Song of the Mockingbird: My Journey with Josefina

A different kind of house sits in its place. It’s adobe too, but much bigger than ours, with only a few teeny windows and a giant wooden front door. It looks like a fortress. The driveway, cars, and telephone lines are gone, too. A few chickens peck near the door, and goats wander by the house. Panic wells up inside me and I feel like I’m drowning. I’m dreaming, of course.

Then, a girl comes out of the little door cut right into the big front door of the house. She’s about my age, ten, with a long, dark brown braid. She’s carrying an empty basket. She stops when she sees me and we stare at each other. Then she drops the basket and rushes over to me.

She asks if I’m lost, covered in dirt, hurt? I’m freaking out again. Her words aren’t English, but I understand them anyway. It sounds like Spanish. I took Spanish class back in Chicago, but I don’t know much, and I wonder if she knows English.

I say I do need help, and my eyes bulge. I’m speaking Spanish, too. Carefully, I explain that I was just sitting on the rock, still in Spanish. The girl nods like she understands me too.

The girl peppers me with questions, but I can’t stop staring at her clothes. She’s dressed just like me: a long blouse, full gathered skirt, a long sash, and moccasins, with a leather pouch tied at her waist. This must be a dream set in old-fashioned days, but it feels vivid.

The girl introduces herself as Josefina Montoya and asks my name and how I came to her rancho. I look around. She must mean this place, like a ranch. I see cottonwood trees, fields spread out like blankets, men in wide hats working, two riding across on horses, and a big herd of sheep bleating in a stick enclosure.

When I look confused, Josefina reaches out and fingers a long tear in my skirt, then looks at a streak of dirt on my forehead. She says to come inside, where Tía Dolores can help.

Josefina leads me toward the huge wooden door, past the goats sniffing at me. The little door cut into the big door stands open, and I stumble on its high threshold. Josefina says I don’t feel well, and she’s right. This feels less like a dream with every passing moment. She squeezes my hand and says she’ll make me chamomile tea. Tía Magdalena adds that’s best for calming nerves.

I think of the chamomile tea Mom always makes when I feel sick. Tears well up and I swipe my hand across my eyes. Josefina sees them and tells me not to worry, I’m safe now, she’ll take care of me. Just as she leads me through the doorway, something makes me turn to the horizon, and there, like Chicago’s skyscrapers, I see three rounded spires standing tall against the blue New Mexico sky.