To My New Relative Who Is Either Dead, Alive, or Muerto en Vida
August 12th 2012 Corona, New York
Thanks to you,_____, my cousins, Sara and Yessica, suggested we pray a Padre Nuestro around one in the morning. It’s unusual, though, for us to be praying, especially at that time. I have never been particularly religious, but I prayed because I did not know what else to do except being a devoted Catholic for a few minutes. I prayed because there was nothing left to do. My cousins said it would make me feel better but it honestly didn’t. I knew this was gonna happen since I had started to lose my faith for reasons I would rather not tell you. But I did it anyway… I prayed. Not for me, but for my older guy cousin. Hopefully, it made him feel good (I will never know). I prayed even though I was focused on neither the words nor their meaning. Instead, my mind was focused on how my new bed was, really, my cousin’s bed. I was focused on how both of my cousins were patting my back and how good that felt. I was focused on how everyone should have a tissue box in their bedroom, preferably, next to their bed. I was focused on how long I was gonna cry until I had to get up to get the damn tissues.
Eventually, my voice faded away. My cousins kept going with the prayer and that was the only background noise in my aunt’s house.
***
I don’t know how much Medellín changed since June 2012, when I left for the States. Two months after leaving Colombia, I didn’t know if the ice cream place right next to my house raised the prices. I didn’t know if my grandma still had the same birds (she likes giving her birds away, even the ones she is most fond of!). I didn’t know if my neighbors and friends were still waiting for us to come back from our “vacation,” from our “verano en Nueva York,” como dice la canción.
***
August 11th 2012 Medellín, Colombia
I don’t know and I don’t care if you have forgotten this date. But I will tell you one thing, the most important detail that happened on this day. Hopefully, it matters to you now. As you know, it was a Saturday night. My cousin, all sweaty and tired, had just come back to his house from playing a soccer game, un juego amistoso. His mom was at home, probably cooking un sancocho or watching a telenovela or doing laundry or, simply, waiting for him. And like every guy in his early twenties, he longed for the weekend to have fun. He took a shower and got ready. Getting ready took him forever, though. The day before, our grandpa gave him new shoes, which turned out to be the ones my cousin was saving money for, so he was very indecisive on whether he wanted to wear them that night or wait three days.
He decided to wait.
“Ya vengo, ma! No me demoro,” my cousin said to his mom on his way out.
Surprisingly, for the first time, she did not say anything back. Perhaps, it was because he was not gonna take long, like he said.
Or so, they both thought.
But, after he closed the door and his mom was left by herself, she was overwhelmed by a strange feeling of regret―the kind of regret that later turns into guilt. The kind of guilt I hope you felt after it happened.
On this particular day, she unconsciously swallowed the words she usually says to him, “¡Qué Dios te bendiga!”
No, they did not go through their little ritual, the one everyone in my family has always been used to. He did not bow in front of her. He didn’t close his eyes for a few seconds. She did not raise her right hand to bless him. Her hand did not go from top to bottom, left to right.
There was no cross made in the air.
She did not kiss him on his cheek before he left.
He went to the liquor store just three blocks away from my house and my grandma’s house in Colombia, bought a couple of beers, and sat with a friend right outside. Every now and then, when my cousin and his friend didn’t have anything to say, my cousin would focus on his shoes and how he wished he would have wore the new ones.
And well… you know the rest of the story better than I do.
I was away, living the Dream. But you… you were right there,
At the right place, at the right time.
***
I have heard rumors about what has become of you.
People say you are now living en “el barrio de los acostados” — my dad’s nice way of referring to a cemetery. Hilarious. I know.
Whether you are still alive or not, I sincerely hope life changed for you as much as it changed for me.
***
September 19th 2017 Middlebury, Vermont
I have been trying to avoid you for the longest time. I have avoided not just writing to you, but also talking about you, referring to you, and even thinking about you. But my mind betrays me because I do think about you. More often than I should. You slowly made your way into my memory. Even though it has been five years, I constantly imagine your life and what it looked like back then. I try to picture how your day went on August 11th from the moment you woke up to the moment you fell asleep. I have to admit that you have kept me… very busy. I have made up thousands of different versions on my mind of how your day was. And God only knows how many more I will create! I wonder if you wore a rosary around your neck and kissed it before putting it under your shirt. I wonder if you bought it or your mom gave it to you as a gift.
I wonder if you knew my cousin’s birthday was three days away.
Although I know your name, I have only said it once, a couple of years ago. It was the most disgusting word that I have ever put on my lips, so I promised myself not to say it ever again. I hope you are not offended. I imagine you must know how life works, right?
Most of the times I don’t know what to make of you. Sometimes, I see you as a total stranger―a stranger made up of my stories. And it scares me to find out that you were nothing more than a victim as well. I’m terrified of going back to Colombia and to walk down the street and smile at you, by accident. I’m also scared of seeing you and not feel anything at all. No pity. No hatred. No disgust. Nothing.
***
Home is what I saw, heard, and felt while growing up, no matter how good or bad those memories are. You were part of it. You are part of it and forever will be. I could care more or less if you wanted to be part of this family, my family. But you are now. You took this decision when you pulled the trigger that night and ran away to avoid witnessing how my cousin was tossed into a plastic bag.
***
If you didn’t know my cousin’s name, I apologize for not mentioning his name here. I don’t think you deserve to know.
Sincerely,
MJ
