mañanas lluviosas ;; paloma

[𝓂𝒶𝒽𝑜𝓊𝒽𝑜🕊]

P A L O M I T A.

"I have a meanness inside me, as real as an organ. Slit me at my belly and it might slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor so you can stomp on it."

There are minor comforts that you think of during moments when the world stands still. The sand disappears from under me, dripping with earnest into a crevice that pours me deeper within me. Heat has always comforted me, yet the winds ring familiar of a chill that I vaguely knew.

It was of the mornings when our neighbor’s chickens cawed before daylight broke. Aarón and you always slept in, just like mama, but I was a child of dawn. The scent of stale coffee beans awoke me as papa’s grinder let out stunted creaks. I would stand in the doorway, curiously looking through the screen to see what the sky brought for me. Days when it rained were always my favorite ones. It was the ones that nourished the soil, leaving it with a gentle smell that peppered your nose and lapped at your toes the following morning. When the roots had met their fill, the water would pour into the streets.

Mama didn’t like getting her hair wet, and you were always afraid of the noise. But on days like those, papa would take his coffee to me. A cup for him and a one for me. Mama would scold papa for giving black coffee to an eight-year-old, but he would laugh it off saying I had a mature taste. I could never finish it all, the taste being too bitter. Yet it was what papa liked, so I didn’t mind. It was what felt natural, following in your steps.

From the day I was born everyone would pinch my cheeks and said I reminded them of you. “Ay Palomita, tienes la cara de tu papí. ¡Que lindo!” But those praises of adoration turned sullen on the days you were gone. The abuelas stopped pinching my cheeks after church ended. Instead of telling me how pretty I looked, they’d mumble “ay pobrecita” across market stalls. But I was anything but a poor thing; I wouldn’t let your mistakes define me.

And so days of rain became a thing of the past. You could find me waiting by the screen with your mug in my hand, but it wasn’t because I’m a poor thing. I’m a child of dawn, no matter rain or sun. I can’t wait for others to follow behind me, because you never waited for anyone. You didn’t even wait for me to leave.

I never got to tell you papa, but I only liked the rain because it was the days you stayed.

elegant & gillian flynn