On the Making of Enchiladas

Karina Salgado Cruz

Julia wakes up coughing. The smell of chilies penetrating the room, the air, her airways. Breathing tastes spicy, eyes stinging and nose in pain from the tingling sensation. Blender loud and doors slamming make it hard to even suffer through the pain in order to catch fleeting moments of sleep. A female voice arguing, a telenovela on with people screaming, a child whining mamá. The sound of small footsteps running to the kitchen and a pan sizzling on the stove worsens the aroma of pure unfiltered spice in the air. But the air is warm, the blankets smell of food: a promise of a good time. Somewhere outside in the neighborhood a lawnmower sounds. Julia sneezes.

Enchiladas. Julia wonders if they’ll burn her tongue or make her gums ache from their sweetness today. She sits up and leans against the wall. The walls feel wet, as if sweating from the intoxication of the peppers. The sun lights the white walls in a soft glow, a tinge of gold. Molten gold. Her hands glide over the soft fuzz of the blanket, red and yellow and black. A tiger staring right at her in the middle of it. The woman yells at the child. A man on TV is galloping on a horse. The child starts to cry. Julia sighs. The front door slams and heavy footsteps of a man echo through the house. A greeting sounds from the kitchen, a child sniffling, and a man’s voice rings through the ears of the child, cállate. A dog barks at the lawnmower.

The enchiladas are going to burn. Julia closes her eyes and counts. Small fast feet sound closer and closer. A child bangs on her door. The woman yells something. The man’s footsteps sound further and further until a door clicks shut and heavy work boots hit the ground. The child is still sniffling as Julia opens her door. She looks down at the small figure of the boy, his eyes big and red, his hair brown and curly, his round cheeks glowing from frustration. Julia bites her cheek and a small cut reopens. Blood filling her mouth she opens her arms and the boy walks in.

Papá, he says, making himself comfortable. He radiates heat and brings along the smell of cocoa powder. His enchiladas will be sweet. Outside, the dog yelps as the lawnmower hits him with a pebble. Julia closes her door. On the TV, a woman screams in vengeance.