The Acentos Review

Some Shall Rise

—¿Bueno? Yeah...thanks for calling back.

—...

—Yup, I got some news for you.

—...

—No, not the worst. Not yet.

—...

—These doctors are just killing me.

—...

—Did you know each year doctors murder more patients than car wrecks and illness combined?

—...

—I read it online.

—...

—They’re killers. It’s been confirmed. Otherwise, they wouldn’t even need that hippocratic oath!

—...

—You know when mom was born premy, the country doctor took one look at her and said: “Not a keeper.”

—...

—Over 80 years to this day, alive and kicking, and “not a keeper.” ¡Lámeme la panocha, hijo de puta!  

—...

—These so-called geriatric care special-ists don’t have a single damn special thing about them. They just show up and watch old people die.

—...

—Either way they get paid, right?

—...

—No. No la desahuciaron. Pero lo iban a hacer si yo no hubiese peleado.

—...

—¡Es que son hijos de la cien mil puta!

—...

—No, we’ve been going to Edinburg Regional for the last two months. I got fed up with the dipshits in Harlingen.

—...

—No, McAllen Medical Center is no good either.

—...

—We got the meds we need for her heart and I’m not going to sweat the hematoma. Not yet.

—...

—Some people live years with hematomas.

—…

—We are officially done with these damn gringo hospitals. 

—…

—Well you chose to stay out of the loop. Ever since that...

—…

—I changed the locks to mom’s house for a damn good reason. 

—…

—Seventy year old grandfather clocks don’t just walk out of a living room on their own.  

—…

—Can we just… can we fight about this later? I just wanted to tell you about mom and the medical options.   

—…

—They’re shit. And I also wanted to... 

—...

—Hold on a sec, it’s the door.

—...

—Pásale, mijo. Thanks for coming. Abue’s in bed watching TV. I emptied the commode and just changed her.

—...

—I’ll only be out for an hour, maybe two.

—...

—Hello. Still there? Hermana, I’ll call you later. My head’s a mess.

—…

—Moises just showed up. Mijo, say hi to your aunt.

—Sup, tía? Besos.

—Yeah, he’s watching mom while I go shopping.

—...

—Ándale.

A ruffling of papers. The zipping of a purse zipper. Powerful footsteps.

—Her P.T. nurse should be here in half an hour.

—...

—If she’s running late, she’ll call the landline.

—...

—Afterwards, Abue will need to eat something. Usually she likes yogurt with dried fruit. Also, if you break the galletas Marias into pieces, she can eat them.

—...

—Be sure to make her sit up every so often and adjust the cushions so her neck is comfortable.

—...

—And don’t let Prince in. He’ll make a mess on the carpet.

—...

—I’ll have my cell. Text or call if you need anything. Okay?

—....

—Love you mom. No tardaré mucho.

The warmth of a wet pair of lips pressed against skin. Then, a sigh. Steps.

A door in another room slowly creaks open and then violently slams shut. Muffled, a motor chugs somewhere and sputters before starting. Tires squeal and a car horn honks and more tires squeal. A voice shouts “¡Hijo de la chingada!”

Briefly, a sight. A glimpse. The half-opened persianas and a few rays of sunlight hitting the carpet. Then, darkness again.

Feet likely in socks drag over carpet. Something small shakes and hums. Then hums again.

A cough. A throat clears. A leather recliner groans under weight.

—Sup, nena?

—...

—Naw, I’m just here with abue. Keeping an eye on her while mom runs errands.

—...

—She’s, I mean...she’s looking okay given, like, her situation, you know.

—...

—She’s sick and stuff but my abue is tough as nails. She’s holding tight.

—...

—Hold on a sec.

—...

—Yeah, that’s right abue, I’m talking about you. You comfortable? Can you...can you, like, nod or move your head?

—...

—Can you see, abue? Can you even blink? Blink if you’re hungry.

—...

—Okay, not it. Umm, like, blink if you want to sit up.

—...

—Hey, I’m a call you back, okay? Abue needs me.

—...

—I know because she just blinked.

—...

