Senora Mari gestured to a Mexican flag hung above the entrance to Pecos Pete’s bar. “In Mexico, no one celebrates the fifth of May. You know this.”
“Yes, yes. You’ve told us three times this morning and four times yesterday.” Aunt Linda waved frantically to those of us lagging behind to catch up with the rest.
“And I will say it again until someone explains it to me.”
Patti Perez walked on Senora Mari’s other side. “It’s about Mexican independence.” She ran her fingers across her brow, searching for the stud she usually wore there.
The older woman came to an abrupt halt. “Mexicans celebrate independence in September.”
“They do?” Patti tugged on her synthetic black braids, checking for the umpteenth time they were hanging evenly.
I gave her a look. She knew darn well that Cinco de Mayo commemorated Mexico’s resistance to French debt collectors.
Placing a gentle hand on Senora Mari’s arm, I urged her forward, hoping to walk and talk. “What do you want explained, Abuela?”
“Why all the fuss?” She gestured to a small group of clowns on unicycles, inching their cycles forward and back to keep from falling to the cobblestones.
If memory served, we’d had the same discussion during last year’s festivities. “To honor our Mexican heritage and to celebrate spring.”
“Such a fuss over nothing.”
We reached our place in the parade lineup, three spots from the end. I could see the antique motorcycle and auto club from Brewster County behind us, and behind them, the Army Reserve color guard.
Quickly taking our places, we tucked in our shirts and began to count out our steps.
“Where is Anthony?” Mrs. Cogburn raised up on her tiptoes, craning her neck to see above the crowd and the Junior Rodeo riders in front of us.
“He said they were on their way fifteen minutes ago.” Cindy, his fiancée, didn’t sound too confident.
A trumpet blat burst from the alley off to our right along with Anthony, Lily, and their mariachi band. The sight of their white suits, red embroidered ties, and matching sombreros boosted my confidence. Between the ladies’ beautiful colors and the band’s crisp, white sophistication, our act should be a crowd favorite.
“So sorry we’re late.” While he held his guitar in his right hand, Anthony removed his sombrero with his left and waved it in front of his perspiring face.
A trumpet blew a dramatic fanfare. “But now we’re here the show can begin.” Lily tucked her trumpet under her arm and gave a little bow.
“Come here.” I gestured for Lily to come closer, and I straightened her tie. “Where were you?” I kept my voice low. In my peripherals, I could see that Anthony was apologizing and making his excuses to Mrs. Cogburn, Aunt Linda, and Senora Mari.
“Tubas are not easy to carry. Larry ripped his jacket trying to climb in the back of Anthony’s truck with that small elephant.”
“Who had an extra jacket?”
“Forget that. We found the duct tape in your aunt’s office.”
I gave Lily a disapproving look. “Won’t that show? Tacky like?”
“Huh,” she grunted. “We taped it together on the inside.”
Farther up the line, the high school drum line fired off their opening cadence.
Senora Mari stood at the front of our V formation, like a star on the top of a Christmas tree. Anthony and his bandmates stretched in a straight line from one side of the street to the other right behind.
Suddenly the riders in front of us lurched forward and my pulse lurched with them. The big moment had arrived.
“Horse hockey!” Aunt Linda let out a loud exclamation.
I glanced to my left to see what had her all stirred up.
“Look down!” Gretchen Cruz, the calm, steady attorney, cried from my other side.
I jumped over a horse patty the size of a flattened melon. The Junior Rodeo riders were above the stinky fray. The rest of, swishing our colorful skirts back and forth, weren’t as fortunate.
“Smile, ladies, smile,” Mrs. Cogburn called, and then let out a squeal as she nearly landed in a pile of horse dung.
The mariachi band played, the crowd clapped, and we swished our skirts from side to side and played leapfrog with the presents the quarter horses left behind. It was a beautiful morning; the sun warm and bright on the hills that lay just beyond the railroad track. Flowers bloomed in window boxes along the parade route and on balconies above Main Street. Everywhere the Mexican flag blew proudly in the breeze along with bright-colored paper banners. We passed Coach Ryan. Up to this point, Lenny had been tucked in the crook of my left arm, which made it doubly dangerous to jump over the obstacles in our path. Each time I hopped, he yipped.
With a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure Mrs. Cogburn didn’t see me, I hurried over to Ryan. “Here, take him. I think he needs to do his doggie duty.”
Ryan chuckled and took him in his arms. “When a guy’s gotta go—”
“Listen.” I pulled Ryan along the route as we went. “He’s in the dance. You’ll need to catch up with us before we hit the gazebo.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Yip, yip, yip.” Lenny reared up and licked Ryan’s chin.
“Leash?”
I fished it from my skirt pocket and handed it over. “Hurry. Run, don’t walk, or I’m dead meat.”
“Are you kidding? If we don’t make it back and Senora Mari blames me, I’ll have to pay at Milagro’s from now on for screwing up this sideshow.”
With that, he slipped through the crowd and down the alley, disappearing from view as a family of tourists stepped up. I assumed they were a family—it was hard to make out their faces as they all held their phones and iPads aloft to film the procession.
As we marched, my new black character shoes, or pumps, as Mrs. Cogburn preferred to call them, began to pinch my feet. I was hopping over fewer obstacles from the Junior Rodeo horses, but just when I thought all that nastiness was behind us, I had
