The Two-Faced Virgencita Candle

by A. P. Olivas, 2010

Esmeralda

It seems like the apartment on the corner changes owner every month. A few months ago, a crazy bruja with five whiny cats circulated the place. Weeks later, a traveling disco DJ occupied the small apartment with a different girl every weekend. Now the latest resident, a hard-faced man in a faded black shirt, has shown up with a red pickup truck riddled with slumped boxes. He shuffles in a pile of blue jumpsuits with oil stains too difficult to Shout out, a yellowed twin mattress, and a small TV that probably needs a digital converter box.

I close the eyelet curtains and continue getting ready for my second shift at my third part-time job, the one I had to scrounge for after my boyfriend of three years moved out. I’m not very religious, but every time I go to sleep since our breakup, I pray to God or La Virgencita, and frankly to any entity who’s willing to listen. I even got one of those long green candles encased in protective glass with the Virgin Mary stamped to it on two sides, which I always have trouble placing on the mantelpiece that floats above my fake fireplace. I don’t want to jinx anything and face one of the Lupes against the brick wall, so they always end up facing side-to-side, one watching me enter the apartment and the other watching me enter my empty bedroom.

My next-door neighbor, Amelia, gave me the candle when she heard me sobbing through the paper-thin walls a few weeks ago. She said to pray often. She said it would bring me what I wanted most, which was Ruben, and I believed her.

The crying episodes became less frequent, but I was still unbelievably miserable. If it weren’t for Amelia, I wouldn’t know who else to turn to. My girlfriends were sick of hearing about Ruben. My family hated him from the start and I was tired of hearing my mother say, “Ves? Te lo dije.”

I face the full-length mirror and pleat my apron down, put my dark hair in a messy ponytail, and apply a coat of black mascara to bring out my brown eyes. Past my reflection, I notice the candle glistening in the dim light beaming through the living-room window. I kiss the Virgencitas with my fingers and leave my apartment. I wave cordially at the newcomer and also at Amelia, whose petite frame occupies her front window every day and her porch every evening. I knew she would have the inside scoop about the new tenant in the corner apartment because her place was the only one adjacent to it.

Amelia

The hooligan takes his time rifling through his dirty Mazda making sure he has all his trinkets inside a cardboard box before the sun finishes setting. He wipes his brow with the back of his arm, and I’m surprised it doesn’t leave a streak because of all the tattoos scattered across his dark skin. No doubt he just finished packing his last knife before looking up at me, and I couldn’t turn away. He smiles wily as he locks the truck even though it is bereft of its value.

He comes right up to me and I freeze in my plastic lawn chair.

“Buenas noches. How are you?”

I don’t respond.

“My name is Braulio. Obviously I’m your new neighbor,” he says half chuckling.

“Amelia,” I extend my arm timidly. “Say, what brings you here?”

“Oh. Change of scenery. I had to get away.”

“Mmmm que la,” I mutter inaudibly. “Otro cholo corriente. Do you have any kids?”

“Yes. Two kids, four and two years old,” he signs with his enormous fingers. “God, I miss them.”

“Yea, I bet you do. And what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a mechanic.” Funny, I thought. With a get-up like that? I feign an incredibly loud yawn and forget to cover my mouth.

“Well, you have yourself a nice night, ma’am,” he says taking the hint.

“Thanks. I will,” and he shuts his door quietly behind him.

Great, this is just what I need. I hobble inside to my sanctuary and promptly face the porcelain face of the Virgin Mary. I pray.

Esmeralda

Sunday is my only day off from all the chaos of substitute teaching and two restaurant jobs, all of which are unreliable forms of income. If I had Ruben, I wouldn’t have to work as hard to keep my own place and pay off my credit card bills and outstanding student loans. I step outside to get the newspaper that always lands on my porch even though I do not subscribe. Amelia told me not to bother looking for the rightful owner of the subscription since he or she hadn’t cared enough to fix the problem. It seemed logical, and I’ve gone along with it mostly for the coupons.

