Category: Xochimilco

Rebar to the Head

The drop of blood landed with a plop on my bathroom sink. I was in a hurry and in a careless swipe of my razor blade I nicked at an old-old scar that protrudes slightly from the lower part of my mandible on the left side of my face. I don’t usually think much of this imperfection and it has been years since I’ve touched it but in a moment of pause I rewound the clock to a warm day in Xochimilco, Mexico when I was a young boy. 
There on a plot of land I found myself not too far away from my parents playing on dirt as workers busied themselves around me, hauling bricks, making cement, drinking Coca-Colas and trying to stay away from my dad who was in no-nonsense managerial mode. Construction of our new family home was in full swing and the work crew were so motivated that they hardly noticed me wondering about the place on unsteady feet marveling at the speed and efficiency these men worked at. I tried to find a place to help. Sometimes I struggled to bring a man a shovel. Sometimes they would let me use a hammer. Mostly though I was asked to help entertain my baby sister who I resented for getting in the way of me having adventures. 
During a break in duty I saw some gravel being delivered and I wanted to play with the rocks. I stood and without reservation bolted to opposite side of the year while brushing off my moppy hair from my eyes. In my haste I failed to notice some bricks left on the ground and in a moment I was under gravity’s control. From the ground an incomplete column of bricks stood and from the corners standing straight up a reddish shoot of metal was waiting to greet me. The piece of rebar that speared me just below my mouth pierced my flesh at a sharp angle and easily moved its way into whatever cavities are designed into the human skull. Whatever shrieks I gave brought attention to me quickly and past that I do not remember much. 
Doctors called it a miracle. I call it luck. In either case, the morning’s drop of blood reminded me to stay steady on my feet and always look several yards forward as best you can.

Tip of the Glacier

Just off Richardson Highway a bit north of Thompson Pass I took my first step upon a Glacier. Like all other surreal moments in my life I took a second in the cold to wonder how a kid from Xochimilco, Mexico had found his way to the land of Alaska to hike a massive work of nature in plain old sneakers. From the moment I set foot out and way of my parent’s threshold I’ve been experiencing life’s grand adventure. 
Not all times have been easy…I’ve slept in my car a few times, I’ve gone hungry. I’ve made too many mistakes to count and answers haven’t always come easy. It’s my “glass half full” attitude that makes me appreciate all those hardships and propels my adoration for what is great in my life. 
The woman I married, the children we are raising, the dogs, the iguana, the chickens and possible pig. 
Tomorrow I join all those in their 40s and the third decade of my life comes to an end…but I am counting on the belief that there are more surreal moments for my eyes and heart to take in and that makes all the difference.

Jugando

The school bus dropped us off about 400 metros away from home at Avenida Chapultepec.

Walking or running to our property was a simple straight shot and often my mother would allow me to run on ahead and greet folks about the safe neighborhood. She often strolled far behind carrying my sister (Luz), my backpack and at time some groceries.
In those early days it was not uncommon to come across a friend and invite him to come over and play in our vast yard that was riddled with dozens of good hiding spots where we could plot and plan adventures like the heroes of the cartoons we watched on Saturday mornings.
That one afternoon, I met him sitting on the dirty street floor by our fence with his back was against our brick wall. He wore brown pants that were rolled up at the bottom and exposed his thin lower legs. He wore simple sandals. The shirt was almost white but it was obvious that my new friend had been playing on the dirt as his wears were covered in randomly scattered patches of deep dark dirt that laid about his chest section.
His name (he said) was Angel.
Despite the dirt his smile was radiant and welcoming and from the moment he hollered an “hola” I felt that this was a worthwhile chap to play with. He was shy but surprisingly funny and we shared a few jokes before my mother caught up to us.
As usual, she was scrambling to find her keys to our large red iron gate and as usual Luz was in an involuntary uproar over being stuck in the cloth carrying device that my mother engineered each and every day for her. Food would need to be ready in a couple of hours time and her mind was on the task at hand. Needless to say she didn’t bat an eye when I asked her if my new found friend could stay a few minutes and play in the yard.
When she agreed….two bolts of lighting careened past her and I couldn’t wait to show him my favorite hiding spots throughout the property.
He didn’t talk much but I was glad because he let me talk. I even shared my most intimate secret.
I wished that one day Matzinger Z would somehow appear at our yard and I would board him and save Mexico from its problems. The economy (as my mother explained) was not doing well and on top of it the dogs had been acting strangely around the property and some other special friends had mentioned some odd event that was due to come. Therefore, if trouble was coming Matzinger Z would help and if I played my cards right I could fly all the way to Los Angeles just like that man who had landed at the Colosseum in Los Angeles the year before.
He let out a roaring laugh and made fun of me. No way was there a city name after him he chuckled and put his hands to his mouth as he giggled uncontrollably at the concept. I couldn’t help but laugh along with him.
He shared too but his dreams were simpler. Angel desired only to visit the beach and drive a car.
Minutes ticked by and before we knew it I heard a loud scream coming from the house. Dinner was ready, the skies were darkening and the day would end soon. Angel and I made plans to play again but as we talked about the next day he grimaced and grew sad. He explained that his trip here was brief and would cease before September ended. With a solemn and kind smile he told me that he was glad to have meet me and that he hoped that he could stay longer. Then he put his hand to my face and stroked my cheek with his thumb and I then knew not to fret too much as the days ahead unfurled. 
I felt safe as he looked into my eyes. Without speaking I felt a rush of feeling from him that coiled about my chest. My father (who was away in the US)  was okay, he would return to us and no matter what near struggles to come we’d survive.
My mother shouted once again from the house and with a start I looked at Angel and he was dashing off. But just before he reached the Red Gate he looked back, smiled and waved goodbye.
Never again did I see him.
—
About a year later, after the disaster happened and my father returned home for a quick visit, my mother and I talked one night about the previous year. Then I told her about Angel.
She sat at our kitchen door stunned and paralyzed with the exception of a trinity of tears at her face. 
That was the night that she first introduced me to the photo of her father Angel.
He died of lung Cancer. His wishes were simple…to see the ocean and drive a car.

