Our Haunting
Some nights, I'd go outside at dead of night across the driveway, past the rustling trees & dead swings. I’d climb on the hood of the truck, lay down & look at the stars. We were out in the country &, sometimes, you could hear the coyotes sing in staggering howls.
Because of this, I’d become afraid, but I was more afraid of being inside - of that false sense of safety that was crumbling piece by piece. At least outside, there was something I could hang on to; a bravery I knew I’d need soon enough, & perhaps, wanted to test with coyotes & scorpions & the lonesome ditch that conjured stories of wailing women & native revenants.
I looked at the stars, stationary beams of unwavering wishes, save for the one or two that - after holding on too long - fell. Whether they were falling due to loss of hope or letting go due to finally possessing it, I did not know. I still don’t. I often wondered if perhaps all the things that roamed in the blackness of night saw me, knew I waited for them to come, but they never did. Who couldn’t reach who? Was I too far away, in my own hell? Or were they bound to theirs? Maybe we shared a hell, for I realize now that the darkness - what I truly feared - was not lingering & howling in the yonder, but was waiting for me inside.
A chandelier; I remember my mother bought. A symbol of opulence in a home growing ever more constraining. It hung off center over an oval 10-chair dining table. One chair for the master of the home with armrests, where my father often sat. All false symbols. Pretend play trinkets for grownups that didn’t know how to take off the cape & the makeup & put away their monopoly money. All this, waited inside. So I’d climb on the hood of the truck & allow myself to be afraid, yes, because at least that which was outside didn’t lie to me about their ability & intentions to tear me apart.
This is the real haunting of our Hispanic culture; not the stories we’re told about hands that pull our legs at night or el cucuy, but the brokenness we leave our children with because we refuse to stand in the darkness.
Chatter your chandelier.
Sing with me in staggering howls.
