Moving unexpectedly and often was a way of life for us that I accepted. But that didn’t mean I enjoyed leaving a familiar place for someplace unknown. Just the fact that it was always done in the middle of the night was disconcerting. Continual moves across thousands of miles prevented me from ever feeling settled anywhere. Our lives were characterized by fear, chaos, and insecurity, with my mother’s presence, love, and care the one constant source of comfort and stability.
We drove and drove and drove. It’s funny the things you remember. Texas is a big state, and we drove straight through it. The landscape left much to the imagination, being mostly flat and dry in the heat of a Texas summer. I occupied my mind by reading the road signs along the way and couldn’t figure out what BBQ was. We didn’t go out to eat, and I had never experienced the taste of barbecue, so my mom had to explain what the letters meant.
We passed much of the time playing made-up road trip games. The stops for gas were quick, with several of us crowding into the women’s bathroom at one time. The grown-ups would get coffee to stay awake, but no other treats were purchased. When we got to the border, we were told to stay quiet and let the grown-ups do all the talking.
All told, that trip —heading south from Denver right into the heart of Mexico —covered more than 1,700 miles. We finally stopped in front of an apartment building in Catemaco, Veracruz, and began unloading the car. The heat and humidity was stifling; it caught in my throat and made it difficult to draw in a deep breath. It felt like walking into a sauna compared with the dryness of the Mile High City we’d left behind. My clothes stuck to me when I walked, and sweat trickled through my hair and down my neck and back.
What happened next was a blur. Strangers greeted us at the door, kissed our cheeks, then quickly ushered us in and closed the door behind us. The adults talked in whispered tones in the crowded kitchen, leaving us kids to guess what was going to happen next. Who are these people? I wondered. They smiled, but the gesture seemed hollow —forced. What are we doing here?
Then suddenly, the worst thing imaginable happened. My mother, who held my baby sister, Adine, on her hip, headed for the door. Avoiding my gaze, Celia followed them. With a slight wave of her free hand, Mom said a quick good-bye. I stared at the three of them, my mouth agape. I knew not to make a scene, after doing so two years before on the driveway in Dallas and being chided for it, but as I looked at Adine, I envied her and wished I were still the baby, the one who got to stay with Mom. Mom always insisted on keeping the youngest child with her when she traveled for my dad. I remembered going with her on long trips before Hyrum and Adine came along and ousted me from that coveted position.
I vividly remember one trip in particular. It was just my mom and me in her old, baby-blue Volkswagen Beetle. I remember we were driving on a mountain switchback and when I looked out the window, I could see that there were no guardrails on the edge of the road. I was frightened that the car might plunge over the precipice and couldn’t stop shaking.
I shuddered at the memory. The confusion I felt now didn’t help the shaking. I knew why Mom had to take Adine, but I didn’t understand why Celia had to be taken somewhere else. Why can’t Celia stay here with me? In Celia’s absence, I would be the oldest of my siblings left there. I watched as the station wagon pulled away, leaving behind our small group made up of Hyrum, a few other siblings, and me.
Rafael and Antonia, strangers to me but recent converts to my father’s church, cast surly looks our way, so I quickly glanced around our new home. Their second-floor apartment had tile floors and was sparsely furnished, but it was a nice place by Mexican standards, especially when compared with the hut behind the apartment.
The neighbor’s home was built out of sticks and had a thatched roof. The door was open, and I could see that the floor was just hard-packed dirt. Someone had fashioned a broom from a long stick with twigs tied around the bottom, and the mother was using it to sweep out trash from the house.
As the weeks went by, I noticed a grown man, who had legs that didn’t work, living in the hut, along with a few small children. I wondered if he was their dad. He walked around on his hands and kept his useless legs folded up Indian-style. I was fascinated with how quickly he could get around walking only on his hands. He needed that skill to dodge the dogs, chickens, and pigs that scurried in and out of the hut as they pleased.
I spoke up for myself and my siblings, feeling the weight of responsibility of being the oldest, even though I was just nine years old. “When’s my mom coming back?”
“Stop asking questions! That’s how little girls get into big trouble. You don’t want trouble, do you?” Antonia stood with her legs apart and stared at me, hands on her slim hips.
I bit my lip. Of course I didn’t want trouble. But I didn’t understand how asking a few questions about my mom fell into the category of causing trouble. Still, I shook my head. My questions remained unasked but never left my mind. Where did my mom go? How long would she be away? And most important, would I ever see her again? The stability and comfort she provided, which I’d known and depended on all my life, was gone. What I didn’t know then was that it would be more than a year before we would be reunited.
I found some comfort in having Hyrum and a couple of other siblings there. But I desperately missed Celia, who I learned had been sent to another home in Calería.
It didn’t take long to realize that Antonia didn’t appreciate caring for and feeding more children than her own, Gabriel and Rosa. As the weeks went by, it seemed as though she seized every opportunity to shame and humiliate my siblings and me. Why did Mom leave us with someone who seems to hate us so much?
I retreated inward. Though I’m certain there was nothing wrong with my hearing, everything felt off kilter and sounded far off, as though I had cotton in my ears or the way sounds are muffled when your ears are plugged with water. It was as if I were hiding in plain sight. I learned to be seen and not heard in those close quarters. The dwelling always felt crowded, especially since many other members of the cult came and went from Rafael and Antonia’s apartment, usually in the night. The overcrowding only exacerbated my intense loneliness. I felt alone, silenced, unseen, and invisible —unless I caused a problem.