So This Is How The World Will End: by Rick Castro 4/26/2020
What is your definition of Manifest destiny?
For me it’s a negative historic term for the Anglo-European settler expansion throughout the newly discovered, (their term) continent of American was deemed justified and inevitable. This creed allowed them to feel superior, have a supposed god on their side, take over an existing population of indigenous people, and promote capitalism.
A day or so ago I was on my last leg, literally. I was down to my last $, feeling eviction in LA was imminent, and down to my last gigabyte with $0 to purchase more, thus ending my new forced virtual life. After texting and begging everyone I know, I send a text to my younger cousin Minguini, (not his real name). The text: “ could I park in your drive way and possibly access WiFi up here?” His immediate response, “Sure cousin come right over.” “You’re here in the high desert?” I exclaim. “Just got in last night,” he replies. My cousin Minguini, (not his real name) is the fourth child of my uncle Ruben Villagrana, Bee’s youngest brother.
The history; Living in Boyle Heights circa 1930s, the Villagranas were very poor. Their mother, Lupe Villagrana, (my grandmother) died of “consumption,” ( an outdated term used for many aliments from tuberculosis to venereal disease) soon after young Ruben was diagnosed with tuberculosis and was sent to TB camp. This is how they treated infectious diseases during the depression. He begging his father not to send him, but they had no choice, it was mandatory. Because of the quarantine he wasn’t allowed to attend his mother’s funeral. Ruben felt like they didn’t want him. Bee told me how traumatic it was for her youngest brother to leave his family.
As an adult, Ruben became a social worker in East Los Angeles. He was popular in the community, able to moderate and talk with anybody from council members to gang bangers. Everyone in the family liked uncle Ruben, including me. Whenever there was a problem Ruben was called to help moderate, or just listen to our problems. All of my uncles, and my father, had private one-on-one conversations with Uncle Ruben. His calm demeanor soothed everybody.
It also caused him hidden stress. At the young age of fifty, uncle Ruben died of a massive heart attack. His wife Sylvia found him lying by the bedside after his morning jog. She pleaded with him, “Ruben! please, please don’t leave me.” He was already dead. Ruben was the first in our family to pass. This event devastated my family.
Before the funeral, my father comes to me in tears asking forgiveness for the way he treated me for being gay. He says to me, “I didn’t understand.” During the funeral Bee cried inconsolably. I never left her side. This may seem morbidly superficial, but she looked absolutely beautiful. Like Elisabeth Taylor if she went to a funeral during Butterfield 8.
I remember being at the gravesite in Rose Hills Memorial Park. Ruben’s widow and four children sitting all in black in comatose shock. When I went to give my condolences they all brighten up and we hugged. Auntie Sylvia said to me,” I didn’t want this to be any sadder than it has to be. Ruben always loved Mariachi music, so I hired Mariachis to play.” And with that the band broke into a happy song. The contrast of the cheery music and the devastation of our loss, brought everybody to tears with smiles on our faces.
“Ricky, please don’t be a stranger. Come visit me," Sylvia said to me. I told her I would, but never did. Within a few months my father forgetting his conversation with me went back to his usual distance and denial.
Back to the present, I am driving up the dirt road, (same road as Bee’s cabin) to my cousin Minguini’s, (not his real name) cabin. Turns out it’s a mobile home. I had never been. It is palatial and comfortable, and wow what a view! There sits my auntie Sylvia working on a puzzle. One of those puzzles that takes weeks to finish, even if you work on it every day. Minguini makes me tea! Sylvia shows me photos of our family that I have never seen, she says, “Would you be offended if I ask you to wear gloves?”. This because I might’ve been infected. My entire visit observed six feet social distancing. My cousin then puts on his giant plasma screen TV the original footage of his parents wedding in East Los Angeles circa 1959. It is amazing! We chat the entire morning, then Minguini gives me cables & VCR to hook up, and my own private room, (shed) so I may come onto his property and access WiFi whenever I need. He gives me a key to his gate, (he’d also previously brought me food).
the view from cousin minguni's, (not his real name) property
As he loads up his mother and her sweet dog into his truck. I tell my auntie Sylvia, “ It took me a longtime to get up here and visit you, but I finally did.” She replies,” i’m happy you've rediscovered your parents cabin, and you are healthy. I was so worried when my son told me you were ill.” They leave back to the harshness of Los Angeles.
After Ruben Villagrana died, his family; wife, three sons, and one daughter became and stayed melancholy. Sylvia never remarried. The oldest son Joe; sweet, but sad, has an alcohol problem. The daughter “Sister”; gentle and kind, she became a teacher and had a beautiful daughter out of wedlock. She is always alone. The middle son John-Raymond; lost touch with reality. He never got over the death of his father. The youngest son Minguini; (not his real name) worked hard and became a successful representative for the Guitar Center in Hollywood. The kindness and generosity that was our uncle Ruben lives within my cousin’s melancholia. Minguini, (not his real name) wants to prevent any more tragedy. He wants to save someone grief. We all know the greatness of their collective loss. There’s no need to bring it up.
My parents are in the later stages of Alzheimer's, they cannot help me. My sister is immersed in a codependent Christian cult marriage after the death of her first husband of fifty-five years, she cannot, or will not help me. My brother is a self-absorbed narcissist, (like a Mexican Trumpworld) he would never help me. My younger cousin Minguini, (not his real name) wants to do everything he can to help me. He is my personal angel savior, This is My Manifest destiny.
So this is how the world will end.
copyright- rick castro- 4/2020
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