where the now closed Century Park 16 stands. And by good, I meant the ones we weren't allowed to watch...
On those Saturday nights when the aunts and uncles, and all the cousins would drop by to see how my Nana was doing, on those nights the grown ups would gather outside and bring out the guitar and sing or start talking about some crazy stuff, like cold chills and lost treasure in the Tucson mountains. Every uncle had a ghost story that topped the other and they were original not your typical crap that I heard at school by foolish boys and silly girls. I'm talking full fledged "you better care for your soul" stories that were ingrained into your consciousness for an eternity.
And so life went on like that, stories were told in the confines of old adobe homes with family portraits from the 50s on display in the living rooms and calendars with pictures of astronauts and the Apollo mission. I was a curious kid and I loved going with my Dad and brother to help out aunts and uncles with side jobs, whether it was cleaning a yard or helping build an addition. On this day we were going to my Tia Juana's and I liked going to their house because it was like a time machine. My Tia Juana Benitez was also a local celebrity of sorts, she was one of the women pictured in a famous chicano history iconic photograph of Mexican American women on a Southern Pacific train in World War II era Tucson.
But it took time to warm up to the place. There were no toys, nothing that immediately grabbed your attention, especially if you were 8 or 9 years old. The den had a TV that was showing either a news show or the radio was on playing old mexican standards. Old reader's digests laying around along with some newsmagazines and this cool recliner that invited all to sit and read a good book were some of the focal points for me at that house. The kitchen was tidy and you could see my aunt's boxes of old Stanley Home products and crates of Pleasure Time soda.
Once we were done helping my dad clean or build something we would take a break and head inside to get out of the sun. My Tia would have some sandwiches or soup for us to eat and my brother and I would explore the house. I liked looking at the old photographs that were hung on the wall or the curios in her glass case. She collected a lot of stuff, a lot of kitschy stuff but cool none the less. I believe on this day in particular my brother were playing with a deck of Old Maid cards with these silly pictures of people that always cracked me up. We would play a few hands and the sun would begin to set and my dad would leave us there with my Tia Juana and my Tio Victor to pick up my mom who would be visiting with relatives. They would talk to us and then my Tio Victor would take out these books with some cool pictures of cars or show us some of the stuff he was working on. But most of the time my Tia would ask how we were doing in school and if we were helping my mom and dad and that we were good kids.
Soon my mom would join up with us and we would have dinner and as the night wore on, the stories soon filled the air like layered clouds of smoke. The usual catching up of cousins and others would line up on the conversation cue. Remember I mentioned the old recliner? Well soon on that very same recliner I was being lulled by the dim voices of the 60 minutes anchormen on tv and the voices of my family in the kitchen...
I think i was in that state where the falling down scenario appears that twilight moment between consciousness and the surreal dreamscape that would soon engulf me. It was at the moment where I was about to drift into a golden slumber that I heard one of the stories that would haunt me forever.
It must have been my dad who asked about certain flowers and their properties. But there I lay awake fully conscious and cognizant of their recollections of certain flowers and herbs that were used for healing. Then there was the one...the devil flower as my tia called it. This flower had a sweet fragrance that would fill the air with an aromatic presence that lured passers by with its tempting odor. Many were entranced by the flower which was also capable of speaking to its prey with sweet voices, beware though it was really the devil. Now that really creeped me out. A talking flower, ay guey! and to top it off it was el diablo...think of it a flower that talks to you, crazy.
Now my family were and are devout Catholics, my nana had a sign outside that basically if you were stopping by to proselytize, you better just head on back...I love that part. Anyways I digress, Tia Juana's story of the Devil Flower, sounded familiar, like some distant echo from the past. Was it genetic memory?
Soon it was time to go home and I was dreading passing by her front lawn, home to a variety of flowers and decorative plants. I was petrified with fear that one of those beautiful flowers would try to mislead me. So I put my hands on my ears and walked to the truck. I'm pretty sure my parents tripped out on me, if they only knew that I was awake and listening to their tales. One thing I have learned over the years, not all of those flowers are bad...the Yaqui have a name for the Flower World...Sea Ania. I want to learn more about that...
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