the ancestors always pass down

gifts—just open your hand

and trust the natural world.

–

“You’re here… again?”

“If you ain’t realized by now, we don’t always get what we want.” remarks Esa, the self-proclaimed leader. “Has Momma taught you anything, chica?”

Yeah, they have. The real question is–

“What do you want now?”

“Your acknowledgement would be a great start.”

I roll my eyes. I can’t acknowledge you… you are a goddamn– 

“People already judge me for what I am, I don’t need them thinking that I’m some looney too.” I hiss through a whisper, my eyes narrowing at the translucent vase of marigolds sitting idly on Nana’s chisme table—the headquarters of gossip between the women of my family. Ironic setting for a thing so beautiful.

Esa rolls her eyes right back at me. She’s the abrasive one of the marigolds, along with the tallest. I would also like to tell you that she’s the most vivid, although Lunita may be offended by that. “You still find yourself caring what people think?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Lunita says, her leaves crossing themselves.

“Es importante que intentemos comprenderla. Mierda, Esa, no es como si no fueras un complaciente de la gente en su día.” Marisol says. She’s normally bashful when it comes to Esa starting in on me, but maybe the sun got to her today.

Or maybe you have just lost your damn mind.

I offer her a thin smile. She reminds me of a few ancestors that still blossom in my memory, despite their entrance in the Spirit World long ago. Vivid manifestation, Spanish tongue—a reincarnation of the past, cultivation of everything that came before and created me.

Lunita grins. She thinks she’s slick.

Esa never likes being challenged by the other marigolds, but this time she concedes with an eye roll.

A few moments pass by under the Valley sunset. The three marigolds talk among themselves while I stare off into the abyss of summer. Mosquito hawks begin peopling the front lawn, while the trees groove to the rhythm of the breeze. These are the kind of evenings that have sustained me, even during the most daunting periods when everything felt like one big shitshow.

Mami emerges from our casita, Mijo, in pursuit behind her. His small, chunky lugs move with haste, his pucheros painting his lips. “¡Mami, no me dejes! ¡No me dejes!”

“Ay Mijo, necesito ir a la tienda. Mete tu culito en la ducha,” she waves him off, before turning to me. “Mija, asegúrate de que se bañe. Voy a la tienda a comprar ingredientes para la cena. Estaré en casa en un rato. Cierra la puerta, ¿vale?”

I nod.

Mijo continues to whine, but relents once Mami raises her voice. I’m zoned out when that happens—I tend to disconnect when voices raise. It reminds me of things I’d rather not dwell on. Once I hear the ignition start, I look up at Mijo. His lips are still pouty and the rims of his eyes are moist. “¡Mami nos deja! ¡Mami nos deja!”

“No she ain’t,” I stand up. “Mami va a la tienda. Ahora ve a ducharte, cochino.”

Mijo is reluctant to listen, yet he does anyway. Gracias, Dios.

When he’s back inside, I glance at the marigolds. Observant eyes, they have, just as advanced as their manifestation. The sun sets upon them now, radiating them like candles we pray to every Sunday. La luz para guiar a nuestros antepasados.

Lunita is too busy enthralled by her Secret, Marisol is whispering her evening prayers, and Esa is staring off into oblivion. I shake my head and proceed to our casita, shutting the door behind me. I AM NOT CRAZY, I SWEAR TO GOD!

After I close the door behind me, I hear the shower turning on. I sigh in relief, grateful that I don’t have to be the typical big sister and give my brother hell. Mami does enough of that. Good reason or not, I know what it’s like to be nagged at—and I wish that I had someone growing up who could’ve reduced the nagging for me. Oh, don’t I wish for many things.

While my brother showers, I head into the room Mami and I share. I take my phone from my back pocket and set it on the charger. My initial intention is to then lay down for a few moments, put my brain on a well-deserved pause. But rather, I find myself entering a vortex.

A DON’T YOU DENY, YOU LITTLE GODDAMN-

“¿Cuánto tiempo planeas vivir una mentira?”

You’re just hearing things, you big fool. You’re already on edge, what the hell do you REALLY expect at this point, chica?

“Ay chavalla, sé que puedes escucharme.”

I gingerly raise my head and see nothing. Delusions, delusions, delusions. I take a seat on my bed and rest my hands in my lap.

“What do you want?”

You always ask questions, even when answers seem far, far away.

“El secreto, Chiquita. ¿Qué pasa con eso?”

“También puedes hablar conmigo en inglés, ¿sabes?”

“¿Por qué? ¿Eres una chica de No Sabo?”

“Soy Chicana.” I’m prouder than I intend to be. “I was raised Chicana, not on some traditional shit.”

The voice chortles, “There’s been some dysfunction since I left, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, it’s a shame that I’m not interested in the Dysfunction—my chicas already have me up to decent speed-”

I look around the room again, this time with even more scrutiny. I will find the culprit of this voice. I will find the–

“What are you?”

“Hm?”

I stare into the empty hallway, my eyes vigorous with a brewing apprehension. I hope it isn’t as apparent as I anticipate, but Mami has always said I’m strong with emotional projection, especially in my face.

I sigh and repeat, “What. Are. You.”

I come off strong, which I suppose surprises The Voice.

It releases a nervous laugh, then states, “I am only what you wish to be.”

SHEISFREE. SHEISFREE. SHEISFREE.

I’m trippin’ out, I’m trippin’ out, I’M TRIPPIN-

“What are you talking about?”

“Look outside.”

I can’t explain the movement I’m doing now—it’s a contrast between a leap and sprint. In a matter of moments I’m before those marigolds again. I don’t even remember pulling myself from the bed, but I’m here. There’s no time for questions or concerns. I need to find out what this is and what is happening.

I grab fistfuls of my abundant hair and look down at the marigolds.

Esa is still eyeing the sunset. Lunita is looking at Her still, with pensive eyes of admiration and desire. Marisol acknowledges me.

“Estás de vuelta rápidamente.”

This gathers the attention of the other two.

“I just got Mijo settled, that’s all.”

Esa glances at me, raises her observing eye, and winks. “Did you hear It?”

My jaw clenches. “Hear what?”

Marisol suddenly looks uneasy. “Esa-”

“¡Cállate!” She shakes. “Marisol, I will handle this.”

As if talking marigolds ain’t the craziest shit I’ve seen…

Lunita is still remaining silent, but the glint in her eye is vacant. She looks at the ground, gulping. This can’t be good.

I feel the vortex thickening—so many things spinning fast, coherence diminishing. I can’t articulate the exact feeling. I am…

“The truth,” Esa stands tall among the three marigolds, confident. She looks like a jefa. “Or did you not get there yet?”

“I-”

“It takes one crazy thing to know another, chavalla.”

A tear rolls down my cheek.

“What is going on?”

“You are what you fear…”

“E-Esa-”

“Take hold of me, please.”

“E-Esa, p-por favor-”

“Marisol!”

My hand obeys and I take that marigold in my trembling hand.

–

Many years later

“And that’s how I knew I was… Well, different.”

My granddaughter holds the dried marigolds and offers me a sympathetic look.

Maritza must’ve told her already that I’m looney. Shit.

“Do you think they’ll do the same for me?”

Oh?

“The same?”

“Tell me the truth, that is,” my mija wonders, twirling her curly brown hair. “Do you think it’ll tell me if I’m different, too?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

She grabs ahold of the marigolds.

Then, the ancestors deliberate in the Spirit World.