Esmeralda's Road

This is the a post for the series called Flashbacks. I share some of the many standalone memories I have of growing up in LA as the child of Salvadorian immigrants. My brain has blocked out large chunks of my childhood. To keep me feeling safe, I’m sure. So what I do have is a multitude of flashbacks. Vivid images and moments with very little context and a lot of feeling. Some of them scary, some of them happy. The following is my one such memory. Enjoy.

It’s 1992. I am four. I wake up next to the car seat that holds my newborn brother. The sunlight streams into our car as I yawn awake. We are waiting for my mom to pick up my six year old sister from the school bus. I sleepily watch the sunlight shine upon my baby brother. Next thing I know, my mom thrusts my sister into the car and jumps into the driver’s seat. She’s screaming, she’s crying. She’s bleeding. Thick streams of dark red blood flow down her arm, soak through her shirt. She loudly curses them and herself as angry tears stream down her face much like the blood. She puts her foot on the gas and drives wildly in search of those women. “¡LAS VOY A MATAAAR!!!!!!” she bellows.

I wake up (come to?) in a family friend’s home.

My mom is in the hospital.

To be continued…