—Her eyes are full of cataracts but she can still open them and kinda see sometimes. And blink and stuff.

—...

—Sure, you can stop by, but do it soon. My mom just left and will probably be back in two hours.

—...

—Well like I don’t know if she’d be cool with you being here and her not, but, like, if you are helping out and keeping company, I don’t see why not.

—...

—Hey, just come over. I gotta let you go. Grandma’s trying to say something.

—...

—Peace.

A hand clasps the arm, another reaches behind the back. A pulling and pushing and hot stabbing pains in the side. The rustling of fabric. Another soft mass behind the back, supporting.

—Is that better? Hold on, I’ll be right back.

Socked feet dragging over carpet, then deafened thuds on laminate flooring.

Then, dragging again, closer. The recliner moans in protest.

—You liking the movie? Cantinflas, right? Cool.

—...

—Mom watches this stuff sometimes.

—...

—Oh, crap, that must be the nurse. Sit tight, abue.

Footsteps. A ringing from afar that stops abruptly. A knock at a door. Then, another.

A door creaks. A female voice. A male voice. A giggle. Whispers. Another giggle. The door slowly creaks again.

Footsteps, but fading. More giggles. Low voices. Floorboards creak and then a door opens and shuts quickly.

The moving images on the glowing box become clearer. A skinny man with a thin moustache says something to a police officer. The officer furls his eyebrows and then his face grows red. The skinny man smiles. The images become blurry again.

A door not so far away opens and closes. A toilet flushes. Another door, somewhere else, opens and closes. Then, minutes later, a toilet flushes again. Footsteps. Approaching. Laughter.

—Passcode? You trip’in mujer.

—…

—You don’t need to see my cell phone.

—But why not?

—The question is why. And there arein’t no why. Hey, abue, this is Marlena.

—Nice to meet you.

—She can’t, like, speak real well, but we’re pretty sure she can, like, hear and understand.

—What’s that smell?

—What?

—The smell. It smells like…

—Oh yeah, gotta check her Depends.

—...

—Did you have go to potty, grandma?

—I can help. I am a woman, after all.

—I appreciate it but like, I think just like family should look and see and stuff you know. My abue was always real private.

—IS real private.

—Oh yeah, right.

—Okay. I was just offering. —Just, like, step right outside the room. This should be only a few minutes.

—Okay. But if you need anything…

—Yeah, don’t worry. I’m on it.

—...

—Ayyy abue, pobrecita. Se hizo el dos, ¿verdad?

—...

—Hey, babe, could you, like, get me some wipes and another roll of toilet paper? They’re in the guest bathroom.

—Sure.

—Okay, grandma, can you stand? Let’s stand on three.

—...

—One...two….tres. ¡Eso! Good job.

—...

—This isn’t so bad, abue. Sin pena, grandma. I’ll get you cleaned in no time.

Steps. Many of them. Hurried. Nearing.

—I found wipes, but not toilet paper.

—Okay. Please, like, set them down over here. There may be some toilet paper in the kitchen under the sink.

—Okay.

—Alright, abue, you’re covered with this robe now, but I gotta pull these off because they’re stinky.

—...

—Don’t worry, I ain’t seeing nothing.

—...

—Okay. Can you wipe yourself?

—...

—No, no worries. I can do it. Look, my eyes are closed.

—...

—I found a roll.

—Great. Just, please set them down here.

—You sure you don’t need a hand?

—I’m sure. I...hey, can you get that?

—The door?

—Yeah. It’s probably her P.T. nurse. Let her in, but tell her it may be about five minutes.

—Okay.

—There we go abue...that’s right.

—...

—Don’t you feel better?

A door opens. Powerful footsteps, far away. Voices. The thud thud of approaching steps.

—And how are we doing today?

—She’s almost ready. Give me two minutes.

—Wow, already standing and up and about! ¡Muy bueno! Has she already eaten breakfast?

—My mom gave her yogurt and a banana, like, two hours ago. She ate most of the yogurt, but not the banana.

—Uh oh. Somebody isn’t eating right.

—...

