Ella es la que está conmigo a pesar de mis desbalance' psicológico'

La que está conmigo sin importar lo económico

La que se ríe de mis chiste' aunque no sean cómico

La única que saca mi lado romántico

{Canción con Yandel by Bad Bunny and Yandel}

~~~

I won't talk about my parents' love story {because it was basically non-existent in my eyes}. I'm sure everyone has heard the story of the rich girl who gave up her status and wealth to be with the poor man she fell in love with.

What I will talk about, however, is how my mama murdered my father.

It didn't all happen in one day, although that is what everyone was made to believe. No, it started a week after my father's birthday, years ago.

My father had just come back from an all expense paid trip to Tennessee for a farmer's conference. This was the first time that someone from our family had actually left our small Puerto Rican town, excluding me and mama, because I was brought up with my Aunt in Florida and my mother had done her fair share of traveling when she was a child.

He was in such a good mood because, apparently, he had struck a major deal with this huge company and had even been paid upfront. In fact, he went out of his way to buy all of us expensive gifts which, normally, he would not have been able to afford. But he made us promise one thing that day.

That we would use the money sparingly and live our normal lives. That we wouldn't change ourselves because we had money now and could afford to live comfortably.

This was easy enough to agree on. Even Benito, the most restless of all my siblings had never shown any interest in living an extravagant life. As long as we were able to provide for ourselves and future families, we were okay. It was just the way we were brought up. To appreciate the simple things in life.

But my mother wasn't having it. You see, as I have mentioned before, my mother was brought up in a rich home, and had spent her childhood in a rich household, being showered with gifts and whatever she wanted. She was her father's heir and her future was bound to be great.

Until she met my father.

At the sound of the news, something clicked in mama's mind. My father had money now. We didn't have to suffer anymore. She could go back to the way it used to be, being showered in lavish gifts all her life and never having to worry about were your next meal would come from while trying to provide for a huge family.

She spent exactly a week trying to change my father's mind. The week before his birthday. Somewhere within her, she knew it wouldn't work because my father never turned back on his words.

She slipped in the first tablet the day after his birthday. What's worse is that I watched her do it.

She caught me watching her and, without me asking, told me it was for his arthritis, which had been acting up lately. My father knew something was off from the first sip. I could tell by the way he scrunched up his face at the taste.

"Are you all right Papa?" I asked him on the third week of her madness, leaning against the doorframe leading into the living room.

He looked up and smiled softly at me {a sad, sad, smile it was} "Ah, Cariño. I thought you were off with Gabi. Ven." He gestured for me to come closer and leaned in when I did. "Your mother thinks she's slick."

The way he said it so calmly, sent shivers down my spine all the way to my toes and I nearly choked on my fruit tea.

"¿Qué?"

"You heard me. I said what I said."

"Papa...." 

"It's okay cariño. You're going to apologize when it's not your fault," he sighed. "Let me tell you a story."

I sat on the armchair closest to my father, grateful that my mother was out shopping.

"There was once a boy called Icarus-"

"I know this story Papa. Of Daedalus and his son Icarus. They escaped from Daedalus' labyrinth with wings made of wax but Icarus flew too close to the sun and the wax melted and he fell to the ocean and died." I interrupted, disappointed that I already knew his story.

"Patience child," he chuckled and I winced at the fact that he still saw me as a child even at my 15 years.

"So you've heard the story. Good. Now look at it this way. Put your mother in the place of the sun, me in the place of Icarus and my father in the place of Daedalus. My father warned me not to get too close to your mother. People like her can't be satisfied with people like you, he said. But I didn't listen and I flew closer to the sun. And right now, I'm still flying. Closer and closer until, one day, my wings will melt and I will fall to my death. And as I fall, my father's words will be playing in my head on repeat."

{"Cortar el abrigo de acuerdo con su paño," his father had said. Cut your coat according to your cloth.}

"A man falling to his death in the middle of an ocean flings his arms in vain, for he knows there us nothing that can be done." he finished.

"No."

"No?" he quirked an eyebrow

"The man could be saved by a parachute, a boat or freaking Spider-Man or...something dammit! The man doesn't have to die!"

Papa smiled and kissed my forehead as he got up.

"Gen-Z kids," he whispered teasingly.

Ten years later, we laid Papa to rest.