3 [BEFORE]

He could see it. The piñata-like colours swirling in the breeze were… beautiful. Little seven-year-old Jesús could see the wonderful display through the small hole in the cinder-block above his bed. This one-room casa, built in a hot, dry patch of desert by those nice church-people was a stark, concrete-block box, but his mother constantly called it ‘nuestra hogar de bendicion’… our home of blessing.

Jesús was thrilled that ‘it’ had started. Adelante! Véngase! He couldn’t say anything, but he knew.

He understood. He smiled.

His mother snored softly on the dilapidated mattress positioned against the wall on the concrete floor. Jesús silently watched the unfolding anomaly in the pre-dawn Mexican sky. The colours were beginning to dance and sing… so… beautiful…

‘Ya viene… última tormenta… ya viene’ he thought, but totally unable to share this insight with his exhausted, hard-working Madre.

Unlike the powerful thunderstorms that normally bent him with fear as they rolled over his Mixteco village, he was not afraid of this spectacle. La mujer blanca… muy alta had just told him it would be wonderful, something special for he and his loving mother. The apparition, la mujer blance had glowed and shimmered like the bands now in the sky, and Jesús knew deep down he could trust her, same as the village women talked about their statues of Santa Maria de Guadalupe.

He also knew he and his mother would be leaving soon.

“Ya viene…” said his thoughts… “ya vamos pronto…”

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‘The Last Last Lecture’ is copyright ©2018-2020 by crisbaj. All rights reserved. No reproductions, reprinting or reposting without express permission of the author.

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