May Life Live

Long Live Life

Note: This is a work in progress. If you have any suggestions, please leave a comment.

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Death is my life. Think back to your childhood. what was your favourite bedtime story? Cinderella? The Little Mermaid? I liked those, too. In fact, I loved anything by the Brothers Grimm. What was your favourite show? Barny? (laugh) My Little Pony? How about C.S.I.? No? Just me? Ok, then, what about when you got older? What was your favourite book? The Cat In the Hat? The Giving Tree? I preferred Catcher In the Rye.

What about your parents? Are they teachers? Police officers? Doctors? CEOs? My parents made their living personifying racial Stereotypes. My father, a second-generation Latino, was a traveling salesman for a pharmaceutical company. My mother, a full-blooded Roma, was a fortune teller. For a price(usually about 19.99) she could read your palm, translate tarot cards, or deliver a message from a departed love one. You'd think she'd have been able to predict her own death.

What? You thought I was talking in past tense because we'd become fabulously wealthy and were now living a life of luxury? Foolish Optimist. Mom died in childbirth. They had to cut me out of her womb after she flat-lined(technically, it's called a post-mortem Caesarean delivery, but I like my version better).

Papa was on the way to a hospital to deliver samples of a new medication when he was held up by some gangbangers. He took two in the chest because he didn't hand over the bag quick enough. I was seven at the time. That would be traumatic enough, but it happened to be take-your-child-to-work day.

After that, I went to live with my grandmother in Los Angeles. Madame Tia lived in a small run-down apartment nestled between Roma ghettos and Latino barrios. I remember worrying about safety, considering that the neighbour to our left was an enforcer (and not of the law, if you know what I mean).

Tia saw the look on my face, laughed, and cackled, "No one messes with Tía Rosa."
She pulled me in close, and whispered, "They don't want me to curse them."
I rolled my eyes, then gasped as three men covered with tattoos moved out of the way. And when she opened the door to her apartment, I could see why.

The room was bathed in heavy velvet draperies. The door to the kitchen was open, and I could see herbs hanging in poys from the ceiling. A plush victorian loveseat mounded with silk pillows was pushed against one wall. The others were lined with book shelves filled with ancient leather-bound books, dried herbs, and pieces of mummified remains of various small animals.

It was too much for my seven year old self to handle. I ran, squealing, into the apartment. I snatched up the carcass of a mouse, examining it.

"Probable cause of death is trauma to the C2 and C3 vertebrae. Battered state indicates the victim was beaten severely paramortem. Lividity of right hand side tells me it was thrown aside, where it mummified because it was placed next to an open vent--"

I was about to move a book to expose the air-conditioning ventelation shaft when a hand on my shoulder stopped me. I looked up, to see Tia's eyes twinkling, the wrinkles on her face etched into an amused grin.

"Well done, detective. You've found Enbros lost mouse. He's been looking for that ever since he killed it."

I was shocked. Usually, when I did things like that, adults looked at me with a mixture of fear and disgust. But then again, Tia wasn't like most adults. Some of her books were filled with descriptions of herbs and their medicinal properties, and others instructions for using them. She would make traditional folk cures for anyone who asked. This gave her a reputation among the locals of being a witch. And, as her neice, I gained the reputation as well.

I didn't mind. It gave me the freedom to go about the neighborhood poking dead things as I wished. Surprisingly, Tia didn't mind. In fact, she set aside a pot that i could boil the remains in to strip the bones clean. Her only rule was "no humans." In return, I would help her with deliveries.

I never actually saw her make her salves or tonics, though. And when i asked her, she told me that, "Too many of our family have been caught up in things they shouldn't be. Some things should be left alone. I told your mother that, but she didn't listen."

Nothing unusual about that comment at all.