Mama wanted to visit the cemetery the next day so she sent me to buy some roses. I knew she only sent me because Gabi was working at the flower shop that day. She's made up her mind that we were both meant to be together and is determined to see us together on the alter together one day.

Gabi and I know all about my mother's plans and we find it extremely amusing but we had no plans to follow through with them. Not only did we not have any romantic interest in each other, but our relationship would have been heavily frowned upon by the community. In a small town like ours, no one would hesitate to make their opinions about it known {privacy and respect for one's opinions: a myth passed down from our forefathers.}

I was surprised to hear that Gabi wasn't actually at work. Mr. Martinez had just arrived back home and was very eager to see all his children again, Gabi included. Instead, Rosa helped me with exactly 7 and a half freshly picked roses. {mama cannot stand whole numbers. How could she when she is not whole herself?} The walk back home was uneventful, apart from the occasional text alarm from my pocketed phone.

One particular path led me down a road that went past my old high school. My chest tightened at the sight of it and I walked faster, ignoring the many emotions that flooded me at seeing the place were my best memories were made {smoking hand rolled cigarettes, running from the law through the back fields, getting drunk with my friends though I don't reckon I did anything right}

Mama was waiting for me when I arrived and we set of immediately in the old jeep. I rolled down the windows because the air conditioning wasn't working and I relished the the feeling of the cool breeze on my face. I made my way down backroads, remembering my teenage escapades with my friends, singing along to the music on the radio.

The cemetery was empty of people, making it easier for us to navigate the large compound. Papa's grave was right beneath a Llama del bosque or flame of the forest tree. Mama had paid for it to be planted there, simply saying that he always had a fiery spirit.

I knew Papa never liked those flowers. They were too bright and bold. He was a soft and gentle man and always like soft and gentle things like pastel colors and kittens. I would never tell Mama this. She was too lost in her own memory of him, turning and twisting it around to her own preference. One less thing to remind her of her sins. One less thing to break her.

I always wondered whether it was Mama's lack of knowledge of his ways that causes their marriage to crumble. That had caused the fights that had severely injured my mother and killed my father. Whether that was what urged my mother to do what she did {pride always comes before the fall of your mental well-being and before the release of the voices that will haunt you forever}

The cemetery, despite being a land for the dead, made me feel more alive than ever. The sky was always blue, the colors of the flowers bright and eye catching, the grass always green and patch less, save for the newly dug graves. Knowing that the dead were all around you made you feel more alive and made your mere existence seem like a gift. That's probably what made my mother hate it so much. She hated the mere feeling of hope, the sight of beauty and the feel of living.

We didn't stay long. I'm surprised she even wanted to come at all. The drive back was silent; even the radio had silenced. Mama's hands were clasped together, her body shaking. I didn't touch her or reach out to comfort her. I COULDN'T. I hadn't touched her since Papa died.

{and if only you knew my reasons and how much it broke me}

Poor Icarus {papa}.

If only you had listened to your father,

And flew safely, close to him, without risk,

Maybe you wouldn't have crashed down,

Taking all our hopes and dreams with you

The sun's radiating beauty, has killed you.

Oh papa {Icarus/mama's poor soul/the broken people whose voices haunt them forever},

I weep for you.

Obey your father and mother, so that your days may be long.

The sky really is our limit.

{or maybe the sun was just lonely and didn't want to wait for mother to pick out a friend for them.

"stay within your social class darling" she always said

and she found a friend who drew closer and closer, despite the risk just to be friends so she reached out but instead of grabbing him and bringing him up, pushed him down and down and down until the ocean swallowed him whole. *have pity she wept for days*}

I headed for the mountains immediately we arrived home, not willing to lie on my bed and have nothing to do but ponder. I walked briskly, and tried to run at some point but my poor heart couldn't take it.

I wanted to the stranger to be there but I kept telling myself repeatedly that she wasn't going to be there and I shouldn't get my hopes up so I jumped in surprise when I saw her there cigarette in one hand while the other clutched her bag tightly.

She turned immediately she heard me coming and I could see something flicker in her eyes as she watched me sit down and thrust something into my hand.

"Here." her voice was raspy and her eyes were red but again I couldn't tell whether it was from crying or smoking.

Inside the blue box were 20 pieces of white chocolate, each shaped like tiny pinecones.

"My best friend gave it to me," she said quietly.

"That's thoughtful of them, but why are you giving it to me?" I asked picking one up.

"He knows I'm lactose intolerant and deathly allergic to pine cones."

"Oh."

Neither of us said anything for a while, but I had found that I didn't feel the need to fill up the silence that hung between us and I think she was grateful for that. I brought my knees to my chest and folded my arms before placing my head on my arms.

When I looked up, the sun had gone down and she was shaking. She panted out heavy breaths and I from the looks of it, I could tell she was on the verge of having a panic attack.

I didn't know what triggered it but I was determined to not let it happen. I scooted closer, reaching for her hand. I grasped it, using my thumb to trace circles on the back of her hand. I wanted to put my arms around her, but I didn't want to overstep.

However, I didn't have to debate that issue for long as she soon fell in to my embrace and I held her close while she tried to calm down, refusing to let tears slip from her eyes.

I needed to distract her so I talked. I told her stories of my childhood. I talked about my mama and my papa and my siblings who I loved to death.

I talked and she listened all through the night, until I unwillingly succumbed to sleep.