call, early this morning. Tío Pepe passed away last night.”

Glossary

1. resos = prayers

2. mantilla = a liturgical lace, silk veil, or shawl worn over the head and shoulders; misa = Catholic mass

3. guerita = term of endearment for fair-haired person, similar to “blondie”