Dia de Muertos

    ¬The table was set. The stew was still boiling on the stove, the final touch to tenderize the meat. Mom was sitting in her place still praying. Dad was in his bedroom watching a movie with the little sister. The birthday girl was locked up in her room. And where was I? I was on the computer making the final touches to her birthday present. It wasn’t much, just a simple drawing of her hero and favorite character Mario. I sighed when I looked at the printed page. It didn't look as cool as it did on the screen, but it had to do for now.  A few minutes went by, and we all knew it was time for dinner. The dishes were full and we all sat down.  

    ¬My dad poured an extra bowl of stew, a glass of water, and set them on the empty spot next to mine. I was about to ask him who that bowl was for when it suddenly dawned to me that it was for my deceased grandfather. He nodded in acknowledgment, and I smiled. It was November 2^nd, the day of my sister’s birthday and a day after his. I didn’t know why, but for some reason he had been on my mind for a few weeks now, ever since the anniversary of his death. Maybe it was because I felt guilty; he had been dead for ten years and I barely remembered him.

    ¬I looked to my side once again and saw my dad putting a belt on the chair. He kissed the buckle before setting it down, there was no doubt my dad still had respect for his father-in-law.

    ¬He sat down on his rightful place across from mine.

    ¬ “Let us pray,” he said as he held my mom and baby sis’ hands. We all held hands. He then blessed the food and gave a small prayer in honor of my sister’s 17^th birthday and in honor of our guest. My heart warmed when I heard his voice break with emotion and his eye tear up. It was the first time in a long time since we’ve invited the soul of my grandfather to join us for dinner. 

    ¬With the food blessed and the prayers already said we were ready to dig in.

    ¬Everyone enjoyed the stew my mother had prepared with such loving care for such a special occasion. I looked around the room. There was nothing like a family dinner full of delicious food and empty stomachs. I looked at my side and smiled. I knew that he wasn’t really there, but for some reason I left he was present. He loved my mother’s cooking and it was the Day of the Dead so why wouldn’t he be present? I smiled once again and sighed to myself. I knew I was fooling myself about feeling his presence, but somehow it felt better than not pretending.

    ¬As the night went on my head started to broadcast a lot of memories of my childhood. All those times when the world was just perfect and nothing could get any better. I remembered all those years, when Christmas approached, when my aunts made buñuelos. They would spread a couple of big blankets and set the flattened dough on them, patiently waiting to finish flattening all the dough and then fry it. I remembered all those BBQs, all those gathering to have Sunday lunch, all those New Year’s parties, all the food, all the noise, all my childhood…

    ¬… and then I remembered him. There were really only three memories I could actually remember. I remembered when he’d came to our house and sleep on the couch, and then, when he’d wake up, he’d give me money to go buy him some cheese so he could have a snack before going back to work; he’d give me more than enough so I could spend the rest on treats for myself. I remembered that when I’d stay over for the weekend he would peel some peanuts with his bare hands, I was too small at the time and my hands were too weak so I had to open the peanuts with my mouth. I remember being so jealous of him because he could do it and I couldn’t. And then I remembered the BBQ we had at his ranch the day before he died. I remembered him saying to me that he’d give me a horse for my fifteenth birthday. And then for no reason I felt half empty. All the things I used to have but didn’t anymore. All the things that used to be but aren’t anymore. I felt as if a huge part of me was missing. There were just so many memories; all flowing one after the other like a lonely stream, slowly eroding your sense of self control.

    ¬I looked up and saw my whole family. My mom, my dad, and my two sisters. My brain smiled. I took a quick glance at the “empty” chair, and then at the glass of water. I knew it was moving thanks to the vibrations of the table, but somehow I felt it was a sign that he was present, even if I was fooling myself once again.  I was looking at my bowl now. It was still half full. I finished it, savoring every bite. Feeling those last spoonfuls were more delicious than the firsts.