A few years later , I ’ m in high school , and we ’ re in the habit of staying in on Friday nights . My stepfather is visiting with his poker buddies , and my mom is looking forward to spending time with him this weekend , but tonight we ’ re watching movies and eating sugary snacks until 2am . The movie might be a rental from the ‘ foreign ’ or classic aisle , a new-to-us Almdóvar feature or one of her favorite Hitchcock thrillers , or it might be a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical or other favorite like Hairspray or Mermaids from our own collection . We don ’ t talk about how neither of us has close friends to spend time with , or about how my abuela discouraged us from bonding with my friends from school or their moms when I was younger . Instead , we let my mother work her magic , her uncanny ability to make even the most mundane errand feel like an adventure , and the tamest girls ’ night in feel like a rowdy and spectacular slumber party attended by the all the coolest girls you know . We play music before we start our movie , and we dance , and we practice feeling free , because we might feel that way , some day , and that ’ s what a good pop song is for .
I remember my mother being joyful , and restless . Safe and content at home , finally , but still haunted by my abuela ’ s prophesies and curses . Curious about and interested in everything , full of questions about the world , but also disconnected from it , enervated by her daily routine of commuting and working every day . Hungry for travel and experience , but always held back by the memory of poverty and insecurity . I remember my mother being enthralled by everything she had , but always wanting , and deserving , more .
***
Well , okay . As long as I ’ m up , I might as well do something fun , right ? Something I ’ m interested in and actually want to do , yes ? My mother has been dead for 15 years . I ’ ve made as much peace as I ’ m ever going to with her death , and with all the deaths that followed ( my mentor , my stepfather , my tía …), and now , I ’ m trying to remember what I used to do before grieving became my full-time job , trying to remember what joy feels like .
When I can ’ t sleep I sit on the couch in my pajamas , my back to its so round arm , legs crossed sukhasana style , laptop set up in front of me . It ’ s always too quiet in my living room , so I put on music . Lately I ’ ve been listening to trip hop and noise and math rock from the mid-1990s , the kind of bands whose videos would appear late at night on MTV like ghosts back then , and work