Sueña Con Los Angelitos, 2024.
Mixed media. Not for sale

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Art by Evelyn Hernandez
Prose by Valeria Osornio

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It’s Fiesta

The whole family was waiting in the brightly lit living room. All wearing sus mejores garras, colorful dresses, and patterned suits with the belt buckles and pointy crocodile boots. I sat in my room with nothing to wear. Who plans their outfit for this type of event anyways?  I thought to myself.

“Rosita. Mija, estas lista?” Spoke my aunt through the door startling me.

“Sí coming, Tia Sonia, I’m putting on my shoes,” I lied. As I stared into my closet, the only nice dress I had in my closet was black. Considering the night, I thought it could be appropriate. Without much of a choice I threw it on, put on my shoes, and joined the others in the living room waiting for it to be time. My abuelo, Mauricio, who was always losing his leg came up to me and said, “Rosita, why so blue tonight? Hoy es Fiesta!”

Abuelo was always excited when Fiesta day came around, and somehow today he was so ready he had even found his leg and wore sus mejores botas and charro style suit. It was his favorite, after all.

“I’m not blue, abuelito. I just had nothing else to wear,” I replied.  

“Oh bueno. Well, you look beautiful just like your mother.” He said with a smile as we stepped out into the darkness of the night. Everyone was so eager to get the party started. There was so much laughter and noise going on from every realm.

We took our candles and made our way down the colorful corridor of doors. Each one with a different last name. We passed several that read: Garcia, Martinez, Lopez, Rodriguez, Hernandez, and then my aunt stopped in front of ours. Our door was blue with our last name “Flores.” She looked at abuelo and I, and said,

“Here we are. ¿Saben qué hora es?”  We both nodded and hugged just before we opened the door. It was just in case someone got left behind. Abuelo opened the door and walked in first.

“Mi Tequila!” We heard it coming from behind the door and then it was quiet. I giggled as I looked at my tia.

“I guess mi abuela got him his favorite drink, huh?” my aunt laughed and kissed me on the forehead before walking in. As she opened the door and closed it behind her I could hear, “Mi amor, Roberto como estas?” I could tell she was seeing my uncle and asking him how he was. It was funny to me since he can’t hear her.

It was my turn. I stood there with my feet feeling heavy in front of the door.  I don’t know why I was so nervous considering this happened every year. I guess it’s the idea of knowing what’s on the other side and not being able to live in the place I once called home again. I took a deep breath, turned the knob, with my sweaty cold hands slipping. I stepped in and shut the door behind me. Not realizing that I had closed my eyes in the process and had been refusing to open them, I stood there until I caught the warm scent of canela and pan dulce. I quickly opened them, and there at the dining room table laid out with candles and flowers, and my favorite goodnight snack. Cinnamon tea and sweet bread, with a note that read,

“We love you Rosita, glad you’re back. Te extrañamos!

Tu Mamá y Papá.”

I picked up the mug and took a big sniff from the hot tea, the aroma flooded my mind with all the memories of my mamá putting me to bed as a child, while preparing me a warm té de canela. Just after I drank it she would kiss me goodnight and hug me tight. She would say, “Que sueñes con los angelitos, mi amor.” Tuck me in and walk away. Hearing her say those words were always so comforting to hear before bed.

So I took a sip from the tea and put it down. I was no longer nervous and felt joyous and warm to be home. I smelled my flowers and picked up a pretty candle from the bunch. I made my way past the dark living room and walked up the stairs, carefully trying not to make any noise. I turned the corner and saw their room; I stopped and stared at the gray door of their bedroom. Without closing my eyes this time, I turned the knob as I opened the door. I went into the dark room and saw mama and papa in bed sound asleep. I waited at the entrance of the room admiring the scene, remembering the games we’d play in the morning. When I would run in and jump on their bed, waking them up suddenly. I walked over to the edge of the bed by mama and caressed her face softly so as not to startle her in her sleep.

I then remembered to look at the time; since it is known that you could be left behind in this realm. I hated that Fiesta only lasted for a bit.  I leaned down, kissed mama on the forehead and whispered in her ear, “que sueñes con los angelitos mama. Sweet dreams. I love you.” I walked over to papa and kissed him goodbye as well. I so longingly did not want to leave, but now I really didn’t have much time; time works differently here.

I walked back downstairs to the dining room, took some bread and another sip of tea. I picked a blue flower from the bunch and placed it in my hair. I went to the door and turned the knob. As I opened it I heard my abuelo say, “Rosita! ¿Cómo está mi hija preciosa?” The door closed and the Fiesta ended.

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Valeria Osornio | Valeria Osornio was born and raised in Chicago, IL, she grew up with a passion for reading, writing and music. She graduated with a BA in English Literature from Southern Illinois University Carbondale. After graduating she has worked in the southwest side neighborhoods of Chicago coordinating literature programming for youth. Osornio has been a past participant of the Chicago Dramatists and showcased some of her writing at community events. Her work focuses on nonfiction and fiction short stories, poetry, and monologues with topics of latinx identity, immigration, self-discovery, and community. Currently, she is working on creating a nonfiction short story anthology focusing on telling the stories of immigrants and displaced individuals in her life.

Evelyn Hernandez | Chicago raised and based sculptural artist, Evelyn Rubi Hernandez, is known to be purposeful with the materiality they use for their art pieces to serve specific meanings and purposes. For example, making money shreds out of fabric to make a bear made of money to comment on the way the lack of money can ruin many lives. Many themes they touch on in their artwork are topics of family relationships, specifically connecting her experiences growing up as the eldest daughter of immigrant parents and issues relating to immigration, mental health and poverty; issues that overall have impacted her way of living growing up. Through making vulnerable and reflective artworks, they serve as a way of to portray the struggles, sadness, and overall reality of the lives of people alike her family and herself in the U.S, in juxtaposition with the prideful and colorful art that her Mexican culture is known for.

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