—How are we supposed to do our exercises if we don’t nourish our body?

—...

—Well you are going to need a big lunch after I’m through with you!

—I think she’s good to go. Isn't that right, abue?

—Could you just scoot that recliner to the...put it in the corner and we’ll get started. Wait a second…

—Huh?

—There was a blue wooden chair in here last time.

—Okay.

—We need a simple wood chair to do exercises. If your grandma sits in a recliner, there’s no way she’s getting out. Heck, I’m not sure I could!

—Give me a sec. I think I saw it in the living room.

—...

—The chair. Marlena. Échame la mano, porfa.

—So, how are we feeling today?

—...

—What was that? Come again?

—We found it. You mean this one, right?

—Yes. Fantastic.

—Where do you…

—Just right there. Next to the bed. And where’s the TV remote? Could you…

—I have no clue. I can just turn it off for you.

—Thanks.

—If you need anything, we’ll be in the guest bedroom watching TV.

—Thanks.

Slow. So very, very slow. And heavy. Aches. An itching. Heavy. Cold. Dry. Mouth. Dry. Limbs. Heavy. And so very slow.

—Okay, let’s try to do one more. Straighten that right leg. Great. That’s four. Now, the left.

—...

—Can you raise both your arms at the same time? Straight ahead. Good. Now again. Once more.

—...

—Now to the side. Up and to the side. Both at once. Good.

—...

—Lift both your knees. If you can. Nice. A little higher this time. Good.

—...

—Let’s take a little break, shall we? Catch our breath.

—...

—Okay, now the moment of truth. I’m going to hold your arms, but you’re doing the work. Try to stand…

—...

—Uno, dos...tres.

—...

—It’s okay. Good effort. You were close.

—...

—Now, remember, yesterday we did four of these. And our goal for today was five.

—...

—Uno, DOS, TRES.

—...

—Great! And that was all you. Only four more.

—...

—But we will take breaks between each one. Okay? Just catch your breath. No rush.

—...

—Okay. Let’s get ready for number two.

—...

—Uno, dos...tres.

—...

—Okay, would it be easier if...if.... instead of me holding your arms and helping guide, if...if...I let you use your arms to push up and off the chair?

—...

—Let’s try it.

A door opens abruptly and slams shut. Hurried, loud footsteps.

—¿Mijo? Oh, hey Nancy.

—Hey, Rachel.

—How is mom doing?

—She’s working it!

—Great. Have you seen Moises? And whose gray Civic is that parked out front?

—They went to go watch TV in one of the rooms.

—They??

—Hey mom, you back already?

—Yeah. Why were you watching the small TV in the guest…

—Hello, Mrs. Guerrero...

—Mom, yeah, this is Marlene.

—Finally, we meet the girlfriend!

—...

—So nice to meet you. Un verdadero gusto.

—Igual. I’ve heard so much about you! Let’s…let’s move to the living room to powwow and give Nancy and mom some space.

—Okay.

—Of course, Mrs. Guerrero.

A clatter of footsteps and echoes. Raised voices. Then, whispers. A chuckle. The pop of a can being opened, then a fizz. 

Shortness of breath. Head, fuzzy. Clouded. Hip aching. Knees aching.

Stomach, tight. Tighter. Then Loose. And warm. And wet. Oh, dear.

—Uh oh, did somebody just have a bowel movement?

—...

—It’s okay. It’s a good sign - you’re pushing yourself physically.

—...

—Let me just see if your mom wants to handle this or if I should.

—...

—I’ll be right back.

Warmth, liquid. Traveling. Back of thigh. Back of knee. Shame. 

—Mom, are you okay? Here, try to stand for a second while I…

—...

—MOISES, DID YOU CHANGE MOM WHILE I WAS GONE?

—...

—MOISES!

—Yeah?

—DID YOU CHANGE MOM?

—Well, yeah, once. She had a little accident.

—You forgot to put talcum powder on her afterwards.

—What?

—Talcum powder. This right here.

—Oh.

—We have to use talcum powder or she’ll get rashes, and then blisters, and then an infection, and then we’ll really be in deep shit.

