Woman of Light (76)
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At dusk the wedding party snaked to the Fox Street home, following the path of paper lanterns through the backyard. The grass was textured blue, the sky a whisper of day. Alfonso and Lizette entered the celebration, blushing as the crowd cheered them over to the head table. Luz was seated to the right of Lizette, high on a makeshift stage. The yard was set with round tables covered in white cloths, unmarked bottles of tequila near pine-cone centerpieces. In time, the backyard warmed with dancing bodies, the humidity of human existence.
Cousins of cousins had arrived from as far away as Alamosa to cook the marital meal, a roast pig, heaping piles of calabacitas, loads of thick tortillas, beans and tamales, and Filipino dishes, too—chicken adobo, pancit and lumpia, and leche flan. The guests lined up for dinner while Luz and the rest of the wedding party obediently stayed in their seats. They were to greet the guests who approached Lizette and Alfonso at the high table as if paying homage to a new king and queen.
Lizette was extravagant beside Luz, leaning across the table, her smile and arms and breasts abundant against her visitors as she embraced them with enthusiastic Thank yous and I hope you enjoy yourselves. Alfonso shared in his bride’s excitement, lounging in his chair, relishing the sight. After the guests greeted the married couple, they parted like a sea.
There were speeches and applause, laughter and tears. The sun set behind the mountains, spilling golden rays across the yard’s white streamers, as if the world was streaked in paint. The mood shifted from boisterous dinner conversation to a deeper, sensuous feeling that Luz somehow attributed to nostalgia, some sadness for an earlier time. She excused herself from the table, and walked toward the bathroom. She was stopped by several guests before she could slide through the back door and into the crowded kitchen, the dominion of older aunts. It was heavy with food smoke, the smells of pork and cinnamon, sweet cream and coconut. Luz was annoyed upon finding a line to the upstairs toilet, which contorted down the stairs and around the hallway like an eel. She sighed and had prepared herself for the wait when she felt a tug on her left wrist. It was Avel, pulling her into the laundry closet underneath the staircase.
Luz laughed in the dark and Avel moved his fingers through her hair, along her lips. “Hi, baby,” he said.
And, quietly, Luz said, “Hello.”
“I’ve been dying to be near you all night,” Avel whispered.
“Me too,” said Luz. “The bride’s working me to the bone.”
There were the sounds of Avel fumbling, searching for the light’s dangling cord, but he gave up and swatted toward Luz’s face. They fell into each other, kissing in the darkness. “I can’t wait until our day, our wedding,” he said between kisses.
Luz pressed her face into the nook between Avel’s chin and chest. She listened to his heartbeat through his bolero jacket, beneath his silver bolo tie, the muted sounds of the party on the other end of the door like far-off echoes in a cave. She elevated herself on tippy toes and moved her lips toward Avel’s mouth.
Then the laundry closet flooded with light.
Lizette stood before them in her wedding dress, hands on her hips, a look of angry amusement across her married face. She opened her mouth and licked her lips. “Okay, lovebirds,” she said. “We need Avel for the money dance. You’re keeping me from my bucks.”
Luz and Avel fixed their clothes, wiped their mouths. He waited as she finally got a chance to use the upstairs bathroom and then they headed outside into the party, giggling with bowed heads.
By now, night had fallen.
The backyard was a vision of lanterns and electric lights strung between the peach tree and slender aspens. A wooden dance floor had been unfolded across the coarse grass. Luz hurriedly took her seat as Avel and his band ascended the stage. They cleared spit from their horns, plucked strings for tuning. The night sky was a backdrop of stars, erupting in mariachi. Lizette and Alfonso danced as guests showered them in coins and bills, the flicker of silver dollars careening across their arms, pelting their skin and hair at an alarming rate. Luz watched Avel onstage with a kind of gracious respect. She imagined their own wedding, but despite how hard she searched within herself for pictures of their life, Luz arrived at nothing, an ending path.
“I need to talk to you.” It was Maria Josie, standing behind Luz.
“If it’s about the laundry closet, I didn’t mean anything by it. He just pulled me in.”
“I heard from Teresita that you and Avel are planning to be wed.” Maria Josie reached for Luz’s hand and asked where exactly had she kept the ring.
“I was going to tell you,” Luz said, sheepishly, revealing the ring on a fake gold chain about her neck. “We both were.”
“But you didn’t,” said Maria Josie, her eyes defiant in their judgment.
Luz went to say more but as she spoke the sounds of her voice etched into her own ears, a static thrust like a crackling radio. She shook her head. She stood from her chair. Eye level now, she peered into Maria Josie’s face. Her auntie was older than she’d ever been, but with rich skin, darkened eyes, pupils like comets.
“I don’t want to hear nothing about it,” Luz said in anger. “What am I going to do with you my whole life? Live in Hornet Moon, beg for heat and full meals?”
Maria Josie’s eyes widened. She looked upon her niece with an expression that Luz knew was the ugliness of pity. A wind gust carried over from the roadside, flung gravel into the air. The lights and paper lanterns shivered and the trees jittered, as if afraid. Avel’s music blared onstage. The dancing continued.