Excerpt from Vestige to Visage from Epiphany Puente

The first time I saw her I was 15 and it was at a deal my Papa took me to in southern Nuevo Leon in order to introduce me officially to the mechanics of the family business. This wasn’t just some “deal”, this was a big deal-my Papa was buying tons of marijuana and we were going to inspect and approve the
transaction which his regional patron had set up. My Papa always carried a nickel-plated Colt Combat Commander in .38 super, shiny as the moon seen through a hand lens. It had, until before this deal, silver cachas or grips, but now was decked out in ivory grips with her carved in bas relief; wielding scythe and wearing her cassock get up-a gift from a connection in Michoacán. Everything was normal-just another day hanging with my Papa even if it seemed unusual to be taken to a major deal, it was life. The sun was high, the mountain woods closed in around us and the air smelled of dried cannabis.
Suddenly, I could see we, the men with us, and the men from the other cartel all appearing as her, but in different vestments- cowboy boots and hats, Levi’s, and shirts with fancy embroidery. My handsome Papa, neatly trimmed black-going-gray-goatee, his brown eyes hiding layers he’d saved only for himself, his khaki cowboy shirt with the marijuana leaves embroidered in gold around the buttons open throated, anchor Christ necklace on his curly haired chest-Colt tucked into his belt--only the grips with her visible. As we toured the tonnage, I felt her gaze on me from all the eyes around me-all the macho narcos fingering AK47s and Colt’s, their gold marijuana leaf necklaces, customized trucks parked idling, dual exhaust grumbling behind the shipment. It was a moment of revelation being able to see through her eyes-understanding we were all as able as her to wield the scythe without a second thought-reduced to reflex-ruthless. I remember
it stronger than my first orgasm given to me by Angel in his pickup truck-him on the floor between my legs-tongue tapping a door I had not known existed crying out, “Epiphany,” and I, “Angel”-a pleasant, perfect, continuous memory.