—My bad. Sorry.

—It’s okay.

—...

—And, uhhh, that Marlena girl seems...nice.

—Thanks. She is.

—Certainly seems to have some nice assets and…

—Mooom.

—I’m just saying…

—She didn’t even want to come over here without, like, you knowing.

—Hey, as long as you’re keeping at least one eye on grandma, I don’t care who keeps you company.

—Also, she doesn’t normally dress like that. It’s just the weekend.

—Suuure.

—...

—Well, go tell Nancy we’re ready and to get back in here. Her hour’s almost up.

—Okay.

—And I’m going to lend a hand because mom needs a bit of a push, but then I need to go back to Lowe’s afterwards.

—Got it.

—So, um, entonces, please, take a break from your television watching to unload the lumber I just got. Like, this very second.

—Sure. Con permiso.

—Propio.

—...

—¿Verdad que se siente mejor ahora mamita de mi corazón?

—OKAY, where were we? Sit-stands. Right. She already did one.

—Only one? ¡Qué floja!

—Well, we were just settling in when she had her little accident.

—Ahh, okay. Mom, remember, six today, seven tomorrow. You have to be able to get up if you want to go back to your casita in Mercedes.

—Ready, Ms. Faustina? On tres…

—¡Uno...dos...tres!

—¡Órale! ¡Eso!

—Come on.

—Casi... Un poco más... Casi.

—Uggghhhhh.

—Are you feeling well, Ms. Faustina?

—Let me handle this.

—...

—MOM. ¿QUÉ NOS DECÍA CUANDO YO Y GRACIELA ESTÁBAMOS CHIQUITAS Y NO QUISIMOS DESPERTARNOS POR LA MAÑANA LOS DÍAS SÁBADOS?

—...

—LÁZARO SÍ SE PUDO LEVANTAR PERO ÉSTAS DOS FLOJAS, ¿NO?

—...

—Como dijo el predicador: All have fallen, but some shall rise.

—...

—Levántese, mom, ya sé que usted puede. ¡Eso!

—...

—Eso…

—...

—Eso…

—Great job!

Throat, dry. Chest, tight. Knees, ache. Ankles also ache. Forehead, throbbing. Dizzy. 

—How about a little break?

—We still have aguas in the fridge from yesterday.

—Waters?

—I mean fresh juice. You want some? I made some cantaloupe - it’s mom’s favorite.

—That sounds delicious.

—I’ll be right back.

Forceful steps. A door opens and slams shut. Then, a door slowly creaks open. Voices followed by whispers. The faint hissing of a television. A door creaks shut. Steps thunder louder and louder.

—Here you go.

—Acá, mom. You need me to hold it?

—This is delicious!

—Thanks. You got it, mom? Okay.

—She looks a bit beat.

—Yeah. Did she do any extremity work with you at least?

—Oh yes. She kicked her legs and lifted her knees really well today.

—Oh, okay. Well your hour’s almost up and I’m sure you have other patients. I think today will be a recovery day after mom did so well yesterday.

—Okay. I mean….I can always stay a bit after. It doesn’t have to be precisely one hour.

—Don’t sweat it. I think mom just needs to relax today, spend some time on the recliner, watch old movies, and then take a siesta.

—Okay, Well, thanks for the juice. I’ll see you two ladies tomorrow.

—Take care. MOISES!

—I can show myself out.

—Hold on. MOISES!

—Yeah, mom?

—You move that lumber yet?

—I was just about to…

—Please show Nancy out and unload that lumber. I’m going to move mom to the recliner, feed her, and then she needs to rest. Maria will be here at two o’clock.

—Maria?

—For the shower.

—...

—The other nurse.

—Oh, yeah.

—Thanks again, Nancy.

The box hisses. Then, music and voices, some familiar. Footsteps afar and a door opens. A muffled sound, perhaps from outside. Grunts. A slamming. More grunts. Then, the softest of footsteps.

—Mrs. Guerrero?

—Yes? Mah...Marlena, right?

