Third World

Chapter One: La Muerta Olvidada

The white candles sagged within the silver holders, the sickly sweet perfume wafting through the large room. The small lacquer altar looked out of place among the sleek uniformity of the other furniture in the room, tucked away in a corner as if it too realized it didn't belong here.

His mother Norma had insisted they pay their respects as a family; why, Montiel didn't know. Norma, still stubbornly preaching about how religious she was, had ceased most - if not all - of the old traditions altogether. She had become accustomed to the comfort and luxury she and her husband had obtained in Troika, and did not easily engage in activities that interfered upon them. Even now, as she scurried back and forth setting up the worn altar, she kept mumbling about getting her hair done for a dinner party later that evening. Her cheekbones jutted out sharply beneath her pinched eyes as she judged her rushed handiwork, clicking her tongue against her teeth impatiently.

Behind her, the last rays of the sun shone proudly through the vast window, casting a rosy glow upon everything in sight. Montiel groaned internally, anxiously tapping his feet. At this rate, he thought, checking his watch, I'm going to be late to Amelia's. Just thinking about the supple, joyful smile of his lab partner was enough to temporarily calm his nerves. All semester he and Amelia had consistently gotten the highest marks in Applied Chemistry; outside of the classroom, their chemistry left much to be desired.

He had tried inviting her out for coffee several times, and had pretty much given up on her ever noticing him, when yesterday she called him out of the blue and invited him to her party. He had been so caught off guard that all he was able to do was stammer out a thank you before she hung up, promising to text him the details. Maybe I should bring something for the party, or at least for Amelia. Thinking about her face lighting up at a present that he bought her left Montiel dizzy. 

Across the room, Montiel's father Hector, looked on in obtuse silence. An extremely capable engineer, his social skills had always been stunted at best. Even now he seemed vaguely confused as to why he was here, instead of in his office or den. He had gotten fatter since Montiel had last seen him, and had a noticeable gut hanging past his belt now. Glazed and unfocused, he eyes snapped to attention at the sound of his wife's voice.

"Does this look even to you Hector," she prompted him, snapping her fingers and pointing at the humble row of clay calaveras. The skulls were worn down, the once bright magenta and gold paint decorating them dull and murky, arranged in circles around the knobbly candelabras. A pair of pink plastic flip flops and several fraying hair ribbons lay beneath the rickety altar in a place of honor while a single skull made of actual sugar cane sat in the center. Dusty and nearly translucent, the tattered paper marigolds were clustered haphazardly around the frame bearing Atziri's photograph.

"Ahh... yes dear, it, uh... looks great," Hector replied indifferently. He often paused when he spoke, as if he needed to consciously think about each word and how to make it come across as a meaningful statement. "But... um...where's the food...and the soap," he continued, gesturing towards the empty plastic platters that in earlier years had once held heaps of tamales and pan de muerto.

Norma waved her hand dismissively. "I didn't have the time to make them this year, and the soap dish shattered last year, remember?" Hector grunted and said no more. Norma threw her hands across her chest and pursed her lips, giving the altar a final inspection before turning around and facing her son.

"Did you bring your camera, like I asked?" In reply, Montiel reached across the sofa for his backpack, extracting  an impressive black SLR camera. Pulling the split strap around his neck, the camera provided a comforting weight against his chest as he stood up and crossed the room toward his parents. Even though he towered over her, Montiel always felt overwhelmed by his mother, and after avoiding her for the last year, the sensation was almost suffocating. Almost immediately, she turned her hypocritical gaze onto him, and frowned.