christmas eve

It’s late and cold and windy and Maria Gutierrez has no idea where she and her two children, Rey and Nelda, will spend the night. Last night and most of today they stayed at a friend’s, Jessie’s, but that place turned ugly in the late evening when Jessie’s boyfriend, Oscar, came by drunk and angry, threatening Jessie and anyone who might get in his way. Had things been different, Maria would’ve stayed for Jess, or, better, convinced her friend to come with them. But another body was, well, another body, she rationalized, and Jessie seemed okay, or at least said she was or would be. She said she could handle Oscar. The fact was, she couldn’t. Tomorrow she would be found beaten, her bloodied body stuffed in a kitchen closet. Maria knows none of this, now, of course. She is busy parking her car in the back of the vacant, flea market parking lot. It’s a safe spot, she guesses, though so very dark. She turns off the engine and climbs into the back seat with the children. Rey asks, in a polite whisper, for Nelda is already asleep, “Momma will we go to church tomorrow? It’s Christmas.” Maria smiles as bravely as she can, shushes him, pulls him closer. She is 23, Maria is, and scared to death.