—Yes. I wanted to say it is lovely how you are taking care of your mother.

—Uhhh...thanks.

—So many people just toss a parent in a home and está re feo.

—Oh, hon, I worked in a nursing home for a decade, so there’s no way I’m parking my mom at one.

—I tried to help change your mother, but...Moises wouldn’t let me. I should have told him about the talco. Bedsores are the worst.

—Well, aren’t you a sweet thing. Don’t you think so, mom?

—Thanks.

—Would you mind sitting with mom here for a minute? I want to make sure Moises is putting the lumber where I told him.

—Sure.

—Be right back.

A stomping of feet. A door opens suddenly and slams shut. A vibration nearby. Then another. A ringing.

—Hello?

—...

—What’s up mom?

—...

—No, my shift doesn’t start for a few hours. I stopped by Moises’ mom’s place.

—...

—He’s watching his grandma while his mom runs some errands.

—...

—What was that?

—...

—Come again?

—...

—Look, I’ll call you later, okay? 

—...

—Okay. Un beso.

A sigh. The smacking of lips.

The glowing box emits a voice that speaks of retiree only cruise packages to Ireland. Clarity. Briefly. Then, an elderly man in khaki pants and a blue polo t-shirts assures the viewer one does not have to live with E.D.

A distant door creaks open slowly then slams quickly with a thud. A scattering of footsteps, approaching.

—Hey, my mom finally left, you want to…

—…

—Hey, you fall asleep?

—Oh my God! I’m so sorry…

—No worries. These old movies can do that.

—…

—Nana looks fine, though. Abue, ¿cómo se siente?

—...

—This Cantinflas pic is the bullfighting one, right? I’m a be honest with you, this isn’t his best.

—...

—Which is the one where, like, Frank Sinatra just shows up?

—I don’t know.

—I was talking to grandma. I’m 100% positive she can hear us and gets stuff.

—Damn, Judy Garland was hot back in the day.

—Hey!

—Don’t trip, she’s like, dead. And a fact’s a fact.

—That doesn’t mean...

—Hey, hold up. You feeling alright, abue? You hungry?

—...

—This yogurt cup is still half full.

—Sorry.

—No worries. Hey, my mom left if you want to finish that...movie...we were watching on Netflix.

—…

—In the other room.

—But what about your grandma?

—She’s fine. Also, we have toddler walkie-talkies.

—Those look kinda old.

—They still work. Hold this. Go stand in the other room.

—...

—Testing. Testing 1...2...3… Can you hear me?

—...

—See, I told you.

—I don’t know. What time is it?

—About one.

—Doesn’t that other nurse come soon?

—Naw, not until two. And we can finish the movie quick.

—Uh huh.

—I mean, if you just want to chill and watch Cantinflas, that’s fine too.

—...

—It’s just that I’ve seen this movie more than a hundred times already.

—I don’t...I’m afraid to leave your grandma alone.

—She’s just resting. Right, abue? Come on.

—Well...hey, wait right here. I almost forgot.

—Forgot what?

—I brought something. For her. For you.

—Hold on.

Footsteps scatter, rushed. A door creaks open quickly. Seconds pass, maybe a minute. The door moans to a likely close and footsteps scamper nearer and nearer.

—Whadda you think?

—Wow. My mom loves those things. Is it the Virgin?

—Yeah. Do you have a lighter or a match?

—Yeah.

—We lit one of these for my grandpa when he had cancer real bad a few years ago.

—Did it work?

—Well, we’re sure he’s in Heaven.

—Figured.

—Hey!

—...

—Payaso.

—You didn’t have to hit me.

—I did it for your grandma. Now, where should I put it?

—Far from the curtains.

—I think here is good.

—Hold on a sec, let’s check grandma’s ankles. Make sure they aren’t swelled or nothing.

—You sure we should leave her sitting like this?

—We do it all the time. That way, if she’s up for it, she can use the commode on her own.

—But the nurse said the recliner was hard for her to get out of…

—Well, we can just sit her up a bit more. And if she feels tired, she can lean back.

—Okay. How do you feel?

