The child had the face of his dead mother. Around the age of four those sweet apple cheeks had melted away and his face took on a melancholy look with large mournful eyes. They were deep penetrating eyes – just like his mother’s.
I had only seen Maria once before her passing. One time. I knew about her, of course, as the young wife of my then-colleague, Luis Ramirez.
Luis and I had been paired up on the Jenkins/Mueller account. Luis was the exciting new engineer at the firm and I was the visionary design executive who was supposed to bring an organic flow of energy and movement to the Jenkins/Mueller office suites. Sanchez and Ramirez – we were young, hip, fresh, and oh by the way, Hispanic. We were the right people to dangle in front of an advertising firm that was remolding new offices after an enormously profitable soup campaign that crossed over into the Hispanic market. We fit the bill of how Jenkins/Mueller wanted to present themselves to their next wave of clients. Shortly after the assignment was made public, the phrase “Team Taco” was snickered in soft voices around the cubicles and stairwells of the firm. I rolled my eyes when I first overheard. How original.