Lupe Throws Like A Girl

“Stay right where you are. Put your hands in the air!” Two police officers approached the porch, one man with his hand on his gun holster and a woman with a flashlight in one hand and her badge in the other. The man also held a German Shepherd that strained against its leash. They made a racket, and when Mama opened the door, fear was etched into her features.

“Identify yourself. What is your business here?” The policewoman spoke to Lupe, then turned her attention toward Mama, who held her hand in front of her mouth. David peeked around her.

“That’s my daughter. What do you want?” Mama’s voice shook. She held her arm out to protect David; with the other arm she reached toward Lupe.

“Is that your Chevy at the curb? Are you David Lopez, sir?” This time it was the officer holding the dog who spoke to David. Two other officers were crossing the street toward the house. Neighbors peered out from their porches.

“That is my husband’s car,” Mama said. David, supporting his arm in the cast, stepped out onto the porch. “Put that animal away. You don’t need it here,” Mama spoke boldly.

“Is your husband in the house, ma’am? Is his name David Lopez?” Now there were four officers, two on the walkway, one with a dog on the steps, and the woman on the porch. Lupe had not moved an inch.

“My husband is dead.” Lupe could not recall her mother ever saying this out loud, even though Papa had been gone for a year. “Tell us what you want. You are frightening my children.”