—She looks fine. Just a little dozy, pobrecita.

—...

—Now, about that movie....

Sight. The large glass candle bears an image; a young boy in a white robe and sandals stands between an older man with a beard and a woman wearing a white hooded tunic. The flame at the tip of the wick flickers well above the head of the young boy; the fire dances and shines between the faces of the man and woman who linger above the smiling child.

The clatter as a door far away opens. Then the echoes of another door opening and closing quickly. Minutes pass slowly.

Suddenly, a scampering of several steps nearby. A grunt. A wheezing sound, from below. Warmth and then darts of wetness against skin. Ankles.

A yelp. A growl. Grunting.

A door creaks open and then soft, measured footsteps reverberate.

—Prince! ¡Bandido!

—Oh my God, he is soooo adorable!

—Prince—what are you doing to grandma’s feet?

—How old is he?

—About seven, I think. We’re not sure—he’s a rescue.

—Ahhhhh, so sweet. Were you kissing grandma? Who’s a good boy?

—He loves to just lay at her feet all the time. And he’s like smart about getting out of her way when she’s trying to walk and stuff.

—He’s just soooo cute.

—...

—Was that the door?

—Yeah. Must be the nurse. Can you please get it while I handle Prince?

—Sure.

A door opens and stomps approach. A soft voice. Then hands clasp hands, then clasp shoulders and pull gently but firmly. Knees, ankles and calves ache but move and then a chill and hot water splashes against the skin. A woman hums and sings and hums and sings in a language unknown.

Another chill then a soft texture against the skin then the hands clasp and pull and instruct and sit. The song continues but small teeth bite the hair on the head again and again. A humming and then words and then a soft fabric over the chest and arms, and now the legs, and finally the feet.

A grunt and the hands pull at the shoulders and eyes open for a flicker of a second and the light is too much, just too much too bright.

A door shouts open.

—Hey, how’d the bath go?

—Oh, hello, Ms. Guerrero, how are you doing today?

—Bien, Maria, bien. ¿Y mi madre? ¿Como está?

—Pues, bien limpita pero muy, muy cansada. Anda medio dormida.

—MOISES!

—...

—¡MIJO!

—Hey, sup Mom?

—Help your grandma to the bed in the study, please.

—On it. Ahhh pobrecita, está con sueño.

—You want some coffee or aguas?

—I would like a coffee very much. Yes, please.

—Mire usted, ¡ya hablando bastante inglés!

—Estoy tomando clases por la noche en mi iglesia.

—¡Qué padre! You know, my husband, he was born here, but he never wants to talk English because he worries our children won’t learn Spanish or will speak con un acento bien mocho.

—Tiene razón, por una parte.

—Hey, Moises, thanks, and the rest of the lumber is in the pickup. And did you put grandma to bed or sit her down in the recliner?

—Bed. She was already, like, lights out.

—When you took her socks off, how were her ankles?

—...

—You did take her socks off, right?

—...

—Okay, whatever, please serve Maria a cup of coffee and I’ll go check on nana.

The once clear voices soften into whispers as stomps approach. Louder and louder.

—No, no, no, it’s just me, mom. Keep resting. I’m checking your ankles is all.

—...

—Not bad, not bad.

—...

—I know, today was exhausting.

—...

—What....what is this?

In the darkened room with the lamp turned off and the shades drawn, the candle flickers. The flame now rests above the hair of the young boy. The woman clasps the candle and reads the words out loud. “La Sagrada Familia.”

—This is nice. Did Moises do this? Or…

The woman places the candle on the desk. Her words become sounds and then light and darkness alternate for how long only God knows. Feelings of discomfort. Feet hot and sweaty. Ankles and knees ache. Head hurts. Throat dry. Trouble breathing. Lips chapped and cracked. Chest burns.

For a moment, the screeching of tires and hum of a motor bring to mind the word “car.” Later, the squeak of metal wheels and the cold, cold air elicit “hospital.” Then, the weight and warmth of a blanket call forth “home.”

A low moan nearby. A grumble. A sniffle.

Crying.