Right when I reach down, I hear Amelia’s door close. “Hi Esme. I have the info,” she giggles. I’m sure she was quite the gossip queen at her high school 40 years ago. I’m about to throw the paper into my living room and she says, “Bring that with you.”

I oblige and scurry to her porch decorated with mismatched pottery oozing with plant life. I kiss her wrinkled cheek as I hug her tiny body dressed in Sunday best and step inside her apartment. Inside is like a miniature church; a wide exhibit of Catholic saints, a huge crucifix, and an elaborate Virgen de Guadalupe shrine with lights and water fountains welcoming me. I start to imagine what heaven must be like. I’ve seen this fantastic array before, but never in the same arrangement. The only thing that remains the consistent is how the sad eyes of the figurines always pierce clear through my soul. Amelia snaps me out of my trance with swift motions toward her tiny two-seater kitchen table while she peeks out the beige mini blinds.

“His name is Braulio, a no-good father of two who left his wife to pursue a life of crime. He says he’s a mechanic, but I’m sure that’s the cover up for his real job, stealing and selling cars. Just look at what he’s driving today,” she says turning toward me.

I peer over and spot a little white Honda Civic. “You mean, he stole that?”

“Yes. When he first moved in, he had that little piece of crap truck. The next day he shows up in an old Cadillac that he worked on for two days straight. And yesterday, all of a sudden, he shows up in that immaculate car!”

“Maybe he borrowed the truck to move his things—“

“Psshhhh. You really think he ‘borrowed’ it when he has all these other cars?” she says with air quotes.

“You did say he’s a mechanic. Maybe he was fixing the Cadillac.”

“Oh since when do you hear about a mechanic taking your car home, unless he’s off joy-riding in it? If he’s not selling cars, you know he’s at least enjoying them and picking up wild women. That’s probably why his wife left him.”

“He had a wife? Wow, how do you get so much information out of people?”

“Call it a gift. Just be careful around him. No le tengas confianza. He might offer to fix your car, but next thing you know he’s using it to impregnate another senseless hussy with a bastard child to live off of welfare.”

A pang of hurt hits me close. Ruben had left me to be closer to his kids, whose mom moved them away in an attempt to control him. Unfortunately, her plan worked and he was out of my life. Instead of fighting her in more court battles, he would rather just follow his kids, and how could I compete with them?

I excuse myself quickly and wave to my Virgencitas when I come home. I kneel a prayer and run straight for my bed.

Amelia

The loser revs up a red Chevy Malibu in front of his porch. I should call the cops and turn him in, but I want to see what else he does. Maybe he sells drugs on the side. Maybe he fixes cars for cartel members. Maybe he stashes illegal substances in those ratty boxes. It is my duty to find out.
Braulio rubs his bald head with his hand and proceeds to click away at the engine. I take Esmeralda’s newspaper out to my porch and pretend to read. “Buenos días,” he greets me, wiping his oily hands on an old sock-turned rag. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” I say. “Would you like anything? If you do, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re neighbors you know.”

“No, thank you,” he says smugly. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“Too late,” I say to myself. “You bring your work home?”

“Yes. Sometimes. My clients trust me more than anyone else and I want to make sure I do the job right. The shop is going through some changes right now and it forces us to close earlier than I would like. These people need their cars sooner than the next day.”

“Isn’t that against company policy?” I say accusingly.

“Not when you own the company and your customers sign release forms.”

“Hmmmph,” I say crackling my newspaper shut. I shove back into my apartment where at least I know I’m safe. I pray to the Virgencita to please keep me safe from the criminals and to take away this horrid man that has blemished the apartment complex. “I hate him,” I conclude. “Amen.”

