Mexican Skies

My favorite time of year growing up was summer--it was then when some of my siblings and I would pack up and go to Mexico to visit our grandmothers. On the last weekend of May, we would always wake up to the voices of my aunt and uncle, who lived across the border, talking to my mother about their ride from Mexico to our house. The scent of some kind of meat with strong spices, homemade flour tortillas, and coffee would follow. By then, my sister Nat and I were fully awake and getting ready to leave Mercedes for the summer. Before we’d make that journey, we’d always drive up to the grocery store to buy loads of food to take to my grandmothers’ house. My mom never wanted us to go anywhere empty-handed. Different flavored sodas, almost every kind of meat, cookies, bread, and every possible kind of junk food was purchased before leaving with my aunt and uncle to this other wonderful country.

The trip was about an hour long, depending on traffic. I always knew when we were in Mexico because as soon as we crossed the International Bridge, the stop signs started saying “Alto”, the buildings started looking older, and there were always people walking everywhere. By then, we knew we were only minutes away from seeing our grandmothers, friends, and dad after a year spent in Texas.

As soon as we’d pull up in front of their little wooden fence, my grandmothers would hurry up to the front porch to greet us. Nat and I were always the first ones to leap out of the van and into their arms. They’d hug us for minutes at a time and ask about our mom and everyone else. I used to always watch my great grandmother hide her tears as we spoke to her about my mom. They didn’t see each other for years, so seeing us was comforting to her. We’d walk through the kitchen and encountered the strong, familiar scent of coffee and sweet bread, into our rooms. Our beds were always freshly made and the rooms always smelled like my grandmother’s favorite perfume, “Agua de Rosas”. We’d unload our clothes and the groceries and got settled in before dinner.

After dinner, my great grandma would go up to her room and sit in her rocking chair, absorbing the last hours of the setting sun, taking in the beauty of her bright rose garden and the warm summer breeze. My other grandmother would lay down on her neatly made bed while she waited promptly for her favorite series of Spanish soap operas to start. She’d give Nat and me her pocket change so we could go buy candies at the little store in the neighborhood since we could never sit still through the whole three hours of “novellas”. On the way over, Nat and I would visit our friends Feliz, Rosa, Chavela, and Leslie. Leslie always had new dolls or new tea sets, the sisters, Feliz, Rosa, and Chavela, were always bickering about something, and Nat and I were always talking with each other in English.

We spent most of the evenings writing on the sidewalk with chalk and watching my older brother and his friends play either basketball or soccer on the street. Our days consisted of running errands, visiting our aunt a couple of blocks from grandma’s, hanging out with our friends in the afternoons, and the occasional visit from my dad. Although it seemed repetitive at times, it was as though every day was new and fresh. There was always something to do, somewhere to go, or a story to learn. I’m sure my siblings and I will never forget about our adventurous summers, and although our grandmas are long gone, our memories in their house will linger on for years to come.