We made our way back home before the midafternoon sun could find proper purchase on the skin. Of course, we didn’t count on the cramped uber that forced the arm to bake. The normally pleasant trek back to the outskirts of the city became an ordeal of seconds that moved like minutes. All of the red lights appeared, as if alerted to the discomfort and eager to contribute. Every shard of shade and whisper of a breeze became fleeting oases that passed into longing much too quickly. My sisters knees started sweating. I know because I felt the slightest trickle spreading against my leg. Yet, for all the cramped seats and uncomfortable silences from less than gregarious drivers, there is no whining in the recollections. Whether because we were too busy craning necks to soak in the scene or because resignation is silent, I can’t say. Plus, there’s always the possibility of there being no energy for it. At a certain point, if you don’t tire of your own whining, then you probably need to live alone.
The party proper didn’t start until 7 that night, but Pancho and I were going to go to the mass beforehand. Pancho for being catholic, me out of curiosity. What is it that happens at mass? Why is there seemingly a mass for everything? Leaving religion alone altogether affords one the luxury of ritualistic curiosity. It did not disappoint. What follows is the immediate account of everything I felt throughout the experience. I wrote it on my phone on church grounds as the quinceñera took pictures with friends and family. It necessarily had to be in Spanish. It could be no other way.
Hoy fui a mi primera misa y güey. No mames. Todo es un rito. Que oremos, que levanten las manos pero no junten las palmas aunque la chica de la guitarra se rifaba, y eso que no la veíamos porque por lo visto los músicos tienen que estar lo mas cerca del todopoderoso posible. Cada vez que se acababa una canción esperaba que el cura dijera, “Esa fue Dios es Grande el primer sencillo de nuestro nuevo album que ya esta a la venta.” Pasaba el sacristan con la canastita y yo me quede como Wey ni se si voy a firmar con uds todavia y ya me estas pidiendo dinero. Ademas, tuve que aprender que era un sacristan por que vi a un señor con la mano levantada y tomo un esfuerzo Herculano para no interrumpir al cura y decirle Perdón, padrecito, pero creo que aquel señor tiene una pregunta. Tienen varios ademanes con los cuales no estoy familiarizados. Hubo momentos que sentia como que si en cualquier momento íbamos a soltar las chakras en una bola de fuego— o quizá haiga sido el espíritu santo que, aunque a la mayoría de los mexicanos le valga madre porque La Madrecita es mejor, le sigue haciendo el intento en reclutamiento. Entiendo ahora por que la primera comunión y la confirmación y todos los catequismos son necesarios. Son las primeras lecciones de una religion que requiere ensayo continuo si te quieres sentir parte de la banda. Y vaya que les sale bien. El cura habla, ellos responden; todos levantan las manos juntos y hasta saben cuando hincarse. Llevaban buen ritmo pero en una de esas como que todos se perdieron y casi se me sale el regaño: Que no llevan desde los cinco años practicando? No, no esto no puede ser, hermanos, no me decepcionen.
It is universally understood that there is no better laugh than the one you cannot have. There are any number of factors that contribute to this such as being able to trickle some of it out whether by sharing it with someone in knowing glances or making quick comments with the purpose of recruiting others into the taboo. Overall, the joy that laugh will bring is directly proportional to the gravity of the situation. I was without outlet. Alone in a field of the devout. Pancho had finally reconnected with something he loved from his past, so he was out of the question. I’d considered engaging his sister into some of the jokes, but the aggravated Hincate that struck at me as I awkwardly crouched in my seat while everyone else took to knees told me exactly two things: 1.) The frustration was masking the humor of watching the spiritual equivalent of watching a colt learn how to walk. 2.) She could easily be corrupted. Alas, that selfishness tends to be less charming with age. The moment wasn’t mine, and despite the unadulterated pleasure offered, there are better times. I contented myself with committing to memory as many details as possible so that I could write them later in something that is absolutely all about me. (Don’t let’s lie to each other: this whole exercise is a celebration of ego. But you subscribed, so I don’t know, homie).
I’ve never understood how some people can be so grave about god. An all powerful entity that can see into our hearts as easily as breathing without a sense of humor? Okay, maybe OT god was kind of a dick, but clearly having a child softened the temper. Clearly there’s no aversion to having a quick laugh. I know that because as we were leaving the church, we suddenly picked up two more passengers. We would now have to Tetris seven people into a truck that can only comfortably handle about half that. Well, nothing to do about it; time to get in the trunk. As I went for the handle to jump in, eager for some variation on travel, Fernando emerged. I’ve always gotten along well with this brother of Pancho, and the experience continues. Vente con nosotros, Abel. Nada mas somos tres. That’s an answer to a prayer I never made, even as I poked fun from inside the house. The good lord enjoys a good chuckle.
Besides salvation from a cramped situation, there was the advantage of traveling with the father of the celebrated. I’d stumbled onto a status I hadn’t even considered. And that status came with drinks. We bought some beers for the road and had a wonderful chat. He showed me where he works in a lovely part of town brimming with its own modern potential. I joked that maybe I should stay and find somewhere to work and live instead of going back. Saca la doble ciudadanía. He said it casually. A matter of fact dealt with everyday. My incredulity vexed him. Mira, tienes dos ventajas: manejas el español muy hábilmente y también hablas ingles. No va hacer falta encontrar trabajo. Tu escoges. For all the advantages that he listed, there was one that stood above all: being officially Mexican.
It’s all good and well to be self-assured and confident in identity, but that also means being able to address the things easier left alone. Insecurities fall into this realm, and for some time I’ve never necessarily felt any insecurity. But insecurities are patient. They search for the perfect space to crawl into and fester. What had begun as an attempt to know more about my culture to provide a better educational experience became a borderline obsession. It crossed the lands of self-improvement into murky, insatiable swamps. Being the progeny of two Mexicans, born and raised in Mexico themselves, meant little to me. I needed to know the history. The language could not remain a mystery. The more I learned and took in, the emptier I felt. No piece of historical knowledge or part of speech sufficed. It would never be enough because it felt as if the right to it was not mine. (If you’re screaming about how my parents are Mexican through and through because you’ve met them and that you’ve heard me speak Spanish ad nauseam, just know that I’m yelling that at myself too). But now there was a way to secure my feelings. Becoming a citizen would transfigure me into the actual. No longer would I feel hesitant to call myself Mexican.
I was contemplating this new realm of reality as we pulled into the venue. An expansive, circular ballroom, the wooden floors gleaming with polish beneath tables draped in white linen. The matte blue theme of the birthday girl bloomed everywhere. Final touches were being made in a languid procession that might’ve been anticipated. An odd but understandable phenomenon surrounds parties the world over, mainly that to arrive on time is actually to arrive early. No party just happens. There’s a timidity to them all that requires coaxing, which is also why we all have that one person you definitely need to invite unless you want your guests to wander about like broken video game characters.
I am not that one person.
I stood outside with Pancho’s sister. We had a cigarette while chatting about the oddity of my first mass. She reassured me that it takes practice, which is something she finds pleasant about the experience. The structure provides a spiritual foundation in a world that grows increasingly more indifferent toward constancy. Does that mean that her catholicism is fully devout? Not necessarily. It’s just the one she was born into, and one that she appreciates. She could’ve just as easily been Muslim. It’s these details of fate that help her appreciate all facets of the spiritual. Con tal de que alguien quiera ser una mejor persona, que importa la religion?