How Not to Drown in a Glass of Water (43)

When I found her, she was wearing the dark blue pajamas I buy her for Christmas many years ago. It made her look elegant. I made her good for the photo. I put the extra pillow behind the head. I closed the mouth. Took the almond oil on the table next to the bed and rubbed it on the forehead, around the face, in the arms and the chest. She didn’t like it when the skin look like ceniza. I combed her short canas, smoothing the curls so they looked more beautiful. I took some lipstick from my purse and put a little on the cheeks for color. I put a little on her lips, but just a little, because La Vieja Caridad liked to be natural, all the time.

The room did not smell like death yet. I think La Vieja Caridad died in peace. Of course, Fidel jumped in the bed and licked her face and the hands. I tried to stop him, but then I thought, this would make La Vieja Caridad happy. She shared the spoon with Fidel.

It was good that La Vieja Caridad left everything in order. All the necessary phone numbers on the door of the refrigerator. All the papers in the folder inside a tin box that she had from when she first moved into the building sixty years ago. Sixty! In the folder there was the paper that says, Do Not Resuscitate. A paper with the numbers of all the doctors. The receipt for the funeral arrangements. Everything was prepared and paid.

La Vieja Caridad stopped talking to her family many years ago. Her sister was religious and didn’t approve that La Vieja Caridad lived with the friend instead of a husband. She didn’t know her nieces and nephews and also the children of the nieces and nephews. How tragic. Except one of them, who I assumed was going to inherit everything of La Vieja Caridad’s life. They wrote letters to each other two or three times a year.

I asked La Vieja Caridad many times if losing the connection to her family to live a different life valió la pena. She said, Who wants to live in a lie? Freedom is being able to live your truth without having to apologize for it.

Her apartment was full of things from the ninety years of life. Furniture more old than me. Everything in great condition. She knew how to take care of things. The walls were full of the art from the many trips to different countries. I had already told her which one was my favorite and she said when the time came I could have it. It was from las Indias. That’s right! She traveled far away. I could not even imagine being in the plane for such a long time.

The painting is blue and gold, the same color of the sea. She told me the story of the painting about a boy and a tree. The boy was hungry and he wanted to eat, so the tree gave him the fruit. But when the stomach was full, the boy became cold, so the tree gave him the branches so he could build the house. But once he had the house the boy wanted to travel and he went to the tree and asked if he could have the trunk of the tree to build a boat, but the tree said, No y no y no. I am sorry. Without my trunk I cannot give you fruits and branches. I want to stay alive so I can have more to give to you in the future. Pero toma, the tree said and gave the boy some seeds so he could plant another tree to build the boat and travel.

Isn’t that a good story? Ha!

But anyways, I called the ambulance, and when I was waiting for them, I boiled canela so the apartment did not smell bad. I called the number of the niece of La Vieja Caridad that I found on the refrigerator and left a message. I called Lulú, ángela, Tita, and Glendaliz so they understood what was happening.

I swept the apartment. I cleaned the dust from the shelves. I wiped the sink. It was very strange to see her in the bed and know she was gone. When the ambulance arrived, Glendaliz said she could wait for the funeral people. So I went home. The smell of dying was going to come and it would be too much for me.

When I arrived to my apartment I sat on the table next to the window, looked to the view of the bridge, and cried. How can I explain? Suddenly, I remembered the sensation I had when I lost my job in the factory: a profound sensation of empty.



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It was different than when Fernando left because I always think that one day I will see him again. It was different than when I left Hato Mayor because I was running away from that. La Vieja Caridad was gone forever. My job was gone forever.

It felt like I lost a part of me. But I mean physically lost a part of me. Could you imagine after twenty-five years to suddenly stop the routine of going to work? Every day, Iván and his van picked us up on the corner and took us to the factory across the George Washington Bridge. Rain, snow, cold, hot. Every day we would get into the small van carrying our lunches, checking in with each other. Every day crossing the bridge I saw the sun come out of the darkness. Few people in the world get to see that view.

When I was working in la factoría I didn’t want Friday to come. For me it was the most sad day of the week. Especially after Fernando was gone. Always I asked for overtime. I did not like to sit in my apartment. If someone asked me for help, I said yes to stay busy. So when they took away my job, I felt empty.

Sometimes I stayed in the bed in the darkness, waiting for the sun to come in, and the clock tick and tick and the days were so long. It was more like a torture in the winter. There were no birds singing. No children outside playing. No music in the streets. If it wasn’t for Lulú, who came every morning at the same time to have un café, I don’t know if I would have left the bed.

For me, it’s better to work. I tell you this because I need something good to happen with a job and even if this is my last day with you, I hope you will not forget about me.

So yes, I was very sad the day La Vieja Caridad died. I felt the world come on top of me. I thought about ángela and Hernán leaving me to go to Long Island. And now La Vieja Caridad was gone. And Fernando, will he ever return to me? Slowly, everybody was leaving.