Mount Aerolyn

BitterSweet

The sun flashes as we pass by the trunks of the palm trees. The wind in my dark curls as we drive down the highway. The heat feels nice on my beautiful brown skin. Papa looks back in the rear view.

"Are you sure you don't wanna dance anymore mija?"

"No, I love to dance papa but ballet, it's just, getting old.

"Your mother—"

"I know papa! I just want something different."

"How about this. You finish this recital and if by the end of it you still want to quit, you have my blessing. Ok?"

"Si papa."

"I'm so proud of you Mija."

The rest of the recital went as planned and although my interest for ballet and dance is strong, my flame of passion doesn't burn as hot as it used to. Mom left when I was young and my dads love for her burns hotter than the day they met but Mom, she isn't coming back. It hurts my dad to know that I want to quit ballet but I've been looking into a form of dance called Hijo balie.

—— ——

"What do you think papa?"

"Hijo balie? Leaf dance? Uh, yeah but maybe check out some more popular styles of dance like break, or hip hop."

"Papa noooo. I want to try this! Listen to this: —While studying this art form you will connect to your physical strength, mental clarity, individuality and spirituality."

"That all sounds great Mija but what about—"

"Dad I know you miss mom but I am not her. I'm not even of your blood. You want me to dance and I will dance but let me choose."

"Los siento Mija," tears find freedom on his face. "Come, call your brothers and let's eat."

Papa sets the table and dishes out Fideo, a family favorite. My brothers dig in but I'm not hungry. I twirl my fork around the bowl thinking about all the information I withheld.

"So, pa—"

"Mija, please. We can talk more later, go on, eat."

——| |——

Dad sits on the couch, TV on, beer in hand, eyes open but blind to the entertainment. He thinks about mom every evening with the same glazed look in his eyes.

"Dad? You ok? Are you thinking of mom again?"

"Huh? What? Ahem! No, no. I was just uhh—"

"Can you tell me about her papa?"

"She was the most perfect, spanish speaking, Brazilian belleza in all of California. When I seen her, my heart skipped beats. I actually forgot to breathe. Our sons actually look more like there mamá, (thank the heavens above) and it was her idea to adopt out of Haiti. Her heart was big Mija, and although you may not have her face, skin, hair, or blood, you have her heart. Family is something you choose Mija, blood is nothing but a fluid. Family is a bond between people and we do family the best."

"Why did she leave?"

"To this day Mija, I don't know."

"Did she not want us?" He takes another drink finishing his current beer.

"I don't know Mija."

"Well, can I tell you about the dance style I was talking about yesterday?"

"It's only been two days Mija, you already trying to get back to dancing?"

"It's cultural dad, it was a Spanish dance style to help keep slave morale up during slavery. That's amazing, no?"