There were nights that kept us up, nights when the Santa Ana winds roared with fury. Those nights always followed the same pattern.
A large, three-paned window provided a view of our cul-de-sac. One day, when the winds were roaring, I stared out into the darkness of our neighbourhood, at the shadows of palm trees swaying. Their leaves looked like the weeping feathers of a wet bird. Wind whistled through the cracks in the windows and doors and warned us of its strength. Fear overtook my mother’s body.
“Cholo, let’s go,: my mother said.
I picked up my favourite toy, a worn-out stuffed animal that looked like Snoopy, and shoved it under my arm, its once smooth surface now pilled and faded. She collected some of our belongings – clothes, numerology books, a statue of Ganesh, holy beads and a single stack of cash – and shoved them into our suitcase, a small forest-green bag with a bright line of red duct tape across it so we could easily identify it on any baggage carousel.
We drove to the nearest Motel 6. My mother panicked that we might lose everything except the small suitcase with a little bit of money and books meant to...Read more
