A picture of Frances holding a shovel hangs from her sister’s wall.  Prima Imelda pours a bowl of menudo, a secret recipe passed down from her mother.  Using a warm tortilla as a spoon, I scoop a few slices of meat, the caldo dripping out at the open end.  My eyes continue to stare at the picture; it’s unique looking, black and white, Frances wearing a sombrero riding a tractor with her legs spread pointing to the sky.

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“We were a crazy bunch, Primita.  My sisters and I acted as we pleased.  Too many women in one household dad complained.  He put us to work inside and outside the house.  We had to hold our own if we wanted a roof over our head.  Never disobey a man.  A woman needs to learn her place, but dad was outnumbered.  Twelve daughters to control, hijole.  Dad screamed he had the curse of the devil.”

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Prima Imelda began smoking at ten, drinking at eleven, “I had to hide it from my mom.  If she found out, you would put a chancla up my ass.”  That seems to be a common discipline tactic in all Mexican families.  Mexican mothers can take the most harmless object on the face of the planet and turn it into a lethal weapon of mass destruction.  “My sister showed me how to apply make up, so I wouldn't act so much like a guy.  She tried her best to keep me in line, but I’m a handful.”  Prima Imelda flips over another tortilla on the comal, swigging her beer at the same time. “Do you want a Dos Equis?”   Without answering, she cracks open the bottle using the edge of the table as a opener.   “I have weed growing in the back if you want that too, a little something if you need help getting through the day.  Las Cruces heat is a bitch.  Toma,” as she hands me the beer.  Prima Imelda’s fingers tough at the tips with deep callouses on her palms.  “I got use to the thrones from the vines, but I was tired of looking at my ugly hands.  I wanted a husband, too, you know.  That’s why I became a beautician.  The things girls will do for a man.  You have a man, Primita?  He treat you well?”

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I lied.

“As long as you’re happy and he treats you like a queen.  My husband and I live in separate houses.  That way we don’t fight.”

I drank my beer in order to avoid answering any more questions.    

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“My sister started seeing this guy named Sangre.  He was given that name because he could make anyone bleed.  Frances started to lie to my parents telling them that we attended morning mass when we were really at the park meeting Sangre.  My sister had to reapply her make up before she walked through the door.  I promised her it was mums the word.”

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The more Frances was involved with Sangre, the more lies she had to come up with, but those lies, catch up to all of us at one time of another.  She could only invent so many stories before their mom suspected something and started following her daughters.  “When mom caught my sister in action, mom grabbed both of us my the grenias, whopped our asses at the same time, and drug us all the way home for another ass beating.  I still remember those chingasos.  Hurts to this day.”   That didn’t stop Frances from sneaking out.  She saw Sangre more now that the cat was out of the bag.  It got to a point where she ran away from home her sophomore year, a straight A student up until she left.  Months passed, and the family didn’t hear for her, until she showed up with her bags and a black eye.  “I ran to the kitchen to grab a bag of ice.  She slept in for a few days and was saying stupid shit about how she loved him, how he didn’t mean it.  I wasn’t the one to give advice because I was caught up in my own shit.  My sister went back, like we all do.  The beatings got worse, and her body grew weaker.  It really hurt my mom.  It hurt me to see her cry.”

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Sangre impregnated another church girl turned sinner.  Frances tried to go back even after she heard the news, but he greeted her with a fist of her chest, her chest turned the color of bark.  A woman can only take so many beatings until she has to make two choices: leave or die.

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Frances gave the doctors a bunch of excuses, how it was the pesticides from working in the field or how the labor equipment fell on her or how the bosses made her work overtime, 15 hours shift, in that dry heat.  “We gathered around her bed, and I placed her make up bag by her side.  Mom lit a candle dimming the lights to say our prayers.” The sisters held each other’s hand, forming a circle around the hospital bed, Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.  Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.  Amen, and when the family finished their prayer, Frances opened her eyes, reached for her mom, and said, “I’ll be home soon.”