The Watcher

It came to know itself one Thursday afternoon on the banks of an aged canal off Xochimilco in the mid 1900s. It did not know life just at it did know death. But intrinsically the watcher understood that movement around it demanded that it make a not so simple decision.

As it sloughed and faltered off the murky waters it caught the voice off a high pitch wail that in later years it would come to learn as laughter, an emotion that it came to understand but could never truly emulate. The pull towards it was too strong to over come and after a few minutes of struggle it came upon a cheerful boy skipping rocks off a shallow strip of flowing water.

The watcher had no shape but it’s voice was angelic and the boy showed no fear as it approached him and spoke with him in silence and reassured him that it meant no harm. They spoke for hours with no words exchanged. The watcher asked countless questions which the boy easily answered in lengthy monologues that satiated the thirst for knowledge for the new found thing.

The boy in himself was beautiful.. Approximately 16 years of age, he was a lean, a remarkably tall study whose earthy athleticism bore healthy veins, thick brown hair, a strong spine, piercing eyes and vivid wild reflexes. In town he was described by the elders as a coffee flavored version of Billy Budd with a flawed innocence that didn’t serve the new vileness of the then modern world.

The boy’s gaze was notable from the start. One day after his birth his mother who died two weeks later remarked that he could understand him more than every man she had ever known. Others noted in years to come how first encounters left them feeling as if his two eyes read their life histories shockingly. They even asked their children to avoid the child so as not to encounter his knowledgeable gaze. Fortunes were being made every day and men were afraid that their precious and murderous secrets could be read by knowing eyes.

Yet, the boy could not be touched by illicit hands. He was protected, some said, by an aura of spirit Angels who turned poisoned rice water pure.  Or who lost hunting parties the boy camped by the water’s edge.

The Watcher learned these truths as it spent moments next to the youth. At the time it didn’t know that it had chosen a simple base on which three others would be added on and lead it to modern times. Knowing the future was not it’s gift. Not like it was hers.

After the boy skipped a jade like rock onto the water, the watcher touched the base of his neck and a simple strike of electricity moved down the boy”s spine. The spark arose a stir that the watcher understood a thousand times faster than any other person before or since. But the brain is faster than the soul and upon the touch an elemental reflex caused the boy to raise his face and lips open.

It was then that The Watcher would sense what it thought would be it’s only need and took the boy”s essence.

Slowly, the silence it was took on the attributes of the being being consumed. It enjoyed thoroughly the  growth and engorging encounter that manifested it as a man on the human world. As he devoured the body and essence in earnest he looked over the murky waters of these canals and did not understand why it had come into being.

But as he looked at the waters in what later claimed to be his own eyes, his birthday, he thought was the next step to those who had taken on the world and squandered it’s gifts.