If this was a cartoon, I’d have a little pile of balled-up papers sitting in a snowball-ish heap in the corner, under that seam in the wall. Fortunately for me, and the trees, all my scrapped efforts just mean a thousand taps of the backspace key.

Nothing.

My mind is absolutely blank.

I’ve planned 6 lessons, but as many ideas as I come up with for the seventh, they just don’t feel like a good way to round out the end of the workshop-

I want to bang my head against something.

-But I opt out of it, staring at the screen until the words seem to fall off the page like faintly glowing black hailstones.

I wanna stop. I wanna stop. 

I wanna go for a walk…

I feel like a mopey child and a hyperactive puppy at the same time - staring out the window like anybody is coming-

Home to hug me…

Tell me they missed me…

The more I try to think the less I’m able to - and I’m probably just over-

Underthinking.

Overcompensating.

It’s hard to only turn off half of your brain.

But I need to close those thoughts in the dark for the moment or I won’t-

Be able to function.

Nobody ever has enough time to sort out their pasts…

But especially not me-

I put a padlock on it - like a Pandora’s box, and pray I never get too curious-

If my demons have suffocated yet-

The door rattles in the frame like my house is in the eye of a storm nobody else can see-

I could pretend I’m not home. 

My curtains are down, so no one has any way of knowing whether I’m here or not, but if it’s my mailman knocking, he knows it’s a nine in ten chance that I am.

I drag myself to the front door like I’m freezing slowly, every step of the way-

I don’t want to talk - don’t want to be looked at- made to remember I exist in a terrestrial form-

-Nobody cares to ask if the ghosts are home-

But I’m not sure I even want to commit to that level of ‘real’ right now.

Still, I make my arm pull the door open.

Instead of my normal mailman, there’s a FedEx guy on the stoop with a small rectangular box.

“You’ve got a package from one ‘Andrew Palmero.’ Would you sign here, ma’am?”

“Yeah…” I mumble a little dimly as he hands me the pen - trying hard not to know exactly what has to be in this package, so I don’t have another one of those-

‘Fall apart sprees’ - right now - in front of a stranger-

How did he send it so fast?

He’s only been home for like two days…

Whatever…

As soon as the door is closed I sit down on the couch and brace myself to open the package like I’m ripping off an old, bloody bandaid.

The first thing inside is a little handwritten letter on superfluous purple stationary, and I decide to read that first - let myself be amused in spite of the noxious feeling in my throat and the slight-

I make myself smile at his neat round script reaching up to the edge of every line-

-very. Very slight trembling….

He’s such a little old man. He could have just sent an email.

Ha. 

Ha. Ha.

“Jinho suggested I just ship things by a private company so they don’t get lost. These are the pictures of Mom you asked for. I sent some of Abuela Adela, Tia Miguelina, and Tia Maria too, in case you wanted them. I’m still a little worried these might be lost, but I hope they get there safe.”

The pictures aren’t what he’s worried about…I know…

Don’t-

I put aside the letter a little shakily and it hits the sofa with a thud like it weighs a million pounds-

Bre.a.the.

I don’t think I want to die again…

Not this time anyway…

It takes me two attempts to actually look at the pile of faded Polaroids and grainy, yellowy pictures that probably should have stayed in the dark basement where they were developed-

There are three little girls, all in Sunday dresses all with ribbons in their hair -

No - Tia Miguelina isn’t wearing ribbons. The look on her face says she’s ‘too old for that childishness’ even at seven years old.

But mom is wearing half a million - sucking shyly on one little fist.

And Tia M-

I remember when I used to walk by and see the door cracked-

-One of Mami and Tia Maria sitting on the stairs as she tried to apply Mom’s mascara-

 -mami sitting on her bed brushing her long hair - just for daddy to make a mess of it, putting his scratchy hands into the curls as she scolded-

“Calmate. Dios mio! They’ll hear you. Hush.”

Their wedding photo is here too. 

I know it’s their wedding because Tia Maria told me so, but you’d never guess otherwise. 

Mami’s wearing pink.

It was a pretty dress, but nothing like a wedding dress. All my great aunts are there in the plain, neat dresses they wore to church, and there aren’t really any decorations in the dark - low roofed room where everybody’s standing. The only person in the picture who looks like they’re going to a wedding is Tia Miguelina standing on Mami’s right with her pearls and white gloves, just behind Tia Maria, in her simple mint green dress - hugging Mami like she’s a giant baby doll-

I’d almost forgotten how pretty she was-

Not-

Tia Maria, she’ll always be beautiful no matter what she says- 

But - mom-

Looks too much like…

Me-

The pictures seem to wash out and I see - the bathroom - the kitchen floor-

Of all the places she would choose to crash why there - why-

-dragging her into her room and locking the door so Andrew wouldn’t find her-

-hugging onto Daddy’s raggedy old work shirt…

This one is me. 

I know this one. 6 weeks old in my frilly little baptism dress. 

Mami looks so much smaller with me in her arms - 

Was this really what 18 looks like?

