Novena

For nine mornings Lunamia accompanied her mother on the dusty, desolate three-hour drive from their home to the place she called “la gruta”. It was outside, under a canopy of trees where they would kneel on a rough patch of cement before a statue of La Virgen de Guadalupe. Later, they would enter a church for prayers. If she was good, sat straight, and said the prayers for the nine mornings, Mamá promised her a sweet from the panadería around the corner from the grotto. She could have anything she wanted. All week she had been on her best behavior. She prayed loud enough and even endured the small daily injury of bloody knees without complaint. She thought it a miracle to watch them instantly turn into sandy scabs. 

On the drive, Lunamia decided that today would be the day she would ask for the cup of arroz con leche instead of the gingerbread marranito she knew her mother would want her to get. She had noticed how the top of the dessert had a thick coat of cinnamon, the spice of affection. Cinnamon was the smell of festive family gatherings and the taste of hugs. On the long drive,  she kept imagining taking a spoon and carefully skimming the cinnamon off with just enough of the creamy pudding, then holding the sweet spoonful in her mouth until the spice tickled the sides of her tongue. 

She had been so consumed with her plan, she didn't notice that the car had stopped. They had arrived. "Okay, mija", her mother said desperately "This is the last day, so pray extra hard for us." Lunamia sat up straight, straightened her socks, and took some spit to the dust on her shoes before getting out of the car. She had worn the same pale blush dress for the past two 2 days and noticed a faint stain along the hem’s edge as it hovered over her knees, somehow a bit shorter than before. She quickly clutched it, wrinkling it in her hand, hoping to hide the spot in the new folds. She was tired and a bit queasy from the ride. She had closed her eyes too long on the drive, the sun at her face, she was now a bit dizzy. She had not eaten breakfast and didn’t know why.  

While they kneeled in silence at the Virgen de Guadalupe, with eyes closed, she could hear the others arriving and opening the church doors. Mamá tugged on the collar of her dress to get up. Frankincense began to fill the air around her. It reminded her of visiting Tia Lina in California last summer. Tia Lina ran out of the house that day squealing with delight, her strong, distinct, almost piquant perfume greeted Lunamia long before Tia's husky and welcoming arms could envelop her. 

Now inside the church, Lunamia took her right pointer finger up to her right eye and with her left eye closed, pretended to control the group in front of her. She whispered her commands, "You, old, Abuelito man, you sit over there, daughter, sit next to him." The elderly man, back hunched over, slowly filed into the same pew he'd been occupying every morning for the previous eight days. His daughter, a skinny, middle-aged woman with a long, drawn face sat next to him. "Now, Abuelito man, say, ‘Por favor, no olvides las promesas.'" The man turned to his daughter and tearfully made his request. "Now, daughter, say, 'Si papa, voy a rezar.'" His daughter clutched his hand as she told him she would pray. 3 

Mamá took Lunamia's hand tightly in hers, crumpling it into a tiny fist, and brought it down against her side as she pulled her into the pew. Lunamia then took her seat next to Mamá. The hard, wooden pew was cold. She always panicked a bit, wondering how she'd make it through the prayers sitting on such a hard surface. She had to be good, no squirming, it was the last day. She inched forward until her feet were flat on the floor. Mamá was staring straight ahead. The priest entered quietly and began to lead the prayers. 

The chorus of tired voices distracted her from nausea she was beginning to feel from an empty stomach and too much redolence. Relieved, by the ability to manage her discomfort, Lunamia sat back, feet dangling above the floor and the cup of arroz con leche with a thick layer of cinnamon returned to her mind. This time, she added large, sugar crystals and raisins to the top. She felt herself sinking into a softness. Suddenly she heard a sharp slap and opened her eyes to the stinging red form of Mamás hand on the top of her thigh