Her Name is Memory

02| quick reunion

Edited

CHAPTER 2

"I'm dancing with yesterday,
because today has lost it's charm"

- Nathaniel's Lyric Journal

MY FIRST FEW DAYS IN ALABAMA were just like I expected them to be: boring.

Why am I even here? I grumbled to myself, flickering through the channels on TV while stifling a yawn.

Coming back from my morning run, I explored the small house with little enthusiasm. Falling asleep was also met with little excitement as well. The silence outside in place of the typical loud noises I was accustomed to made it more difficult to sleep.

I eyed the boxes scattered all around the room, feeling too lazy to start unpacking. My head started to ring loudly when I saw my guitar sticking out from one of the boxes that the moving trucks dropped off, quietly calling out for me.

My hand was immediately twitching, remembering the many hours of testing different chord combinations, singing my thoughts away. My thoughts angrily shut down. Singing was more intoxicating than any drug I have ever tried.

I got up to open the flaps on the box to look at the familiar guitar.

The day I saw my mother dead was the day I put my guitar in a box and hid it to never be seen until now. She was the one who introduced me to singing when she made me join a choir when I was young. That part of me was part of her. If I closed my eyes hard enough, I could almost imagine her saying 'Tú estás dontado' with every performance I gave.

You are gifted.

I opened my eyes to put the guitar back into the box. 

And when she died, she took that with her.

Looking at the object next to my guitar, I pulled out a black notebook from the box to examine the leather-bound book in finer detail.

She gave it as a birthday gift a month before she passed. I did not give it much thought when she handed it to me. After all, it was just a black notebook.

'You should stop singing other's people songs' She said with a smile when I asked her why she got it for me. 'It's time to put yours words on the page'.

I opened the book for the first time to find an object that was taped inside the cover. It was a bracelet with green, white, and red stripes that were seamlessly woven together. I pulled it off from the notebook, feeling the rough material under my fingertips.

'That's to remember who you are' she explained when she opened the cover of the notebook to show it to me.  Mom had always been to be Mexican- with the bright stripes representing the colors of the flag. Growing up in El Barrio part of New York City and her determination to make sure we were raised like she was in Mexico instilled our heritage, even though I was only half.

This was the last gift she gave me.

Now suddenly a prized procession, I wrapped the bracelet around my wrist and tied the loose ends together before I returned my attention to the notebook. 

I traced the outer edge of the page before I flipped it to the first page. It was a cream-colored page, black lines standing boldly in front of me; Lines that were meant to contain my feelings, my words.

It could be anything.

What am I suppose to write, Mamá?

An influx of emotions overwhelmed me, so I grabbed the nearest pen, jotting down the first thought that came into my mind.