La Vida y La Muerte by Ashley Garcia

my father throwing in the towel.

Let me tell you about my ancestral home... It was here that our family gathered for Thanksgiving, wearing masks in the house. Sitting oddly far away from each other. Timidly making conversations about the economy and the falling price of gas. We had never been so close and yet so far in the small confines of my grandmother’s living room. And for the first time since Uncle Ricky’s passing, we ate outside. Sharing laughs from table separated by fear of contamination and love.

Let me tell you about my ancestral home... It was here Mother rested while my military breed father fought the woes of Hurricane Hugo. The storm had followed her from the safety of Beaufort to the unsuspecting victim Charleston. She told me how the winds howled outside the house and whistled at the windows. A storm before me and my sister’s time, that swept around the sea to make acquaintances with the south.

Let me tell you about my ancestral home... It was here Jacquin, my only sister, who spent two weeks driving us around. Grandmother forced her to drive over every bridge in town. She even made her drive the 25-minute to Mocks Corner to make sure she covered every base. When we got home after those two weeks, Jacquin could drive over any bridge without a flinch.

Let me tell you about my ancestral home... It is here time slows down just enough to notice it all at once. Where my grandmother refused to walk with her cane, fondly named Vana, and clutched the red stripe of the IGA cart with bony fingers old fingers. Compensating with slow elderly steps that only a woman of age of seventy-eight could get away with.

Let me tell you about my ancestral home... It was here cookbooks became list ingredients, and their instructions mere suggestions. Over gas powered stoves that *tick,tick,tick*, until you got the spark just right. In the small confines of my grandmother’s kitchen. Hips bumping into each other as we pass tasting spoons and stir bubbling pots before they can spill over.

Let me tell you about my ancestral home... It was here the Golden Girls played from dusk till dawn. Lighting the dim corners of the overstuffed living room, reflecting off the glass photos frames, making light dance on the ceiling.