Don't Fear The Reaper

{xix. tell me what i'm feeling}

❝How lucky I am to have known somebody and something that saying goodbye to is so damned awful.❞

-The Other Side of the Mountain by Evans G. Valens

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"Lila Aleja Cabrera Diaz. What in God's name is in your nose?"

This is the dialogue of a mother enraged.

Avoiding exactly this, I've been hiding my nose ring from her, but by the following Friday, Mama finally notices. You know how I've mentioned many times that even the smallest thing out of place could cause my mom to have an aneurysm or conniption fit or some combination thereof? Well, here's the prime example. She's been more irritable since the news about Abuela, and I think this is the last straw.

Mama's voice is as cool as ice, which is arguably worse than yelling. She's staring me down from across the kitchen island; I glance to my sister, who is juggling a soccer ball nearby, for help, but she just gives me a look that says, Well, you're screwed.

Outside, rain is beating down violently, its clouds swathing the kitchen in shadows. It seems like Ashdown weather almost always matches my mood.

"It's a nose ring," I say calmly, hoping I can get this over with quickly. I'm walking on a knife edge here, but after all I've been through, a little anger and a week or two of being grounded doesn't mean a thing anymore.

"And where did you get it?" Mama's eyes narrow as an edge creeps in to her frown. "I heard that a bunch of dropouts were giving permanent tattoos out behind the Cumbies - were they giving piercings too?"

That sounds like something Kat would say. I don't know where my family members keep getting their information about illegal activity behind the gas station - considering I've never heard of anything happening back there - but it's starting to become irrational. I swear, gossip will be the death of me. Metaphorically, of course.

"What? No!" Incredulous, I search my aching mind for a explanation, but then realize I have none. How am I supposed to tell Mama I got the piercing as part of a quest to satisfy my soul before I die? How can I say that the man - or being - responsible was a grim reaper?

Mama presses her lips together. For a moment, I expect her tan skin to explode into furious color, for her voice to heighten wildly like the flames of a fire. Instead, all she does is take a deep breath through her nose and shake her head. "Mija, I understand you're probably still reeling from the news about Abuela. And after Will, I know it's especially hard for you. But you don't have to-" she waves her hand at my face - "Do that. You look like a lopsided bull."

She's not angry - just exasperated. The pity she obviously has for me must've sucked out all the wrath. Somehow, this is even worse than before. I'd rather have her yell at me for a minute before sending me to my room than have a full-on grief counseling session.

"I didn't do this because of Abuela," I insist, frowning. "I've always wanted a nose ring."

I can tell she doesn't believe me, based on her sigh and how she replies, "Lila, you know I get what you're going through. I may not have the nightmares, or the flashbacks, or the instability, but... I know what it's like to grieve."

My skin goes cold, and behind me, I hear Kat cough and quickly exit the room. Now it's just my mother and I, and the former is looking at me like I'm a beloved cat who just threw up on the carpet. An animal who is frustrating, but too damn helpless to stay truly mad at.

It's almost unbearable.

She may be right about the grieving part, but I've realized that the mentality this whole situation has given me is much worse and much stronger than just grief. Besides, even though she acts like she wants me to open up to her, I don't think she really wants to hear some of the things I've done. Dancing with death, traveling in time, leaving the country on multiple occasions? No amount of pity would be able to save me from those reactions.