14

After my mother leaves this Earth, I will have no reason to continue the life I’ve built here. I may as well get my tubes tied because what’s the point of birthing a grandchild to a ghost? That baby would never know how incredible my mother was, and I will never be as good as her. It wouldn’t be fair to even try. Anyway, once she parts ways with this plane of existence, I imagine myself, post-psychotic break, alone in a humble beach town in South America. Not a resort destination, full of rich, white tourists. But an off-the-map shithole with stray cats and leather-skinned locals who lean against decrepit fences lining undefined streets. A place where I better learn the native tongue or risk starvation of grocery and socialization. A place where I will feel safe, after a little while, because the community looks out for its own. And I, the güera, will contribute as well, of course, however I can. I would like to disappear.