The Ofrenda
I didn’t know how to come back.
I tried.
I just didn’t know how to come back.
I didn’t know how to set down my old life and pick back up one that was older still. I didn’t know how to get used to the sun-heated metal of a gate in my hand instead of the fire-heated metal of a gun. I didn’t know how to sleep soundly when there was so little sound, how to eat at a kitchen table instead of at an office desk…how to keep my mind clear when there was nothing else to fill it.
I just wanted to feel…to feel something that was actually there.
Not only whispers. The phantom sensation of a pistol at my hip, the sound of faraway footsteps coming too close, the memory of promises made and broken. Not only ghosts.
I’m done. It’s over. I’m done.I said the last two words over and over again in my head like the repetition would make them real. The same words I had given my father the day I called from the airport to tell him I was home.
I don’t think he believed them then. Neither did I. Maybe we both just knew the truth.
The back door slid open with the too-hard pull of my hand, the welcoming wash of cool air brushing through the sweat-damp curls of my hair, the open buttons of my burgundy shirt. Being out of the heat should have felt like salvation, but it didn’t. And I already knew nothing in that kitchen had the power to soothe the frayed edges of my nerves, not even the whiskey that I’d already been moving to pull from above the cabinet.
Doesn’t mean I didn’t try.
My thoughts spun out when I heard a car door shut. Immediately alert and already moving, I could make out the follow-up crunch of shoes on gravel. Quick steps, rapid as my heart as it started to race. Someone knocked on the front door. Urgent. Insistent.
I was ready. Whatever was on the other side, it had to be better than constantly waiting. I’m ready. I’m ready. I’m ready.
I twisted the handle and pulled open the door and—
Someone stumbled into me.
“Thanks, Tadeo, I was—” She glanced up, and everything stilled. Everything settled. Everything stopped. And for the first time in a long time, I took a deep breath.
There was something familiar about her face. But I thought I would have known those eyes. Wide and open, scanning my every feature as I tried to do the same.
I was pulled in like a magnet, as if I’d been drifting and the rope of my anchor had just snapped taut. As if I could reach out and smooth the nervous wrinkle in her brow and it would do the same to every one of my jagged edges.
Her own breath caught in her throat, a shaky exhale of only two words, but I thought I might actually believe them…even as the recognition of who she was started to click into place. I still thought I might believe her.
“You’re home.”