Esmeralda

Working three jobs has really started to take its toll, but I need the money so I can get out of this place. I picked up a double shift at a Mexican restaurant and I can’t find my stupid black apron. Finally, I opt for the white one hanging behind the bathroom door and rush out without even acknowledging my Virgencitas.

Inside my car I get all the essentials set up: make-up bag, cell phone, a banana, in other words, a car accident waiting to happen. I turn the ignition and it doesn’t start. It just whirrs and clicks. I try again. Click-click-click. And again. Click-click. Again. Click. “Damn! Not today!” I hit the steering wheel and inadvertently honk. Amelia’s eyes watch me intently through the thin slits, but she does not budge. I didn’t expect her to know what was wrong with my car, but a little sympathy wouldn’t hurt.

Just then Braulio comes running out. He smiles warmly to me while I hit the power locks. “Need some help?” he asks politely.

“No,” I answer weakly. “No, I think I got it.”

Puzzled, he resumes, “Oh, well turn the ignition.”

Please God, help me get out of this mess. I turn the key. Click-click-click.

“Must be the alternator,” he says rubbing his budding hair follicles. “Here, let me give you a hand. Pop the hood” he motions with his arm.

Reluctantly, I reach down and grab the hood release. He’s off to work like a dog at the racetrack. Seconds later, his face appears at my window, “Were you in a hurry? It might take a while. I don’t know if it’s the alternator or the fuel pump. I can take you where you need to go and look at it while you’re gone.”

I’m not sure what to do. I glance up toward Amelia’s usual perch and the blinds are closed. Did she see that he was helping me? Desperate, I acquiesce. “Yes, I need to get to work.”

He leads me to his car of the week, a green Neon with a car seat in the back, and opens the door for me. I climb in while he makes his way around. “Where to?”

“La Malinche.”

“Ah. No way, you work there? The food there is awesome. It’s greasy on the outside but so tender and delicious in the inside.”

I nod. What would he expect in return? Would he want to use my car? Would he sabotage my car and offer to fix that for a fee? I immediately slouch to the inner depths of the car seat.

Braulio

This girl seems to have melted into my passenger seat. I try to make conversation with a side of her pale face.

“So how long have you been working there?”

“I just started there a few weeks ago.”

“Oh. You’re still a rookie. Rookies can’t be late.”

“Nope,” she responds shyly.

I smile as I adjust the rearview mirror. “It’s hard to start something new, but it’s inevitable,” I say enunciating my syllables carefully. “You just have to have faith that everything will turn out alright in the end.”

“Faith,” she whispers.

“Yeah. Take me for example. My girl’s mother just died and it really brought us down emotionally and financially. We had to help cover the funeral costs so we sold our home. Now she’s staying with her family in Durango in order to take care of some family business while I stay at the apartment complex in order to save some money and to remain close to my business,” I say.

“Your business?”

“Yes. My dad used to own the auto shop down the street, but I just recently took over it. It’s going through some renovations while we expand it, which is why I sometimes take some of my work home with me.”

“Oh,” she mouths with her freshly painted lips.

“It’s tough. I miss my wife and kids, but it’s for the better. You just have to have faith,” I say pulling out my tiny gold chain with the Virgencita. I kiss it and let it fall back onto its place on my chest.

“Do you pray?”

“Of course,” I respond edging closer to the driveway of the restaurant. “I am thankful for what and who I have.” I park by the side entrance. “Do you need me to pick you up?”

“No. That’s all right. I can ask for a ride home,” she says handing me her car keys. She finally smiles through her big brown eyes, “Thanks for helping me find my way here.”

“You’re welcome.”

Esmeralda

Jennifer, my noisy co-worker, drops me off at my apartment later that night. As I walk toward my door, I look at Amelia’s glowing window. The blinds are drawn and her lawn chair is gone. I shrug and head into my apartment. The Virgencita is staring at me as I move across the room. I glance back and the other face is watching me too. I grab the glass container and look inside. The wick and wax are waning into nothing, but I have to have faith.