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Sometimes abuela would kick me out. She would look at me and tell me I was crowding her space and tell me to leave the house. When I refused, she'd throw her slipper at me, or worse, grab her spray bottle and squirt me with the water she used for her plants.
It was all out of love, forceful, but love nonetheless.
On Tuesday I tried pointing out that it was a school night, but abuela wasn't hearing it.
"Live your life, mija, por favor, para mi," she begged.
Some nights I would lay in bed with her and she'd tell me stories about Mexico and falling in love with my grandfather. It was when she reminisced that I would pretend she was my true mother. My mind would erase every memory of my mother and father and there would only be my abuelitos.
I liked things that way.
Abuela said I should meet someone, Hector too, to allow myself to be young and happy. She thought of herself as a burden for us, and though it wasn't true, I could understand her wishes.
It felt like we'd spent our whole lives on edge. There was no time for fun and games. Our laughter ran dry and our smiles read forced.
We weren't happy.
Even though it was a school night I gathered myself together and went over to Mariposa's. It always felt like a vacation whenever I stayed with her family. It wasn't much, but it felt nice to let go and be with my best friend and be free from the worries of home.
Mari and I were up in her room blasting country music and goofing off like we didn't have school in the morning. We were being so silly, her father took one look at us and said, "Estaban locas."
Maybe we were. It felt good to be loca.
"Oh my God, Ernesto texted me earlier," Mariposa said as she turned down the music.
Ernesto was a friend of Hector's and a Soldier. He was also boy crush number thirty-nine for Mari.
"What'd it say?" I asked.
"He wants to hang out this weekend or something." The excitement on her face made me happy for her.
"Nice."
She came and nudged me. "Your turn."
"My turn for what?"
Mari rolled her eyes. "For a guy, silly."
I sat back and picked at my boxers, eyeing the small tube-like television where we were watching old reruns of Tales from the Crypt. They should really bring that show back.
