I marched. I twirled my skirt. I smiled at friends, tourists, and their kids along the parade route until my cheeks hurt.
Finally the parade ground to a halt as the drum corps exploded into an intricate performance of beats, rim shots, and funky cadences that set the crowd to dancing. There was no sign of Ryan and Lenny, but the crowd on this last stretch of the parade was three- and four-people deep. Vendors had set up their carts and booths along the sidewalk behind the crowd, making it hard to maneuver. Ryan would have no difficulty running a play through these obstacles, seeing as how he was a football coach. But what was the holdup?
I glanced at my fellow dancers and exchanged weary smiles with Aunt Linda and Cindy. Anthony’s band took a breather and we continued to dance in time to the faster cadence played by the drum corps. Skirts twitched in time; tired smiles remained pasted in place, just a little lower than before.
“Where’s Lenny?” Senora Mari turned from her place of honor at the front, a furrow of worry crossing her forehead. For someone who didn’t care for dogs, she was showing every sign of concern for my four-legged pal.
“Potty break,” I called back through smiling teeth. “He should be here any second.”
“No potty breaks, we’re almost there.” Mrs. Cogburn’s stage whisper carried to two twin girls, seven or eight years old, standing at the edge of the crowd. They stared at each other wide-eyed. “No potty breaks,” I saw them mouth to each other in horror. As the parade stopped, I overheard their worried complaints. The smaller one pointed to me. “She says there’s no potty breaks.”
The mother, dressed in celebratory white, green, and red followed the girl’s finger to me. She glared.
“Wasn’t me.”
The drum corps sprang into another rousing cadence and the little girls forgot the horrors of having no access to a potty. They began to dance, grasping each other’s hands and twisting back and forth—à la Chubby Checker. A few of the horses blew through their nostrils and pulled against their reins. The young rider in front of me allowed her charge to take a few steps to the right before she led him back into formation. Two or three others on the other side of the Junior Rodeo group did the same. A large, black quarter horse in the middle stamped and snorted in frustration.
“I’ve heard enough drumming to last until next Fourth of July,” one of the club sponsors called, walking his horse closer.
“Are the horses okay?”
“Fine.” He patted the strong neck of his charge. “Bored. Ready to move.”
Mrs. Cogburn pranced over without missing a beat, still twitching her skirt in time to the drum line. “Each group is given a strict time limit for their performance.” She glanced to her left and right. “At least that’s what I was led to believe.”
Suddenly the drum line stopped, and after a few seconds of silence, they changed to rim shots only, and the parade proceeded.
A middle-aged gent on horseback tipped his hat. “That’s our cue.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Mayor marched quickly back to her place, careful to keep her feet moving in time to the beat.
We surged forward and my heart fell. Lenny was going to miss his big moment. Cindy had sewn his costume to match the ballet folklórico theme. He’d had fittings, which he hated, to make sure nothing would fall off during his performance. I tried to smile, hating the fact my eyes were full of tears. What was that about? It was just an old parade.
“Hey, Josie! Josie Callahan!”
It was Ryan. He pushed carefully through the crowd ten feet in front of me. He walked toward us as we marched forward. “Didn’t you hear me hollering your name?” He thrust Lenny into my arms.
“What happened?”
He gave Lenny a frustrated look. “Took his sweet time about it. Geez.”
“Where’s his hat?” Cindy had worked hard on the silk number, adding elastic that wasn’t too tight.
“You’re kidding.”
“You’ve got to find it.”
The twin girls ran up with the miniature sombrero. “Does this belong to him?”
“Score.” Ryan gave them each a high five as Lenny and I continued to march slowly toward the gazebo and our big performance.
I cupped his chin and placed the elastic underneath, then I adjusted his hat. A careful look told me there was no need to check for horse hockey—apparently the handsome animals had given it a rest.
When we reached the gazebo, the mayor and the town council stood on a metal portable platform. Hanging from the side of the white planking hung a green, white, and red sign: CINCO DE MAYO CELEBRATION. LET THE FUN BEGIN!
The crowd here was at least six deep, with children sitting on the shoulders of their parents and older brothers. The businesses nearby had festooned their rooftops and balconies with Mexican flags and streamers.
My new shoes felt like shackles on my swollen feet. Lenny’s hair was sticking to my arms in several places. And I was so thirsty I began to envision running into Elaine’s Pies, grabbing a pitcher of ice water from the waiter station, and upending it over my head. I longed desperately to move to the back of our formation where no one could see me, but Mrs. Cogburn was already motioning for us to take our positions.
Anthony and his band formed two lines, one along each side of the crowd. Uncle Eddie had preset a large, red, wooden box to one side of the gazebo. Now Ryan carried it over his head like a deckhand on a pirate ship. He set it down on the pavement in front of Senora Mari and the first line of dancers and bowed.
The crowd whistled and cheered. “Great job, Coach!”
Lily blew a single clear note into the air. The crowd silenced. With true swagger, she played the familiar opening phrase of jarabe tapatío in perfect pitch. The band joined in and we were off. We danced, we smiled, we twirled, and
