Clap When You Land(18)
Even if all he hears is silence.
We sit like that a long while.
Him patting my hair, me breathing in his familiar cologne.
I trust he hurts
how I hurt. I trust he knows I hurt without my having to say so.
Halfway through the discussion of funeral arrangements
I heave up from Papi’s chair.
Walk to his old-school record player, grab one of his favorite artists, & queue the music.
My uncles go quiet,
my aunt shushes someone on the phone, I lean back in his chair
& close my eyes.
One of Papi’s favorite bachata songs lifts itself into the room. It’s about lost love, & although it’s a breakup song, the lament to not think, to not cry, to not hurt for another man the singer feels like it could be speaking to this moment.
Before the song is over
Mami slams her hand on the disc.
The music stops midnote.
It seems fitting, I think.
To end right in the middle.
She doesn’t have to tell me music is inappropriate for mourning.
I only needed it for a second to remember a time before this one.
Tía Mabel
asks Mami
where Papi
will be buried
as we’re seated
around the kitchen table
picking out
a picture
to laminate
for mourners.
(I have begun making lists in my head.
Of all the things I don’t want to forget about Papi.
If someone asked my biggest fear,
it would be that. Forgetting his calloused hand with a fingertip he chopped off in DR.
His gold tooth that blinked in the light.
His big laugh that used to make me smile, even if I was mad at him.
I try to find a picture that captures all of this, Papi in motion. Papi in space. Papi gilded.
Papi, the big hot boiling sun
we all looked to for light.
I want to forget this whole past year & remember only the good things.
Not a single photo captures exactly what I need, & I shove away picture after picture after picture—)
At Tía’s words Something flashes in Mami’s eyes that isn’t really sadness; her hands tighten against her snatched waist.
She hugs herself hard. Neither of them looks at me when she says: “His real family is here. What’s left of him will be buried here.”
I look at my mother, as if seeing her for the first time.
She sounds angry. I try to see if she knows what I know.
But Tía Mabel makes a sharp sound,
& I swing my eyes in her direction.
Tía Mabel’s mouth looks like a cliff words want to tumble over, but she clamps her lips tight & pulls the sentences off the edge.
Tío Jorge shakes his head.
“Yano always wanted to be buried back home, Zoila.”
Mami doesn’t even look in his direction.
“He will not be buried there. I am his wife.”
My heart feels like it’s pounding in my chest.
Does she know? Does she know? Do they all know?
Tío shakes his head & takes a folder out from his briefcase.
“His wife you might be, Zoila, but you are not his will.”
He sets a document on the kitchen table.
My mother picks up the papers
as if they will origami themselves into fangs.
Then she laughs, “So this he planned for?”
“& . . .” Tío shoots a glance at me.
“The other matter, too, Zoila. You agreed.”
Mami puts the papers down without reading,
straightens & smooths them as if fixing a boyfriend’s tie.
Mami turns her back to us, stands by the window.
“He was ours first. & he will be ours last.
Pero if this is what he wanted, then take him back.
But we won’t be the ones there to see him buried.”
I want to agree with Mami, but I can’t.
The part of me that is my father’s daughter, that sat on his lap & laughed. That had her hand patiently guided by his, that girl knows it isn’t so simple.
“If Papi is buried in DR, I want to be there.
He died alone & afraid, without family around.
Without anyone who knew him. He was probably thinking of us.
How can we put him in the dirt alone
& not even go to say a prayer over his grave?”
Although she still has her back to me, Mami straightens.
The longer I speak, the more unthinkable the scenario.
Mami can’t possibly imagine she & I wouldn’t go.
Papi wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t deserve this.
& we deserve to say goodbye.
Her eyes are watery when she turns to me, but her voice is solid ice.
“Yahaira. Your father was no man’s saint.
Not even if I dropped dead this moment, would I let you touch foot on the sands of that tierra. Get that thought right out of your head. Grave or no grave.”
I press my mouth tight to keep my quivering lip to myself.
& I look at my mother & smile.
Never, ever let anyone see you sweat.