Suppose you just stayed put and waited to see what would happen?
He’s awful, making her think it, making her type it. They’d catch up with me and kill me.
A long pause. Ellipsis. Erase. Ellipsis.
Something I like about therapy, he types, although it costs me many pesos, is that it makes me question all the assumptions I’ve made about my life. Like that I can’t have a relationship other than just a sexual one.
So you don’t believe me about why I have to move.
I do, mija, I do. I believe you feel this.
You believe that I believe it, but you don’t believe it.
This is difficult given my limited grasp of the English.
Ha ha. You think it’s an unreasonable fear. They got my mother.
You told me she died in a car wreck.
There are a lot of ways to make something look like an accident.
Why were they after her?
I told you this years ago! They wanted to get me. They must’ve thought I was in the car.
“They” being the brothers?
Yeah.
But wasn’t there a period of years between the death of that lady and your mom?
She can’t handle the disbelief, the common-sense questions trying to frame understanding of a situation that was not common, that made no sense.
She’d told him everything on the group home porch, all the evidence—and it looks as if he’s forgotten. If he didn’t care enough to remember, then screw him.
She’d explained about the day a package had arrived at her house with her name on it. She almost never got packages in the mail. Her mother was the only one to give her presents, and she would never waste money shipping something that she could simply hand to her daughter.
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