today, jay

I thought about you.  Someone triggered the memory of you. 

It was ten years ago when we met.  The Costa Rican sun came out in all its brilliance.  I recalled my parents whispering.  Little Cow reassured them that this had to be done; everyone went to Anne Rose's house . . . They no longer did.  Those times of parties and luxury were nothing more than memories.

Little Cow's husband did not join us.  We buried him -thirteen years ago.  Little Cow's husband said, "If I cannot live the way I wish than I wish not to live."  He died not long after.

A decrepit house came to view.  Silence fell us.  Mother glanced over to me, "Say not a word."  My speaking privileges were never revoked in the United States.  They weren't taken away in San Jose.

Jay, I'm now twenty.  You are too, aren't you?  Oh, god.  I can feel tears welling up in my eyes.  Give me a moment.  Okay, I'm good.  Are you good in your room?  I try not to think about you too much.  I wonder how you're doing . . .

Opening the door, I was met with popular music.  It wasn't discernible at a distance.  I wasn't exactly paying attention.  Instead, my focus remained on avoiding the potholes on the street.  It was like playing hopscotch.  I bounced about until I reached the desired location.  Except there was no smiling when I landed on the sidewalk.  I stared up at this looming place and shivered.  The siding faded to a light cerulean blue.  A window had no glass pane, but was boarded up.  It barely withstood the rain that the tropics provided.  I was left in awe -the place was still standing.

"Watch your step," Little Cow warned.  I nodded, heeding my grandmamma.  The wooden planks for stairs had a big gaping row -the others looked just about ready to give.  I worried about the condition the interior would be like and I worried about who would reside in such a place.  Little Cow whispered, "This once had been the place to be."  Her smile never reached her eyes. 

Mother knocked at the door.  The air felt heavy.  There was this unspoken gloom that hung in the air.  It sensed life and clung to it dearly.

"Hello," it was near breathless.  I jumped, noticing a hollow husk of a woman sitting on a chair.  She had large doe eyes and dark skin.  I remembered the shock of discovering she was still breathing -skeletons in my experience are dead.

"Anne Rose," Little Cow smiled, "I could not recognize you."  She kissed the skeleton's cheek.  That was the tradition, but I did not follow the customs of my ancestors.  This Anne Rose was gaunt and so small.  She folded into herself, holding Tupperware of ice cubes.  She popped one into her mouth.  Anne Rose returned her attention to the desolate street.  Who or what was she waiting for?

The door creaked.  Grateful, I shifted my attention.  I heard them speaking Spanish -small talk.  Anyways, the door revealed grandmamma.  It was your grandmamma -this lady with wiry white hair.  She met us with a beaming grin . . . eh, it revealed she was missing some teeth.  I swallowed.  "Welcome, come in."  The hunchback lady ushered us with some shaking, "Come, I will make you sweet drink."  I felt the need to tell her there was no need, honest.  However, I was not allowed to speak.  I got so scared.  An animalistic cry, so raw, caught me off guard.  It was followed with banging.  I may have jumped.  Your grandmamma noticed me and waved it off, "He's only saying hello."

Something died in me that moment.  He?

I looked around, noticing a disheveled boy on a recliner.  He raised the volume on the soccer game.  The banging stopped and I heard something being dragged against the floor.  I looked about noticing furniture not made for Americans, you can tell the difference because everything looks so small.  There was your grandmamma, clinking the spoon against a plastic canteen -making sweet drink.

Did they ever give you sweet drink?  It's a delicacy in that house: water and sugar.  I don't remember what the others were doing.

Spanish dialogue ran in the background.  I assumed they were graciously accepting the sweet drink at this point, but where the hell was this he?  And who was he?  The banging resumed with intermittent grunts.  A roar changed pitches; he was getting hoarse.  Then everything went silent in my mind.  I caught sight of a hole in the wall.

In that hole was a dark eye staring right back at me, I felt a glass placed into my hand.  I blinked, nodding to your grandmamma with a smile.  I had no intentions of drinking it.  My gaze returned to the hole.  He was still staring.

My god, I don't remember the rest.  I think I looked to the aloof boy watching soccer, wondering why he wasn't doing anything about the boy enclosed away in a room with . . . no door that I could discern.  That boy kept releasing feral sounds, all of them sounding desperate.

I remembered Mother's stare.  The look went from me to the cup of sweet water to me again.  I drank it.  Time flew as I stared at the wild boy.  The Spanish dialogue in the background sounded jovial.  Mother thanked your grandmamma for the sweet drink and the hospitality.  We left.

In the car, my speaking privileges were renewed.  I brought up my outrage, "Who was that boy in the room?  And why is he locked up?"  Little Cow knew not English, but Mother did.

She replied in Spanish, "Anne Rose is not a bad person."

"But there's a boy-"

Little Cow took over.  She took my hand with a smile, echoing: "Anne Rose is not a bad person."  So the story of Anne Rose began.  She met a man whom she had a healthy boy with and then . . . she had the boy in the room.  This boy came into the world with two cleft feet and a cleft lip.  His mind wasn't quite right.  The man left.  Anne Rose had been so beautiful during the pregnancy.  Distraught at the loss of a husband and the burden of a babe with special needs, she became a skeleton. 

Jay, I'm still so very angry.  I urged them to call the cops.  No one should live under those conditions, I argued citing neglect and abuse.  But Little Cow did not speak English.  My grandmama instead continued with Anne Rose's story.

Anne Rose knew not what to do.  The proper care may have made the boy housetrained, but she was not educated.  Instead, they hid the boy in a room -boarded up with planks.  She fed him once a day -bean soup.  It makes cleaning after him easy, Little Cow reminded me, "Anne Rose is not a bad person."  The healthy son dropped out of school.  They had government money coming in to aid the boy in the room.  Anne Rose saved it to rebuild a house made of cement blocks.  That house they resided in was beyond saving and the memories were too much to bear.  There had once been happiness, parties, family reunions, and now.

Ahem, they told me your grandmamma went out to the busy highway with coconut treats.  That's how they can afford sugar and pay for water.  Money was always tight, but she managed to cover the necessities.  The healthy son aspired to work in construction, but you need a college degree now for the most menial work.

Little Cow told me, "The boy in the room is your age."  With a tight smile, she added: "He is your cousin and his name is Jay."

I'm sorry, I did nothing.  But I swore never to forget you.  I can't imagine that means much though.