"Rebecca, the Missionary" by Arisael Rivera

Read the original Spanish version here.

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Rebecca, the Missionary

by Arisael Rivera

translated by Arisael Rivera

It was a Friday like many others that Hermana Herrera and I had had together.  We were missionaries serving in Baja California.  We had been together ever since we started the mission.  At this point we were like blood sisters.  She was what some would call peculiar.  She was clumsy with her hands. In the last eight months I’d seen her trip, spill her cup inexplicably and even break an old VCR of a family that we were teaching. She even broke the lock of our apartment door which kept me occupied for several days trying to figure out how it happened.

We were on our way to visit a family when suddenly we heard a van that was approaching at incredible speed. We often walked in the middle of the road because there wasn’t any pavement in this neighborhood. Hermana Herrera grabbed my arm and pulled me towards her. The van flew by so close to us that my hair was lifted by the gust of wind it dragged behind it. We looked at each other, knowing that something was wrong.  She began to run towards the van. I followed.

We turned, following the van, when it suddenly stopped and opened its side door.  Two men stepped out with guns and began to walk and shoot at one of the houses. I felt my soul leave my body. This can’t be?  They walked towards the house as if in slow motion.  Everyone who was walking on that street began to run in the opposite direction. You could feel the panic.  I took hold of Hermana Herrera’s hand and tried to pull her towards me to run.

She looked at me, eyes filled with sadness but also something more. Something I couldn’t figure out in those few seconds. Her lips began to move, and between the fear and adrenaline I heard her as if she was speaking from very far away.

“I’m sorry, Hermana” she said. “I won’t be able to be your companion anymore.”

She held my hand strongly. She gave me a small smile and when I attempted to answer her she disappeared. In her place: a ferocious wind—as if a storm suddenly appeared. My hair lifted once again. I fell back, my bag flew and I felt the rough earth beneath.  But my eyes looked in front and I could not believe what I was seeing.

Hermana Herrera was standing in front of the shooters with their guns in her hands. But, how did she get there so fast? My mind had no time to understand when I saw her small hands squeeze the weapons and break them into pieces. The shooters were shocked. While I rubbed my eyes vigorously in disbelief of what was happening in front of me, Hermana Herrera grabbed one of their belts in a flash and tied the two attackers back to back, their hands held by the belt.

All of the sudden the van driver made a quick turn and started to accelerate directly towards the sister. When I saw that van racing towards her, it was as if I had seen the last nine months with her in a single moment.

All of it in an instant, and a loud scream flew out of the most profound depth of my soul,

“REBECCA!”

I called her by her name.  She turned to me, looked at me and… winked… What?

I saw her drop one knee to the ground. The van getting closer to her, ready to kill. She placed her head opposite of the charging van. The van—inches from her body. She squared her shoulder towards the van, both of her hands in fists, she closed her eyes and the van hit her.

What happened next was so far beyond my comprehension I honestly would not have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. The van reacted like it had just hit a pole of pure steel.

Impenetrable. The front of the car folded like an accordion.  Due to the same force with which the car was coming it leapt in the air, turning over Hermana Herrera’s body. It fell a few feet from her, on its side, immobilized.  The people who were all around us were just like me: mouths agape. For the first time I saw the power of putting your shoulder to the wheel.

She stood up and looked towards the car.  Without a single scratch on her body.  She jumped, as if she weighed nothing and landed calmly on the van that was on its side.  She bent over the side door and with one hand lifted the driver and with another leap she floated towards the other two criminals.

“Hermana Cruz. Hermana Cruz!”

She called me. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t even answer. Suddenly I felt the sweat that apparently covered my entire body. My head began to hurt and my eyes, which had been blurry, started to see clearly again.

“Hermana Cruz, the first aid kit.”

Then I saw her, with her hand over the head of the driver who tried to kill her.  There was blood. 

I started to walk towards her and remembered that my bag, which had the kit, had flown away from me when Hermana Herrera moved with inhuman speed. I turned back to my bag and ran towards her and those who were tied up. At that moment I heard the police sirens. I opened the bag and she and I tried to stop the bleeding from the driver’s wound. The tied-up shooters were scared. They didn’t dare say anything.  And, well, what would they say, they just saw a girl use strength, agility, and speed that we’d only read about in the comics. But I was not afraid. What I felt most was amazed. The amazement covered up my fear and the hundreds of questions that materialized every second in my head.

My companion, my friend, was a… superhero?

After a few moments, without being able to take my eyes off her, almost out of breath, I said, “Hermana, I think I know why the lock to our apartment broke.”

She began to laugh. So did I. Once again we were just two sisters, two missionaries.

This piece was published in 2025 as part of the 14th Annual Lit Blitz by the Mormon Lit Lab. Sign up for our newsletter for future updates.