Caleb had never seen mariachis before. And when I drove us to Zócalo Food Park to see the mariachis at their Mexican Independence Day Celebration, the mariachi group that performed ended up being one I had seen before.
I paid little attention while they were setting up, though I pointed out their beautiful matching outfits of navy pants of silver buttoned-sides and ornate embroidered dress jackets. "Los Mariachis Monarcas de Milwaukee" they declared proudly, and suddenly the space filled with music.
Their smiling faces in two lines a mere ten feet from me and I recognized them suddenly. My brain floundered, trying to remember from where I remembered them, and then when it remembered, trying to forget.
The day before Mother's Day last year was a graduation celebration for Latinx students at my university. I was invited to attend the dinner and reception, and I was allowed to invite family members as well. Though I didn't want to attend, I knew it would make my father happy and especially proud of me, since it would be a good demonstration of Mexican pride, something that has ebbed and flowed inside of me throughout the years. My mother, father, and aunt accompanied me and were agog at the elegantly adorned ballroom and embossed leather padfolio I was gifted.
While waiting for dinner, we walked around the silent auction space where a mariachi band was playing. My mother pointed out the tall guitar player and told me he looked like my sister's boyfriend, who she hadn't met yet, but she had seen pictures.
She and I watched the band for a little longer, marveling at the two female mariachis, since most of the bands we'd seen (mostly at Mexican restaurants that sang you "Feliz Cumpleaños") were comprised of only men. We returned to the table where my aunt and father still sat. Mariachis weren't interesting to him anymore, I suppose.
The ceremony made me feel my heritage was something to celebrate, but it also was just another two-hour ceremony leading up to the two-hour ceremony that would be walking onstage to receive a paperless diploma holder. Additionally, my boyfriend, Caleb, texted and invited me to a going-away party down the street that sounded fun, so I was anxious for the extensive and lengthy list of various congratulations to be over.
My family said they didn't mind leaving soon after the ceremony, since they had to drive home two hours anyway. I hugged them all and said thank you for coming down! And ran out without a second glance.
Everyone at the going away party was already in a good mood: Caleb had a drink in his hand, Tanya greeted me with a hug despite never meeting me before, and Ian was discussing movies with a group of people in the kitchen. The night was long and it ended nearly at bar close after too many shots for several people at the party.
I went to work at 7AM-2:30PM the next day, and luckily I wasn't hungover, just tired. Caleb was both. However, it was also Mother's Day, and his mom invited us over. I ran across the street for flowers after work, something I'd never done for my own mom, though I wouldn't have done it anyway, since she always complained when people bought her anything, especially flowers. "They die right away, anyway."
I texted my mother "Happy mother's day!" and told her that I was celebrating with Caleb's mom since she was cooking us dinner and having a little get-together. Plus, she lived 40 minutes away, while my mom lived an hour and a half. She texted back "That sounds fun!"
I wondered if she was jealous or just okay with me playing the part of another woman's daughter.
Maybe she was relieved, since she hated cooking, especially for large groups of people. I had never seen her use a cookbook or even print out a recipe.
Maybe she rests easier now thinking that another woman can take her place. She was never classically maternal, and she told me she didn't want children until she gave birth to us.
Maybe I should worry less about it than I do, but I regret neglecting her place in my life so easily while she was alive.
Only now do I feel the empty space beside me where a mother should be. And if I was in that time and place again, I would stay with my mother until the very end, just to hold her for a few seconds more.
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