Las Palabras-A Snippet of a Short Story I have written

     The call came in on a January morning.  It was one of those crisp mornings that draw me away from the indoors.  I don’t know what it is about cold weather, but it just wants to make me move, keep my legs pumping and only stopping for some strong, bitter coffee or the gentle smile from a local beauty. The voice on the other line was hardly recognizable, like the sleep deprived months, the weeks of pain and the grief stricken episodes had taken its toll on what at one point was the voice of command.  It was amá.

Toñito? she asked in a tired voice. 

Even in my late twenties, mi amá still refers to me with childhood names.  I guess it’s true that through the eyes of a mother we are still children.  Doesn’t matter how messed up our lives have been, or how much we disappoint them or how long ago the innocence we held has dissipated away with our shameful acts, we are still their angelitos.

¿Que tienes?

The nurses say you should be here now.  At most, tu papá has two days.  You should be here.  Let him know that he is not alone.  Come home, Antonio.

Six months now since apá has been in the hospice; the years of intoxicating his body have left his insides rotted and now his outsides are starting to show it.  Last time I visited, his state of being was just not right.  He recognized no one, but sought comfort in only amá.  When I walked in, his yellow eyes peered right at me.  The fixated gaze lasted for minutes, but it felt like hours to me. My mind tripped out, I felt as if he and I were the only ones in the room.  I remained frozen and could only stare back at the skeletal being apá had become.  Then, my name came out of his mouth.  I stumbled forward, shaking and slipped my arms around the man.  Apá cried and I cried too.  

Time has ended for apá, I know.  Any normal person would have been booking a flight the second their mothers would tell them such news.   But I ain’t fuckin’ normal and it hurts to realize that.  I don’t even know why I do the shit I do.  I just come up with lame reasons that make no sense.  When I try to explain, people would look at me and be like,

What the fuck?

-Gabriel Lopez