We slept like sisters she said, her heart broken… las tres en una cama en Venice. It’s all she could bring herself to say still in disbelief.
Pero como, ay dios, she would say and sigh as she looked at pictures and told the same stories over and over again as if that would bring her back to life. There was the one about the time tía got her in trouble the day of tía’s quincieñera in Tijuana. Tía wanted tacos so she convinced her to go outside of the dance hall to the street where the taco stands were—and that’s when it happened. Her mom passed by and caught her out on the street after she had warned her not to be out there. Tu abuelita ya me avía dicho, “nomas que te vea en la calle vas a ver. Y si.” That was the end of my quinciañera dancing, ahí se acabo el baile para mi, she would say…all because your tía wanted tacos and she laughed.
Then there was the one about how they would walk to and from school and had to cross the train tracks. Tu tío siempre le cargaba los libros a tu tía… he was such a pain, always playing pranks telling jokes and annoying us, she would say. And then there was the one about the walkouts—allá en el este de los ángeles. Ellos fueron pero yo no fui. Ay no me daba miedo… que iba hacer yo allá, tu tía me decía, “ándale vamos” pero yo no fui—ella si fue… a ella no le daba miedo… She would shake her head everytime she would tell that one. Then there were the ones about the places they watched the tíos play in their band here and there; she smiled a huge smile after those.
The same stories over and over again—she wanted to freeze time freeze it at least in her mind, pretend she wasn’t gone—so soon, so suddenly. But nothing worked. Now she was the only one left of the three who once slept together as sisters. She just sighed and examined the pictures closely. Ay no, ay dios… her eyes flooded.
She used to send her only daughter to her, to them, every summer, holidays, while she worked. So much tía love her teenage daughter never complained she was shipping her off. Some bad ass purple suede boots and a new birthday outfit “because now you’re a teenager” was her daughter’s favorite memory of the tía now gone. It was the time she turned fourteen and they took the three buses to Venice to visit the tías… the tía who was always fun—who taught her how important the right pair of shoes were to an outfit. And then there was the fancy new year’s eve dress like the ones madonna would wear… bought in the downtown alleys after a full day in and out of stores… She taught her niece how to spot a great dress and not settle… She taught her how to enjoy every turn life takes… She taught her to take a huge bite out of life… the one short life we are given. The tía now gone, so suddenly, so many more lessons left for her to teach.
“I want to see you here more” the tía once told her. “You have family here too.” They didn’t visit often but they did visit more after that… Yet, whatever time was spent after those words, before those words, was simply not enuf. Not enuf. The tía now gone, so suddenly, so soon. Ay no. Ay dios…
