"He used to lift his mug a particular way, like this," my cousin demonstrated with a sugar skull in front of my gathered family. The sequins and gloss paint around its eyes glinted in the sun. "One day I came home and told him that I got into a car accident, with a fire hydrant, and look what he did-" she made a serious face and slammed the skull onto the ground. We laughed; we all knew the look Uncle Ramone got when he was angry. My cousin laughed especially, with tears in her eyes over the memory of her father, who departed last year.
Everyone joined in to sing one of my uncle's favorite ballads. They sped up the tempo and made it cheerful. I lifted my skirt out of the gravel and shattered sugar. Naturally, we danced. My littlest cousins ran and wove in and out of our small crowd. I clapped my hands over my head and as I passed my aunt she tickled under my arms.
"Your hair needs to be clipped mijo," she teased. I never really thought about it before. I stood outside of the dancing circle, keeping my elbows down. Tonight, I’ll get a disposable razor from my dad's bag. He shouldn’t notice if I only take one a month. Maybe then people will finally call me mija instead.
My older cousin came by to dance. He grabbed my hand and tried to lift it. I gave a halfhearted spin as I fought to keep my arms down.
"I have to go to the washroom."
It didn't matter if I found a toilet, but at least I could be gone for a while with an excuse. If I did find one, I’m presented with the question of which one to use. Sometimes it's unisex, but not always. Whenever it's not, there's always someone to give me the "look." The one that says, 'I'm pretty sure you don't belong in here, but I'm also not sure where you do."
I stopped on the road to make sure my strange feeling wasn't just goose bumps from the cold. Leaves rustled like cicada, flying off the trees in droves. Some swirled around and got caught up in my skirt. I looked out into the lines of the tombstones and there he was. I knew he was celebrating the same holiday as ours, but he was alone.
Thank you for reading. Anyone can comment regardless of how much or how little they read. Thanks again.
Everyone joined in to sing one of my uncle's favorite ballads. They sped up the tempo and made it cheerful. I lifted my skirt out of the gravel and shattered sugar. Naturally, we danced. My littlest cousins ran and wove in and out of our small crowd. I clapped my hands over my head and as I passed my aunt she tickled under my arms.
"Your hair needs to be clipped mijo," she teased. I never really thought about it before. I stood outside of the dancing circle, keeping my elbows down. Tonight, I’ll get a disposable razor from my dad's bag. He shouldn’t notice if I only take one a month. Maybe then people will finally call me mija instead.
My older cousin came by to dance. He grabbed my hand and tried to lift it. I gave a halfhearted spin as I fought to keep my arms down.
"I have to go to the washroom."
It didn't matter if I found a toilet, but at least I could be gone for a while with an excuse. If I did find one, I’m presented with the question of which one to use. Sometimes it's unisex, but not always. Whenever it's not, there's always someone to give me the "look." The one that says, 'I'm pretty sure you don't belong in here, but I'm also not sure where you do."
I stopped on the road to make sure my strange feeling wasn't just goose bumps from the cold. Leaves rustled like cicada, flying off the trees in droves. Some swirled around and got caught up in my skirt. I looked out into the lines of the tombstones and there he was. I knew he was celebrating the same holiday as ours, but he was alone.
Thank you for reading. Anyone can comment regardless of how much or how little they read. Thanks again.