PETEY AND GUADALUPE by Lois M. Valentin
Where do I begin? The middle? The end?
The beginning ? Perhaps somewhere
in between.
I am PJ McClaren. Everyone calls me PJ but
that is not my name. Not many people can pronounce it, not even my parents, so
that is why I am PJ . I used to hate it as it reminded me of pajamas. You know-
pj’s. LOL.
Right now I am a
silvery white haired woman who still lives in the same old place as my parents
and grandparents did. I grew up here. My
memories of life are intertwined with every part of this house and land.
Today was an unusual day.
The little boy next door came to the house
wanting to do odd jobs to make some money. Usually he sells lemonade
in front of his house but he can no longer do that because of some silly city
ordinance that to sell any food you have to have special permits, etc.
Bah humbug! He made the best lemonade.
Secret recipe he always said when questioned. Haven’t have lemonade like that
since I was a little girl.
“ Carlos, you can help me clear this small
path. I forever keep this path clear and clean. There’s a bench at the end near
the tree where I sit every day. Been doing that for decades. But I could always
use some help . If you help me regular,
then count on getting paid regular. “
Carlos thought and agreed. Then shook hands.
A deal is a deal.
He called his dad who said he would be by to
pick him up later.
When Carlos and I were clearing the path, I
noticed he was wearing an old 1/2 medallion from a chain on his neck. It
glistened in the sun. I have one almost like that.
When finished, he and I sat on the bench and
looked at the flowers.
“ My friend and I planted these flowers years
ago when we were little girls. Still to this day they blossom and grow so
beautiful.”
“ They are beautiful and they smell so good”.
“ Carlos. Carlito”
“ Coming papa”
Carlos and I walked to the gate to where his
father was waiting. As introductions were being made, I thought he looked so
familiar. Where have I seen him before?
“ I am Carlos Sr. , but please call me Juan. I
am called Juan after one of my mother’s friends“
“ Juan, Carlos and I were just finishing up
our work. Would you mind if he stays a bit longer so he can make me some
lemonade? I will bring him home myself."
“ That’s okay. No problem. “
After his father left, Carlos and I finished
our outside work then went inside.
Carlos looked around as I put all the
lemonade supplies on the counter.
“ I have a pic like this at my house. It’s on
the mantel of the fireplace.”
I froze. Could it be?
Best lemonade there is. I had Carlos make a
large pitcher so I could have it for the rest of the day.
As we were loading up the car so I could take
Carlos home, his pendant glistened again.
“ Papa, I am home”.
“ Hello
again, PJ”
“ Hello , Juan”.
“ Papa, PJ has a pic like this one on a table
in her living room.”
“ She does”?
I froze. Indeed it was. It was the same pic
of two little girls. Excitement filled my heart.
“ That’s a pic of my mother when she was
little. I was born late into her life.
She died when I was 10. My dad raised me. He died a few years ago. The portrait
on the wall was painted by my mother. It was her last one. They say she was
famous but to me she was and is mom. I put flowers there every day as we could
never find her grave.”
“ Carlos, may I please see your pendant for a
minute”?
Carlos and Juan look strangely as I turned it
over. Indeed. On the back was written Petey.
Excitement
and curiosity filled the air when I took off my pendant and turned it over. On
the back was written Guadalupe. Putting them together they matched.
“ Juan. Carlos. Can you please come back to my house? I have
to show you something”
They followed me home in their car.
“ What’s going on” Is it a surprise?
“ You’ll see.”
I was glowing with excitement. I pulled out a white binder I had on the
shelf. In it were many childhood pictures. Pictures of Petey and Guadalupe.
Pictures of Guadalupe and myself.
I opened the door to the locked room. This
time Juan and Carlos froze. This room was a dedication to my long time
childhood friend. On the walls I had hung many of her portraits that she
painted throughout her years. Each one
told a story of an event in her life.
Amazement
and excitement filled the air. Tears ran down my face as I realized that the
baby in one of the portraits was in fact Juan . Tears ran down their faces ,
too.
“ Juan and Carlos, can you please come with me
to the bench at the end of the path. Bring the shovel . We must hurry.”
At the base of the tree, Guadalupe and I had
buried a time capsule. It was agreed whenever it got dug up, the items would be
sold and the money would be split fifty fifty.
Carlos and
Juan dug until they hit the chest. Actually at the time of its burial,
Guadalupe and I called it a treasure chest. They pulled it out of the ground so
we could open it in the house.
“ Carlos, do
you remember you said you could never find your mother’s grave. Please look at
the stone which was just in back of the flowers . “
On the stone was hand carved “ Guadalupe”.
“ Every day I come here to sit with my best
friend and tell her of my day. Guadalupe was cremated. This is her burial
place. This is where she wanted to be buried. We hand carved our own stones
when we were teenagers. Mine is on the shelf under this bench. Guadalupe’s
stone used to sit on the now empty shelf under the other bench. Her bench.
I had Juan
take out my stone so everyone could see it. Hand carved was “ Pietra Jane” with
a line going thru it. Under it was carved” Petey”. Petey was what Guadalupe
called me. It was my childhood name.
Tears ran down everyone’s face. Juan has his
mother. Carlos has his grandmother . And I have the family of my best friend,
Guadalupe.
