#chicano

Earlier that year, a young Latino man was possibly murdered by an unknown assailant? (LAPD botched the case so bad no one is sure if it was actually murder) and 17 Latino boys were arrested without evidence. They were not given a fair trial, with accusers even going so far as to bring in a sheriff to claim Mexican people had a biological need for violence. Activists who helped get the case thrown out and the accused men released were investigated for communism.

Diego digs his old huaraches into the sterilized floor of the doctor's office as he hears the

news that the doctor just delivered. Cancer. No cures. Limpas. Or Jugos de nopal, made by his

late wife, Esperanza, could have prepared him for this.

"Did you hear me, Mr. Sanchez? You have cancer. It's terminal. Termino. Do you

understand what this means? Comprende?"

Diego nods his head reluctantly; his mind is still in shock. Memories of early mornings

visiting the market with his wife flood his mind, followed by the day he lost her. Seven years ago

, when he had woken up early, just like he did every Sunday, getting ready to take his wife to

market. He had prepared coffee in the olla de barro just as he had watched his wife do every

morning. The scent filled the air as he excitedly walked to their bedroom to wake her.

"Mmm. Hule a cafe," he teased to wake her.

No response, his stomach filled with dread

"Vieja?" he shakes her.

Nothing.

That morning was a busy one. Neighbors flooded the street, chismosos peering from their

windows to catch a glimpse of what was going on. The aftermath was all his neighbors coming

together and praying for days, praying for Esperanza's soul to get into heaven, her image

surrounded by flowers and different virgens to guide his wife's precious soul to the pearly gates

of heaven. He could hardly listen to the prayers; however, as doubts seeped into his mind, his

wife, his home, was gone. The scent of café and pan filled the room after every prayer, his

neighbors taking the opportunity to catch up with each other or offer their condolences and well

wishes to the freshly widowed man.

The thought that he would soon be joining his wife was comforting yet frightening. Their

plan had always been to stay in America for a year to raise enough money to buy a lovely house

in their pueblito. One year turned into two, two into three, and they had spent forty years in the

United States before his wife passed away. Back when they first came up with the plan to go to

America, he had made arrangements for his wife to travel to the US without trouble; he,