Sometimes I curse the heritage that makes me do a thing even if I don't want to do it.
My mother was a strict woman who taught us the value of honouring our elders and even though I'd attained come to adulthood in a country far away from home, that value still held me and constrained me.
The duende refused to give me their name. They took possession of Juanito's room, as if it was a perfectly natural thing for them to do. By the time I went upstairs, they were already in there.
I'll just sleep here tonight, they said.
This is Juanito's room, I said.
They looked at me.
He won't mind, the duende said. I think he would be relieved knowing his mother isn't crying all alone by herself. I think it would make him happy to know that his mother is finally starting to feel again.
Who did this duende think they were? Coming here unannounced. Making claims and passing judgment. How could they possibly know or understand what it means? Parting for our elders even when unexpected is part of the natural order of things. But putting your son's body in the ground when all the promise in them hasn't yet been fulfilled--
I have no words for it.
Yes, the duende said. Just like that. Don't hold it back, Helena. Feel it with your entire being.
Goddamit, I shouted. How I feel is none of your business. It's nobody's business. Goddammit. Let me be. Just let me be. Shut up. Keep your words to yourself and goddam let me be.
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RandomThis is a work in progress and will be updated as I go along. Trigger warning: suicide, self harm and possible violence. I started working on this story for a lot of reasons. One of them is in support of the Clarion West Write-a-thon. If you'd like...
