Our Lady of the Lowriders by Doug Lambeth

Author:Doug Lambeth [Lambeth, Doug]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: coming of age, catholics, southern california, best friends, miracles, 1970s, mexicans
Publisher: Sashee Press via Indie Author Project
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Another funeral. I don't like the way funerals feel. There's a bizarre unreality to them, a feeling that it's a big practical joke, that the person isn't really gone, that the casket lid will pop open and they'll jump out and everybody will get on with their lives.

I'm sitting a few pews back from the front with Mom and Father Quinn. Mr. Montoya's casket is at the altar, and I can't help remembering the way I felt at Dad's funeral. The huge Montoya family fills the first three pews, and most of them are weeping.

Aunt Yolanda is in the pew directly in front of me. Her long, black hair hangs over the back of the pew and when she moves it lightly dances against my knees.

Her kids sit next to her, polite and quiet. Even though they're not very big, they understand the solemnity of the occasion and aren't messing around like they usually do. Aunt Yolanda is living permanently with the Montoyas now; she's busy at college and working part-time at a real estate office. Jesse says when she gets her AA degree she'll start selling real estate.

"How come she needs to go to college to sell real estate?" I had asked.

"She says she don't want to be a dummy anymore."

I thought that made good sense. Not that I ever thought she was a dummy. I've also noticed lately that she's looking different. She's toned down the killer makeup and she's let her hair go long and straight—no more of the enormous big-hair beehivey stuff. Even though she's old—she's somewhere in her thirties—she looks better now than she ever has. When I've seen her lately she hasn't tried to terrify me like she used to. I guess with school and all she's got other stuff on her mind. That's okay with me, since I don't like being terrified by man-eating spider-women, but I still think about her sometimes at night and beat off. After all, I'm only human.

The priest does the funeral mass in Spanish, since most of the people here are Mexicans. Father Quinn speaks Spanish, so he's real into it. He's intense about everything. I wonder what it's like for him to be in church but not be the master of ceremonies any more.

My mind wanders, like it always does during mass, but Mom is sniffing and dabbing tears with a linty Kleenex. I think she's crying because she's reminded of Dad more than being sad about Mr. Montoya.

Jesse sits in the front row with his mom and brothers and sisters. Although everyone around him is sniffing and sad, Jesse sits, stoic, staring straight ahead. I can't tell since I'm sitting behind him, but by his rigid posture and lack of movement I'm wondering if he's in the miracle zone. I hope he doesn't do anything stupid to make his dad's funeral a joke; I'm positive now that Jesse's just a deluded fake, not an intentional liar, but somebody who's confused and a little disturbed. I'm considering bugging him again to go see a psychiatrist.

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