I saw my closest aunt Vicky and cousin Irene last night. I had just come back from a long drive Guanajuato-DF, this time much more comfortable, easier since I was driving a different car and there was no rain, road bottlenecks, fog nor darkness. My brother and I listened to music and chatted while I drove steady, sunglasses on and the smile of the pleasant road trips. We arrived to DF with rain, just the tiny piece of the end.
Irene and Vicky are a very dominant couple, they talk, laugh and invent constantly, even for my matriarchal family. I seem shy and quiet next to them! They picked me up in a flashy car with a driver, who’s also my aunt’s bodyguard. Vicky is a politician for the left party in DF, and has the most important sector of the city under her supervision. They were coming with another cousin and a friend, so we struggled to squeeze in the back of the car, most of us Jaramillos quite generous at the hips.
We went to a Lebanese restaurant, to show support in light of the terrible attacks lately. Labhni made my heart glad since I remembered my own version at home, compliments of Reem, I never get tired of it. We joked and told ghost stories (Irene’s favorite topic of conversation and I told anecdotes of all the recent events in my life and even sang a country song for Vicky, who thinks the lyrics are great (‘My name is Sue’).
After an excellent meal and very good wine, we left, shielding from the rain outside under two huge umbrellas that the bodyguard was carrying for us. I always feel pampered and spoiled when I cruise DF with Vicky. Our next stop was a cantina, probably from the 80s, where a local, old singer was about to perform rock & roll oldies. She had a surprisingly strong and clear voice, melodic and happy.
We were getting drunk quickly, sipping good beer, criticizing each other and joking about everything. Just as I do with a couple other people in my life, talking to Irene is always a game where we both try to improve each other with clever remarks or funny comments, I love it! We are addicted to dancing and all we need is a little hint of music to start the show, so we were soon on stage with the singer, almost thrown in the air by a couple of seasoned dancers that spotted us quickly and kept our high heels above ground.
The night ended with busy chatting in my aunt’s kitchen and the realization that it was 4am, we were all drunk, and because Vicky had forgotten her purse in the car, long gone from the house with the bodyguard, we realized we were locked in her house. We couldn’t open the door from inside so we arranged ourselves to find a good spot in Vicky’s multiple rooms and drifted our drunken and happy souls to sleep.
The next morning I was eager to go back to my mom’s house, since it was my last day with her and in a couple of hours I’d be on a plane back to NY. I really hope to come back to Mexico soon, I thought, I miss my family and enjoy being part of their daily lives. I called the bodyguards, trying not to wake anyone else despite the squeaky wooden floor and doors around Vicky’s home. They finally came and opened the door for me, just when I was starting to get nervous about the lock-in.
I stepped out quickly, my hair flying all over the place, my little black pumps and my mother’s leather jacket covering the fresh air of the morning. I was almost running to get to the tamales that I knew were also waiting for me. I hadn’t felt like changing the pajama Vicky lent me, a white gown down to my knees, so I looked like I had just escaped from a mental hospital. I giggled all the way to my mom’s house, just a few blocks away, and giggled even more when I went in and heard her and her boyfriend’s laughter at my crazy attire, what a good way to start a day.