the voice of god
you can listen to this story
i’m awake before the sound reaches me. food is ready, announces my abuela. i grab my sidekick phone and walk to the kitchen, blinded by the sun rays bouncing from mirror to mirror. the knockoff louis xvi furniture becomes a maze. my disconnected body’s inability to coordinate movements gets a puñeta out of me. my pinky toe now purple, my grandma’s bright red lips shushing me so i don’t wake my uncle.
my vision sharpened on the mirrors on top of the dining table where too many plates of food are reflected.
there’s fruits and eggs and a sandwich and oatmeal and coffee, excessive for an 18 year old on adderal and prozac.
i take the coffee and the sandwich and bring it to the balcony. abuela follows.
her white diamonds perfume over powers the scent of my coffee. she’s beautiful, like a hood elizabeth taylor. the music lives in her head so at any given moment she’ll do two step, a little spin, give it a clap or two, and blast her 24k smile. abuela doesn’t have the liz taylor diamonds, but she got the gold, in her teeth!
i ask abuela what are the plans for the day and she replies with an order: you can’t stay up all night and spend all day in the computer. not even for la britney.
but i didn’t, sort of. i was watching the video. again, all ways. fast forward, in reverse, slow motion. i obsessed over it looking for clues of what happened. my parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends. together. one last time.