Alas, you've built yourself, you've built yourself a working station. Surrounded with inspiration, speakers filled with music to jog memory, mirror covered walls to draw reflection from lessons learned through the years and to remind yourself of transformation, photographs of your parents during their 20s, images of yourself now, in this present. You wonder why is it that when you drive long distances do you come up with these great stories, yet as soon as you sit down in front of this screen everything has escaped you. Not to worry, just let your fingertips do the talking; it seems to work better that way.
It was a hot day, at the end of April. Or it seemed hot because she has grown so accustomed to the bay area weather. She drove in her pearly white VW into the valley heat, AC blasting and music flowing from her speakers. Her hair up in a messy ponytail, bare faced, and sunglasses covered her bag ridden eyes, sleep seems limited these days. The next 24 hours would go quickly, they always did. Ninety degrees, congested traffic, she should have left earlier. No choice but sit and suck it up, sit still, sit like a duck. It is dark now, finally off the highway driving down and onto empty rural roads. A canal and rows of orchards on the right and identical homes on the left. She turns into a street, parallel parks in front of her parents drive way, her mother stubbornly took up both of the parking spaces, slightly irritated she decides to bite her tongue; she is only here for one night, no fighting. She pops the trunk, grabs her five loads of laundry, locks her car and heads into the jungle like front yard.
As she approaches the front door, she can see through the screen, and simultaneously hear the Mexican radio station playing in the kitchen and Sabado Gigante on the flat screen in the livingroom. Mom, you can hear is just hanging up with grandma, updating her, "Si, creo que ya llego." The phone clacks as she hangs up. Her father sits in his wobbly orange recliner, feet up on a step stool, across from him sits her mother, needle and cloth in hand. She is sowing again. You force the screen door open, sticking your hand through where the door knob use to be years ago. It makes so much noise, dad turns around and makes one of his many crazy faces, not because he is startled or upset but because he is a goofball. Mother, barely looks up from her needle work and says in her sarcastic tone, "¿podrias ver llegado mas tarde no?"
to be cont'd...
