by K. Osorio-Teamer

And then I woke up to the sound of my upstairs neighbor vacuuming. At 8am. Who does that? The one day I can sleep in after what feels like weeks of getting up in the dark, they choose to vacuum, the loudest of all chores. I sit up begrudgingly, my head still heavy from sleep, my eyelids fighting to stay shut. The sun peeks through the white blinds of my bedroom window shining a light on the thick blue blanket adorned with a family of tigers that Abuela gave me a few years ago. “They represent us, mi amor,” she said as I took it out of the plastic case. “I am the big one in the back and these three little ones are you and your sisters.” She giggled at the thought until I could only see the wrinkles of her eyes. It’s warm under the tiger blanket and I consider laying down again. I mean, how long can someone vacuum, right? I already know I won’t fall asleep again. I will simply replay thoughts in my head until I drive myself crazy. How will I pay the light bill? I was late twice this week, so next week’s paycheck will be short. I haven’t gotten an oil change and the light’s been on for weeks. My back has been hurting again. I should really go to the doctor. I wonder how Cecilia and Mariana are doing. Ceci and Mari. No, it’s best if I get up and occupy myself. Maybe do some vacuuming.

I put on my favorite playlist and turn the volume up on the speaker as loud as I can so I can hear it in the shower. It’s best to stay away from the quiet. The quiet is the trapdoor that drops me into the rabbit hole of thoughts and regrets. And so I listen to Juanes as he begs God to let him love his woman and to let him die for that love. To Mana’s cries of a heart burdened by the thorns of a rose. To Natalia Lafourcade, who vows she hasn’t forgotten you, you her moonlight, for she carries you in her very skin.  The words of their songs are far better than mine. Once I’m done, I put on the biggest t-shirt I can find, the one that was Arturo’s. The black one with the El Borracho loteria card printed on it. The one he forgot to take with him when he packed his small box of things and left. When I get the tv on and see the far too perky morning show hosts, I pause the music on my phone. They’re jabbering about game day recipes for Sunday, but I am transfixed by the notification on my phone.

Mari: Hey sis. Please call me back. It’s been months since…

I know there’s a way to hide the preview of texts, but I haven’t even tried. I just wish it knew I didn’t want to see anything from Mari. The hosts are eating tortilla chips that they’ve dipped into guacamole and reacting like they’ve never had it before. I roll my eyes. I better get some coffee in me. I swipe the notification away and head for the kitchen, leaving the phone on the couch. The hosts have moved on to potato skins. That sounds pretty good actually. The coffee pot is doing its thing and I search the kitchen for potato skin ingredients. I hear the phone vibrate once more. I peek over the kitchen door with a bag of shredded cheddar cheese in my hand. I consider picking up. I decide to open the bag of cheese and inspect it. It’s past the expiration date but I don’t see mold, so I have the green light. I grab my favorite mug, the cat face with pink glasses, and pour the black elixir. Its vapor caresses my face softly.

Before my butt hits the couch, I already know what I’m binging – The Great British Baking Show. I can watch polite Brits bake for hours. It’s biscuits week on the show and they’re about to start the technical challenge when the curiosity finally gets to me. I pick up the phone and see a missed call from Ceci. That’s surprising. She stopped reaching out a month ago. Below the missed call notification is a text from her. Mari has tried nearly every day to get a hold of me either by calling or texting. She still sends me memes on Instagram. I don’t know which I preferred – Ceci’s silence or Mari’s persistence. I have to read Ceci’s rare text.

Ceci: You don’t have to talk to us anymore, but we have to sell Abuela’s house. You need to get your old shit out. We packed it for you. Come get it today. The house will be empty.

I can’t stop staring at the screen. The house that I grew up in will soon be filled with strangers imagining it as their own. They’ll paint over the walls, replacing the bright and lively yellows, teals, and pinks with gray tones to make it seem modern. They’ll put a Live. Love. Laugh. sign right where Abuela hung her Vicente Fernandez mariachi hat that she swore was really his. They’ll tear apart her garden without giving a second thought to the orange, grapefruit, and guava trees that fed her little tiger cubs for years. They won’t care about all the work she put into every part of the house. The doilies placed with care under black and white photographs and the calendars from the panaderia in each room. They won’t know how the smell of onions cooking journeyed into each room beckoning her cubs to come watch her cook and wait patiently for their meal. They won’t know Abuela’s smile or the wrinkle in her eyes. As the bakers panic over how long they should leave Mary Berry’s fork biscuits in the oven, I let the weeks of running from the quiet wash over me. Crying is a messy thing. The more you do it, the harder it is to breathe and the deeper you fall in the rabbit hole.

I don’t know if I should call them. Ceci and Mari. I know they’ll pick up and that’s the scariest part. Having to hear their voices, reminding me of a life that feels more like a dream than reality. A life where I walked into a house filled with love and the smell of onions. One where I laughed at memes that Mari sent me, and Ceci and I snuck our beers into the movies, and Arturo was the one sitting on my couch in his El Borracho shirt. A life when my smiles weren’t forced and I didn’t run from silence. One where I trusted that most people were good. But Abuela was killed and then I woke up.