With the scissors, I quickly cut through the fabric.  The outfit needs to be ready by tomorrow afternoon- it is almost done, but needs a touch here and there, some blonda (lace) and sequins also.  She’s been practicing for weeks.  She has a little sketch book of poses, of drawing- little bailarinas in beautiful crayon colored dresses.  Some of the drawings are of her familia. I laugh when I see that my picture, mami’s picture, is a stick figure with a big tummy; she has put a little circle with eyes to represent her new hermanito on the way.

I hear shrieks from the hallway, and seconds later, she runs in, followed by her father who is chasing her like a zombie with arms outstretched.  The chaos is welcome.  She runs to her room, we stare.  It has been another long day, I can see it in his eyes, “todo nos fue bien, representantes de la campaña nacional estuvieron allí para darle animo a la gente.” Since our new little one will be here any day, I have taken a break from the work.  He has continued for both of us, tensions are running high, locally and nationally there is talk.  There is news, there is hope, there is despair.  Our gente is on the verge of emerging from the shadows, but those in power are determined to keep us there, ink splotches in the background.

As we speak of the rally and the leaders earlier, we suddenly hear the familiar musica folklorica from her favorite CD blare.  She has not stopped listening to it, since the day her maestra gave it to her.

             “Mija, bajale a la music, estamos hablando tu papi y yo.”

             En la noche, cuando ya se han dormido, sigo pegando las últimas cosas al vestido de mija.

             It’s the next day, the afternoon, and the moment is here.  The auditorium is packed with flustered parents, putting the finishing touches on their children.  Familias are running around finding seating and there is general controlled chaos.

            Her papa makes it just in time to sit next to me and take my hand as the ballet folklorico composed of little second graders begins.  I see her up there, Esperanzita, with her long, turquoise dress, her smile so big and so sweet it makes me want to cry.  I am not religious but I believe in a higher being and I believe in prayer.  She will not be this age for long.  She is why we do our work, the people united together, raising their children in safe, beautiful environments where they can flourish, just like a baile- energy, colors and rhythm of life.