Ya Vienen: Chapter One | Part Three

Fictional Series

Day Two — Monday
By 2am, Mami and I had already been talking for a few hours. We tried to exchange memories of Tia Valéria, but it was just too painful. Instead we opted to discuss my Tia’s Death Plan and funeral arrangements.

At one point it became obvious that neither of us had anything left to say. That neither of us wanted to say anything. That neither of us even wanted to be on the phone. And that neither of us wanted to be alone with our own thoughts.

After hours of sitting hunchback on my bed, Mami and I decided to finally let each other go. Only after we agreed to gather the family up for a 7am meeting. At my Tia’s house. What used to be her house, anyway.

Her house…my dream. What was that? I was so defeated by the reality of my Tia’s death, that I had forgotten the hellish landscape I had woken up from.

Hell. It was hell. My last thoughts of my precious Tia Valéria, was of her in Hell.

Suddenly Mami’s voice bursts defiantly out my throat.

“Shake it off.”

“It was a dream. Just a dream.”

Echale Ganas.”

“You need to be strong for tomorrow.”

Latinx femmes and womxn aren’t weak. We’re strong. We’re the rocks of our families. The backbones of our communities. We hold the house down and keep our chins up.

But…I don’t want to be that right now. And I sure as hell don’t want to be that tomorrow.

I grabbed at my mouth and pulled the lower half of my face forward. Desperately hoping to pull out anything to kill the silence.

I forced my eyes shut and shook my head back into reality. “Ugh…just go to bed. Go to bed.”


Like clockwork whatshisface revved up his recently-divorced-dad motorcycle and headed to wherever he goes at this ungodly hour. And like clockwork, I cursed myself for agreeing to a parking lot adjacent apartment.

I flipped onto my back and just stared at nothing. No part of my body wanted to get up. I knew that I had less than two hours to get ready and drive across town. But that only made me want to stay in bed even more. I closed my eyes, hoping to separate myself from my own existence.

Within seconds, the alarm on my phone went off.

I still didn’t want to go.

I brought my phone down to my face ready to read the emails I had ignored the day before. There was no time for me to get past the lock screen before I threw my phone across the room. I jerked away from my own hand like it had been cupping a mountain of maggots. I ran to the bathroom in a similar state of disgust.

I grabbed a hand towel and started scrapping at my fingers. I didn’t bother with water or soap.

I threw the towel down into the sink and saw a flash of pink across my mirror. I’ve always heard the phrase “stared in horror”, but it wasn’t until I saw my reflection that I understood what horror really was. What it really meant to stare it in the face.

I was wearing fuchsia lipstick.



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