Fernanda continued to walk at a calm pace. “It will be dawn soon. There will be enough traffic; they will be found. But it makes me sad.”
Do you feel remorse?
“I am sad because there are so many other sinners like that out there. Like the stars, doing bad things that are only seen long after the deed is done.”
Don’t worry, Fernanda. We will continue to bring justice, though not like this. Humans have created a system to process wrongdoing, to weed out the guilty and innocent. It is imperfect, but it is all you have. You can lead the way for change. Bring a real sense of equality and justice in the way humans need. Look at how big the night sky is. That should be your ambition.
Fernanda stopped and looked above her head. The sky didn’t end.
“You are right. Let us work together. And I like the idea of making it official one day.”
Fernanda could hear the TV volume higher than usual that morning when she walked out of her bedroom. Her mother turned to her. “Mija, listen.”
If you are just joining us, here are the headlines. Father Moreno, the man convicted of the murder of Martha Sanchez, has been moved to a psychiatric facility where he will serve his sentence. It is unknown if this was a single incident or if there are other victims.
Another tragedy unfolding is the raiding of a trafficking ring led by Paul and Corinne Maddox. It also appears they have murdered young men and women, whose bones were found in their home. Ten children kidnapped at the border and South Texas have been taken into care. The couple’s involvement was only discovered after their bodies were found outside their car off Military Highway. It appears they were set alight. We will keep you updated on this case.
And now to Damien Pierce for the weather.
Well, folks, it looks like our prayers have been answered and we are expecting thunderstorms throughout the week. This couldn’t come at a better time because the reservoir is at dangerous levels. Flooding alerts are expected to be issued.
The letter I posted for the professor was a recommendation for a scholarship for entrance to her department and a paid work-study under her. I cried for days after receiving this news, the image of her body in my mind entangled with a feeling of overwhelming gratitude.
The university respected the professor’s wishes and I was admitted with a full scholarship as long as I kept my grades above a 3.5 GPA. I thanked the heavens for this gift and wasn’t about to fuck it up. On the weekends I made sure to visit Dr. Camacho’s grave. Beneath the auburn trees that signaled the change of season and the welcomed cooler weather, I grieved for her. It was also time for my interview with the history department to see if I could keep my work-study and continue deciphering the stories.
Pauline accompanied me, ready to stand by my side if needed. My body was a live wire, the fear threatening to make my legs run away. But I could do this.
“You ready?”
I looked at the cover page of the first translations with Dr. Camacho’s name next to mine and Perla’s. “Yeah, as ready as I will ever be. I promise Dr. Camacho will never be forgotten. Tlazoltéotl and all her knowledge will be in the world.”
“If anyone says you can’t hold a dream in your hands, you can show them that. No one can take it away.”
“Don’t make me cry, Pauline! Not now.”
We giggled like we were back in school sharing gossip. We were women, finding our way in a world that didn’t give us a second glance.
“No! I’m sorry. Don’t cry. Find that strength you have shown all this time. I know it’s there. You go in there and kick some ass. Don’t curse. And after we’ll go get some Whataburger. My treat.”
“I better not fuck up then.”
The door to the conference room opened.
“We are ready for your presentation.”
Pauline and I looked at each other with wide eyes and smiles. She gave me an assuring nod before I turned to follow the department head through the door that changed the course of my life.
After three weeks I learned the work-study was approved. I thanked the goddess in my mind for her blessing of the stories. We didn’t know what the future would look like for any of us, only that it was ours.
Fernanda started college as planned. She sent us regular updates about her classes and new friends. She decided to run for student government, something she was asked to do many times in high school by various teachers but had always declined, claiming she didn’t have enough time with her school work. Now she made the time. This was the beginning of a Fernanda who seemed happy and enthusiastic about her future. It would be okay. Whatever worries she harbored the year before were all but gone. Her self-assuredness blossomed.
Tlazoltéotl remained in hibernation, only coming out when she was called by Fernanda. There she worked through her, with her; they listened to each other in harmony, achieving their goals with the help of the other.
The night before Fernanda left, we sat in a circle on my floor with a bottle of tequila. Depeche Mode played low on my stereo. We looked at each other, remembering the night it all began.
Fernanda broke the silence. “Thank you for always being by my side. I know it was frightening and had an ugly end. I wish to God it did not happen the way it did. If only Dr. Camacho’s death could have been prevented. But we stuck together. To being Chicana brujas always.”
She raised her shot of tequila with tears in her eyes and pupils vibrating. Tlazoltéotl was with us.
“And to the goddess for her teachings. May her words show us the way.” I raised my shot.
“To Dr. Camacho,” said Ana.
Pauline and Perla looked at each other.