Someone sobs. Nearby.

A deep breath and the eyes open. A woman weeps. She sits on the recliner near the desk. She rubs her eyes with the top knuckle of the back of her right hand.

Atop the desk, the candle has all but melted. The flame dimly flickers below the head and behind the chest of the image of the boy. So little wick left. Much too soon.

The woman raises her right hand to the side of her head. She holds something.

—Yeah, it’s me.

—...

—¡Los hijos de puta...la…la desahuciaron!

—...

—Those motherfucker doctors bled all the money they could out of Medicare and now don’t want anything to do with her.

—...

—They call it palliative care, but there’s no caring. It means go home and die.

—...

—Oh Hell, no. Mom wants to live. She has some bad days, but other times her mind is sharp as a knife.

—...

—She cries some nights and says “I’m going to die.” What do you think that means?

—...

—She wants to live. DUH.

—...

—And that’s why I’m calling you. We are fucking done with this country and its fucking worthless doctors.

—...

—They might as well hand these clowns black masks instead of white jackets. Pinches verdugos.

—...

—I mean, Adiós, Estados Unidos. ¡Chinguen sus putísimas madres! We’re going to Mexico, where docs give a fuck.

—...

—Yeah, yeah, I got mom’s passport, but she doesn’t even need it. She was born in Rio Bravo, after all.

—...

—Moises is going to stay at the house. And also check on mom’s house.

—...

—Yes.

—...

—Okay.

—...

—What?

—...

—Come again.

—...

—Please don’t start again with…

—...

—I CHANGED THE LOCKS BECAUSE STUFF STARTED DISAPPEARING!

—...

—Mom is still alive and nobody should be taking anything from there.

—...

—I’m her legal guardian. I call the shots.

—...

—What? Oh, please.

—...

—Don’t be so petty.

—...

—She gave me those hand sewn silk, stuffed angel dolls a decade ago and you know it.

—...

—Whatever. Get a lawyer. Sue me. I don’t give two shits.

—...

—I care about MOM. And her LIVING.

—...

—Puh-lease. Her social security check doesn’t even cover half her costs. Plus I watch her, like, 18 hours a day.

—...

—Come out and say it, bitch.

—...

—Ever since she got sick, you’ve only talked about how much her house could go for and estate sales and life insurance beneficiaries.

—...

—The saddest part is she asks for you. She wants to see you. And you’re too busy to even come by for an hour.

—...

—Okay, yeah, you’ve come, like, three times. A total of five hours.

—...

—I didn’t call you to fight.

—...

—I’m just letting you know, mom and me are moving to Reynosa for as long as we need.

—...

—Yes, I know there’s a war going on down there. I have eyes. I have a brain. I read and watch the news.

—...

—Relax.

—...

—Relax, seriously.

—...

—We’re staying with Julio’s cousins in a nice, gated compound near the airport.

—...

—It’s a ten minute drive to the hospital and there’s a doctor nearby who makes house calls.

—...

—Yep. A doc who makes house calls - they still exist! At least in México.

—...

—I can bathe mom myself and do some physical therapy. It’s not exactly rocket science.

—...

—I’m not worried. We do have to get a reimbursement from Medicare, but they actually like for people to get medical work done in other countries. It’s cheaper.

—...

—I have an attorney on it. Mom may have to use her credit card, though.

—...

—At least for the initial hospital stay.

—...

—Well, I…

—...

—Hold on a minute.

—...

—What are you talking about now?

—...

—Oh.

—...

—Well, it was there one day, and gone the next.

—...

—And only you had visited mom that week.

—...

—Just settle down now.

—...

—I know you’re mad, but I was not accusing you per se.

—...

—After all, Mom could have given a copy of the house key to anyone.

—...

—She lived in that house for five decades!

—...

—And stuff went missing. Important stuff.

—...

—I’ll tell you what, Moises can get you a copy.

—...

—But if anything else disappears, mark my words...

—...

—There will be consequences.

—...

—What?

—...

—Huh?

—...

—No. Not happening. We are going to Reynosa and that’s final.