I can barely remember my own 18-

I think I successfully avoided the mirror for nearly three years-

And there were-

I must have looked old - 

My 18 - my 13 through 20 - was a mess of -

Too - too many court proceedings - ten thousand if there was one -

And-

When I-

God…

-When I…

Had to deal with all the paperwork after Mami’s death- and-

Licia-

When I went to our neighbor that night - trying to figure out how-

To get my heart back into my chest-

Had no idea how anything worked-

-While they were all having dinner in their neat dining room and I asked them-

 If they could call Social Services on my mom?

-I-

Think I released the plagues-

Why did I ask for these-?

I’m flooded-

Stop it-!

Alicia-

What are they doing to mommy? Where are they taking her? What are they doing?!

Leave her alone-!!! She didn’t do anything-!

“Hush shush,” I say it out loud like the whisper could travel through time and comfort Andrew all those years back when I couldn’t…tell him that I was the reason they were taking Mami away-

I was the reason we were in court. 

I was the reason those strange people showed up and made us late for school asking how often we saw our friends, if we’d had breakfast, who washed our clothes, and if we had jackets when it got cold.

But I was the reason Daddy came back for us…

I can remind myself that - when the guilt starts to feel like a millstone around my neck-

Sometimes I wonder -

I never got to ask him-

If he’d ever intended to stay away for good-

It seemed like he came too fast - but not fast enough - he was ready too fast when the arguments started about who was going to take care of us when they’d pronounced mom unfit to-

It was all too fast. 

Who falls apart in four months? Get a grip-

Says the hypocrite.

-When I told them how I’d come home to find Andrew in the house all alone…

It’s funny in the sickest sort of way the things that can haunt you-

Like a fried egg-

Like getting home after dark - after drama club - to find your little brother home alone - in the kitchen - with all the lights but one out in the house - flinching away from the stove spitting hot oil as he tried to make himself something for dinner- 

I wish I hadn’t-

“What are you doing?! Andrew!!! Don’t you know you’re not supposed to play with the stove? It’s dangerous. Why would you turn on the stove?!!!”

“I just…wanted…”

Something to eat before bedtime.

I think…

It still burns just a…

Lot.

Just a whole - salt in the carnage - burrowing into the bones - never-ending torrent on my insides l-

“Ohh, shh shh. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t worry. Just go to the table, Licia will make you something to eat, okay? Stop crying. Please? Please.”

Easier said than done - on both of our parts-

Easier-

There was next to no food in the house, and it was after 7:00 p.m. - maybe we were both just overtired but-

-Said then learned. I’ve been begging my body - the same thing for ages but I guess I’m not a very good listener -

Sitting down beside him as he cried over the last two eggs in the carton and a corn pancake, I remember smoothing his short scratchy hair and promising-

It’s gonna be okay. Alright? 

“We’re going to take care of each other, you and me. I’m not going anywhere.”

I guess I kept that promise - at the very least -

I never went to theater club, to the little poetry and drawing clubs me and some friends had put together. Never went to sleepovers. Never went to birthday parties - never again after that night.

I went straight home from school every day - and would take Andrew to the park or the library or the harbor -

-so that even though we’d come home to no mom and no dad-

He could at least imagine she’d been home sometime during the day-

Or I could imagine that he really believed that.

As far as my friends were concerned - I’d just bailed on everybody out of the blue-

I’m sorry. I know…

And when I started hearing some of them whispering to each other - “Just leave her be. She’s got a lot on her plate right now. Her parents got a divorce.”

I wasn’t even angry - just glad they didn’t hate me. 

But they didn’t know the half of it-

I was busy-?

Oh…!

That’s what mom would always say so pathetically - after ignoring my phone calls for 3 months on end just to call me when she was sick - but oh- it was fine. Drew and I were always so busy - too busy to come see her.

I shove the pictures angrily back into the box feeling nasty - feverish - creepy-crawling anxiety and anger and horror spin together into nauseous spiders running through my veins and in the sweat vomiting from my skin-

There was a reason I wanted to get rid of these! - to have nothing to do with them-!

I should have. listened. to my younger self-

-I still believe that - though Tia Maria told me I was crazy for getting rid of the house and giving everything away to Andrew -

“Don’t you think you might want it later, muñeca? You shouldn’t decide in such a hur-”

No, I won’t!

I was doing fine - not good - not great - not stellar - but something that could easily be confused for okay without my mom - without the memory of my mom-

Why did I ask-

I’m such an idiot.

Burying my face in my hands I scrub the fragile surface with my palms like that could wash out the memories and the shame-

I need out-

Of this house - this place - this body-

I-

Somebody help me…

Please…

Because that thought terrifies me.

It must have been what she was thinking.

What I-

No - 

Not now-

Just need out of my head - out of these thoughts for a minute or more-

I’m not going to fall-

But I -  need to feel something or stop feeling- let the cold burn me until I can’t think of the way anything else is hurting-

Need to be somewhere where it won’t be as easy as it seems right now to decide-

-To

I tear out of the front door like my apartment’s on fire and hurry down the sidewalk with no jacket - no shoes - my head down - my hair shrouding my face - like I used to go sit on the front steps of my aunt's apartment when I started to feel like I didn’t exist - letting the snow fall and melt onto my bare head-

-Until my body remembered it needed to try to not die-

I kick a snow drift, scraping my foot against the sidewalk as I do- 

And with every trickle of flaming red that runs into the white, I remind myself that I have a very weak stomach.

And I can’t stand the sight of blood.