The worst time in a long long time felt anything like the days where you were prone to being left to your own devices. Abandoned by the guardianship of mother and father that were their best if it meant picking the pockets of strangers and soliciting the good graces of Samaritans for the goods they delivered; you weren’t the best to determine what was right or wrong. The was the job of Mimi and her having that job at the opening route to teenage hell was a curse adopted by the figures who presided over. Three kids, all under the age of fourteen and no younger than eight, stuck together like the peas still attached in its pod. You were the middle guy. The wild card to some operations and used as needed for an advantage than the free-for-all encouraged. In the upcoming months, the days count down to a mother's release. You overheard the conversation. A collect call hustled with intent of seeing the inner workings of a father that was clueless to it all.

He never ran the show, only followed and you understood why. He too was weak, possibly used as a stepping stone for the woman that shaped the way you and your sisters were to view the cold folds of the world. Having the easiest spirit dwindled, had lost its luster the time you could remember being the little guy. Learning day by day that having a normal life, was much of a privilege as it was to eat three square meals, sleep under a stable roof, and having proper clothes on the back. This reflection of the past was a ripe reminder of the times that were both small and big, where you shared dreams and wishes with the older sister. She tried the hardest to protect well-being and the innocence of a child while being a child herself. You felt sorrow for her descent into roles of adult responsibility when your papa, was unable to make up for having his partner away.

These months swept by and felt like years. Taking every bit of you all to focus on the day to day of seeing things through. It affected health. How you operated in school. How you thought about not only yourself but the person who was supposed to pick up the slack. As a young boy, you turned to the stories of folklore and horror to keep you sheathed from the brush matches with reality. You wished that La Llorna would sweep you away, albeit the harshness of her presence might have been spoken to frighten but she had specific tasks according the variations of the wailing woman. You hoped her wandering spirit was enough to warn the locals, anyone who’d listen, that you were in trouble. All of you were, and the proper help was given as the mischief done to put you and your sisters in harm’s way, would be dealt with by the woman.

It was more than a ravaged wish and the dreams that followed. Taking forever to find what kept you more grounded than the move around from one place to the next. You wanted a home. A real place that wasn’t a soiled motel room with crimes of passion happening on one side of the wall, while the other was the sale of bodies for currency. You wished for home cooked meals. A proper bath or shower. To watch television from a set that wasn’t static ridden and worked only when it wanted to. You wanted books to collect not purposely forget to bring back to the library. And a parent to wish you goodnight instead of being only around to hustle you up for the morning, before the call of eviction from an overstay at a hotel. Wishing to follow the weeping woman on its own was misguided at best, sounding the lesser of the two evils.

A bid you would have fought for if you only knew the power was there to do so. Hastily you call out to the little both who wanted the things finest on the other side, where greener pastures has its price to pay. Caving in to the chances of any occurrence being slim. Causes of your fantasy to depart holding the weeping woman’s hand, helped you sleep better. Absolution could not be granted in the truest picture of your peripheral. Years of this countered with sustaining under the apathetic eye of your mamá, left but a bitter root you could never remove completely. It’s taken the toll on you, your ability to match truth and whole honesty with the faces that have come, gone away, and stayed where they were. Removing all from the marrow had a job cut out for someone who cared. And leaving that up to another was in its own way just as selfish as the curse left behind by the wretched.

At an age where you’ve won some and lost a lot, in spite of the abject past that reveals peaces of it self from time to time, you take little bit with you in compensation. Pretending to be anything like that source of erroneous people, has gotten you to a place. A crossing of the roads where it becomes now or never to fully reverse the sited detriment. You’re able to do the work. Processing yesteryear with a lens that is less foggy and equipped in a more experienced mind, hasn’t set you up for failure. Though you do believe the worst in commencement. Singling out the worst of behaviors displayed within interpersonal relationships that would have better outcomes than they did. You the little guy, the boy who weeped long long long time ago was left with a crumbling past to either lay at rest of fold completely at its feet.

journal