The quaint little town of Mesilla, New Mexico was delighted to finally have a brand-new schoolhouse constructed in 1930. It had five classrooms and was built in territorial-style fashion with adobe bricks lining the structure, finished off with coarse tan stucco.
Ricky glanced up at the octagon-shaped wooden clock that hung on the wall behind Ms. Thompson’s desk. He had to take sharp looks to avoid drawing attention to the fact that he was anxiously awaiting the end of the school day. He must have failed, because Ms. Thompson abruptly removed the clock, aggressively placed it beneath her desk, and scowled.
Ricky’s friend Todd was not only the smartest kid in the fifth-grade class, but also apparently Ms. Thompson’s spokesperson. He leaned over and whispered to Ricky, “Ugh, she wants us to pay attention and you just keep looking at the clock.” Ricky determined both the absence of the clock and Todd’s commentary were equally annoying and unhelpful.
“You don’t get extra credit for having a big ol’ brown nariz Todd,” said Ricky as he rolled his eyes. Before the banter took a more serious turn, the school bell rung in the start of the weekend.
“Yahoo, vamanos!” shouted Ricky as he shot outside the door. Todd was a shoelace string behind him and outside of school hours, had a mischievous side.
His father owned a tiny mercantile store adjacent to the “Corn Exchange Hotel.” Originally, the hotel was constructed in the 1860’s and was known as the “La Posta Compound.” It then operated as a freight and passenger service line and was a key stop for the Butterfield Stagecoach. Mesilla began to experience booming commerce and constant traffic, making it quickly become the largest U.S. town between San Antonio and San Diego. The inn hosted a myriad of guests over the years, and consequently housed secrets from those visits as well.
“I don’t have all day. Do you have the money?” Todd questioned a group of three boys, one of which was Ricky. Each of the boys dug deep into their denim pockets and pulled out a mixture of lint, half-eaten pieces of Good and Plenty candy, a few loose pennies, and five nickels.
After Ricky did the tallying, he glanced up and asked Todd, “So what, is 28 cents enough?”
He crossed his arms, spat on the ground, and after a couple of seconds finally said, “Well. . . I guess that will have to do. Meet me at the Plaza tonight at 2 a.m., and if you chicken out, no refunds,” said Todd. He strolled away from the group and produced a boisterous villain’s laugh while simultaneously chanting, “Bawk, bawk, baw-kaw!”
Ricky stared at the white flaky ceiling while laying in his bed that night and thought of all the ways he could in fact chicken out without seeming like that was his intent. With every thought, he sighed, and finally whispered aloud, “No, this was my crafty idea, and I can’t let Todd win anything other than a spelling bee.”
He had already set aside his black boots, long-sleeve shirt, and knee-length shorts to make as little noise as possible when it was time to head out. Although, he still thought it would not be terrible if his mother heard his stirring and halted the plan. While he slid on his clothes and tied his boots with a double knot, his mother slept soundly through both his preparation and departure.
Ricky was the first one to the Plaza Square and kicked around a few pebbles in the simple dirt lot while he waited for the others. He was mindful of remaining in the shadows because at this time of night, there were patrons of the El Patio Bar across the street heading home after their libations.
“¡Oye!” Todd screamed as he jumped out from behind a bulky dumpster.
“Shut up, people are going to hear you,” muttered Ricky.
Fortunately for Todd, the other members of the troop arrived right before his neck was wrung. Todd led the way as the group silently climbed atop the roof of his family mercantile and leapt diagonally to the side ridge of the Corn Exchange Hotel. They climbed up the short fire escape that led to the top of the building.
The boys carefully peered into the rusted circular openings of the tin roof and thus into the lives of the travelers who occupied the rooms. As they observed, Ricky enjoyed imagining what each of their journeys looked like and what led them to and from his tiny town. He took three giant steps towards the far-left side of the roof as he wanted to distance himself from the group. The others often interrupted his thoughts, especially because they were more intrigued by finding the designated brothel areas.
The room at the end was certainly operating as such, although Ricky kept it to himself as he looked on. He wondered what circumstances led these folks here and found himself most curious about the woman. She was expressionless, placed her palm out flat to collect the money, and quickly saw the gentleman out.
Ricky felt a familiarity about her as she swept up her hair with one hand and pinned it back up tightly with several bobby pins. She sat down slowly on a leather bench in front of a wooden vanity. Ricky stared as the woman slipped her long black skirt back on over her legs until it touched the edge of her corset. She gazed at herself in the mirror and Ricky looked intently at her reflection before suddenly falling ill.
He vomited as silently as he could over the edge of the roof and shooed the rest of the boys away, wailing his hands as they attempted to aid him. He found his way to the others and told them, “Let’s get out of here guys, no me siento bien.”
He offered them no alternative, so they made their way to hop off the roof. As soon as they hit the ground, Todd advised, “I told you, no refunds.”
Ricky replied loud enough for the others to hear, “I don’t care about that, this was a dumb idea anyway. In fact, I am going to spend my money on better things from now on.”
Over the remainder of the weekend, Ricky used his irresistible influence to convince the rest of his crew that spending their money elsewhere was the sensible thing to do. When Monday morning rolled around, Ricky felt a tightness in his chest while getting ready for school. He took deep breaths of the fresh cooked green chile wafting through the kitchen air before swiping his backpack off the counter and sprinting out the door.
Once in the classroom, he settled in his seat along with his classmates. He held his breath as Ms. Thompson entered the room. She looked vastly different today, in the daylight, formal clothes covering her from limb to limb, and a sharpened number two pencil behind her left ear.
For the rest of that school year, he felt as though he and Ms. Thompson had a secret connection that no one else knew about. The thing is, Ms. Thompson did not know about it either, and Ricky made certain it remained that way.
Desiree Bustamantes
Born and raised in Mesilla, New Mexico, and now works as a nationally certified school psychologist for the Las Cruces public school system. Her debut children’s book “Tell Me All About You” is currently available on Amazon, in both paperback and ebook formats, with a sequel, “Rosie’s Best Friend,” slated for release in the winter of 2024. Desiree’s desire to place a stronger focus on improving her craft led her to becoming a member of the Las Cruces Writer’s Group, who she says, “truly inspire me to keep writing!”
