Despite the heat, a charity scheduled a vigil on the UTSA campus for the girls who had gone missing in the area and for those who had lost their lives or were detained at the border. The vigil began at 10 p.m. so that the temperature would be bearable. The moon shone brighter than ever in a cloudless sky. I decided to go with Ana, Perla, and Pauline. Fernanda was not herself enough to attend but I would take photos and videos to show her. I hoped messages from her friends would lure her out.
A swell of people showed up including camera crews from local TV stations. It was uplifting to see that even though it was an unsociable hour, people did care. Ana bought the candles from a charity collecting money for undocumented immigrants. Standing in front of the library, we each held a thin wax stick inside a paper cup with a hole at the bottom and a green ribbon tied in a bow around the top.
“What’s new with Fernanda?” asked Ana before the speeches began on the steps of the library. “My mom says people at church are talking because almost every priest has been called to that house.”
“Nothing. It is all the same and I’m out of ideas. Say a prayer for her. Okay?”
Pauline gave me side-eye. “You don’t believe, and you’re telling us to pray? We need to do something!”
I didn’t want a fight, not now, but she was right. Thankfully, the vigil was starting, giving everyone an excuse not to talk about what weighed heavily upon us. We sang songs in Spanish (except me, I only know the chorus to Selena songs) and hymns in English. Families spoke in turn about their experiences and thanked everyone for their support. I took a video of the crowd to capture this moment of unity and care for those usually relegated to soundbites.
A sense of melancholy descended upon the crowd as the vigil concluded, our hopes floating to the sky with the smoke of the burnt-out candles. As I scanned the ofrenda with my phone, a couple kneeling among the cluster of items caught my eye. The woman slipped her hand into the bed of flowers and plucked one out. She then tried to stealthily reach for a photo of a child no older than ten. The man said something and pointed at an object. The woman reached for a small panda Beanie Baby.
“Hey! Stop that! You!” She looked straight at me, startled. The man grabbed her arm and forcefully pulled her away.
“Girls come with me!” The couple weaved between people, moving too fast for me to catch up. The woman kept looking back at me until they disappeared into the crowd. I stopped abruptly.
Pauline caught up to me.
“What was that all about? What is going on with you now?” She wasn’t angry so much as confused.
“Someone was trying to steal a photo and a toy from the flowers. They looked kinda familiar, but I don’t know. Who would steal from a vigil? Fucking loonies.”
Perla shook her head. “This shit is getting so strange it’s making my head spin.”
“I promise we will get through this and get Fernanda to school in the fall,” I said.
“What did we do that night, Lourdes?” Pauline bowed her head trying to hold back her tears.
Perla put her arms around her. “We didn’t do anything.”
Pauline looked at the last of the candles burning next to the flowers and photos. “Like this? This is all one master plan of pain and hate. None of these people deserve to be just photographs. How are we supposed to keep going if there is no road, or signs, fucking nada!”
She was right. What was any of this?
I spent the night at Ana’s house because I needed a bed, not the bench on the side of my house. For the first time in a long time, I was frightened by the dark. I didn’t want to be alone. Seeing that woman stirred something in me, the way she looked at the photo in morbid fascination, the familiar feeling I got from her face.
Ana and I didn’t speak much because we both had work early in the morning. The breakfast shift at Sonic began at 7 a.m. There also wasn’t much to say because life was consumed by the possession of our friend. We kept flopping around trying to get comfortable, even though her bed was big enough for three.
“I can’t sleep,” Ana said.
“Me, neither. I don’t know what to do. And I’ve been having weird dreams.”
Ana turned her head towards me and propped herself up with her arm. “What of?”
“Well, one is of a woman. She looks like a caiman, stunning and powerful. The other is a little stranger, and I cannot figure it out. In my dream, I struggle to breathe. My head throbs at the temples. I’m writing notes in a battered journal overlooking the remnants of a glacier. The sun is scorching my eyes—I am either closer to it or it is closer to earth. Despite being so near to the heat, my skin aches from the cold. I feel a sense of urgency to record my thoughts.”
She stared at me in the dark, and then lay on her back again.
“Let me think about it.”
I took a deep breath, feeling more relaxed. If anyone could figure it out, it would be Ana.
Words flowed from Fernanda like a chant, her inflection and speed changing too quickly for me to discern the exact words. I tried recording it to translate with Google, kneeling next to her in the dirt. It was impossible. Having just that one good night of us all together angered me. What was it all for? Why hadn’t the inhabitant ventured out again since then? I decided to stop recording and switched my phone to the