—...

—Besides. Look, mom wants to be buried in the same cemetery as her parents and sister over there.

—...

—And do you know how much it costs to transport a body across the border?

—…

—And no way she wants to be cremated. Waaaay too Catholic for that.

—...

—No, of course that’s not the reason.

—…

—Only reason.

—...

—Whatever. Bitch.

—...

—You take that back.

—...

—Eat shit.

—...

—Seriously, spoon it into your mouth.

—...

—Ha!

—...

—Mom is going to Reynosa with me because the doctors there actually work, unlike these motherfuckers in gringolandia.

—...

—She was dissociated! What the Hell else can I do?

—...

—You know that’s not an option.

—...

—And if they dissociate her in Mexico, we’ll be on a flight to Costa Rica.

—...

—Hell yeah I’m serious.

—...

—What?

—...

—Okay.

—...

—Okay, love you too.

—...

—Want to say anything to mom?

—...

—Once I get a cell phone in Reynosa at the mall, I’ll email you the number.

—...

—And we will have internet and a laptop and stuff.

—...

—They even have a nice pool!

—...

—MOM - Doris says Hola and Buen viaje. She loves you.

—...

—She hopes you feel mejor.

—...

—Okay. Ándale.

A bright light fills the closed eyelids. A soft, wet texture rubs against the cheek. A hard, pointed object caresses the lips. First top, then bottom.

A door opens and then slams. Footsteps plod and approach. A deep breath.

—Now mom, hold still.

—...

—You gotta look nice. These relatives haven’t seen you in ages!

—...

—¿Cómo se siente?

—...

—¿Lista para viajar?

—...

—MOISES. THAT YOU?

—Yeah?

—Thanks for coming such short notice.

—No worries.

—Please take mom’s suitcase to the truck. I’m already packed. And…say goodbye.

—I’m gonna try an visit this weekend or next.

—Just give Grandma a kiss, okay?

—Alright, abue, you take care, okay? I’ll see you soon. Love you.

—Oh and please leave the front door open and the passenger side door too. Mom needs some help walking.

—...

—Those damn rubber stoppers for her walker are already worn out.

—I told you to just cut slits in tennis balls and…

—I know, I know. I’ve just been busy.

—…

-Okay, mijo, we love you. Thanks for your help. We’ll call when we get there.

—...

—What? What is it?

—I, uhhh, I need to tell you something.

—What is it? ¿Qué pasa?

—Nah it ain’t like that, it’s good news. I just was waiting til grandma got better…

—Spill it.

—I’m...I’m ah be a dad.

—...

—...

—No.

—...

—No

—...

—Really? Are you shitting me?

—Nope. Doctor confirmed and everything.

—Well, this...this...is this good news?

—Well yeah. YEAH! A baby. I’m excited.

—But, like, are you going to live with mom? Get married?

—We’re still working on that stuff. But I plan on raising him or her and stuff.

—This, mijo... if you are happy I’m happy, but this is too much right now.

—...

—Although that Marlena girl was really sweet.

—Well…

—I think she’ll make a lovely mom. And wife.

—Ummm...about that....

—What?

—Marlena is like...she’s not really the person I been seeing seriously.

—Oh no…

—My girlfriend Leticia is the one who’s pregnant. Not Marlene.

A silence that stretches into an immediate vastness, then suddenly a furious, bursting cacophony of laughter. Then heaving. Then coughing.

Then, more laughter.

—Ayyy, Dios mío, you are your father’s son!

—Hey!

—¡Tal PALO, tal astilla!

—Haa haa.

—You hear that, mom? You better hurry up and croak because an army of great-grandchildren is on it’s way para chingarnos la vida!

—That’s cold, mom.

—She smiled!

—...

—Okay, well, send my congratulations to Leticia. I’m also a bit perplexed because I just accepted Marlena’s Facebook friend request.

—For real?

—Yes. This is quite the mess mijo. Have fun cleaning it up. We’re off to Reynosa.

—Be safe.

—We will, mijo. We will.

—Love you, abue.

—She loves you too.