Stories of Lotería

The sun had gone down by the time we reached San Diego County. On our right, we passed the twin water-power structures (a pair of boobs is what they're generally referred as) that unofficially mark the entrance to San Diego. We couldn't see the ocean but knowing it was out there in the night made this part of the trip ominous, like we were traveling along the edge of the world. At least it would have if any of us was actually paying attention. But we weren't. If we had run out of gas our incessant chatter could have fueled the car. Our high-pitched laughter was outdone only by the blaring music straining the twelve-year old speakers. Let's see, it would have been stuff like the Smiths, Depeche Mode, some Usher and Next, and a little bit of Tupac - it was 1998 after all and we were L.A. girls. Marina borrowed her mom's four-door Honda so we could take this road trip to El Valle de Guadalupe ( a town outside of Ensenada, Mexico) where her grandparents' ranch was

Lucy heard the deep, warm tones of the cello coming from the dining room and quickly turned off her small transistor radio. Not much could tear her away from the seductive rhythms of Mary Wells, Marvin Gaye, The Supremes or her favorite, Smoky. But when her older brother practiced the cello she was transported to distant places that looked nothing like the confined, chipped-painted walls of their home. She didn't know much about classical instruments or any music besides motown and her parents rancheras, but for some reason those low melodic notes made her think of places she saw only on television. She imagined great concert halls bigger than her school auditorium even, where fancy ladies in the audience sparkle with jewels and the musicians wear expensive-looking suits. Her brother, Sal, played on, oblivious to the world around him. She was careful not to let him see her. In the last few months he had grown more irritable, snapping insults at anyone who interrupted his concentrat