2020-02-23 - A Rocky Start

Monica doesn't much talk about her family. Not more than the basics... Parents split up a long time ago. Papá is a public defender in Yakima (yes, the place where your apples come from), and mother is living the dream in LA. While both of them are equally dysfunctional, there's no dramatic story. Parents are just a pain in the ass.

Still, when Monica speaks of her father, there's affection there. A hopeless, pathetic kind of affection that's decidedly lacking when talking about mother. So, it makes sense that she spent Christmas with papá. It probably makes less sense that she spent Christmas in Colombia.

Monica wasn't expecting it, herself. She packed up to go home... and that's when she found out that her father had already purchased tickets. They'd be leaving in just a few days.

"Ohmygod. Why?!" she belted at her father.

"Because, mija... abuelita is sick. Your tia is afraid she won't make it another week," the man replied. He was tired. He was always tired. Such is the life of a bleeding heart public defender.

"What?!" Monica yelled. For all her father was a quiet, reserved man, Monica was loud. She got that from her mother, he told her... often. "Why didn't you tell me? Why-... What? What the fuck?!"

"Hey, language," Francisco scolded. Monica just glared at him. "You just started a new university. I did not want you worrying about this during finals. You told me you'd be staying here for winter break... the whole of winter break. So what does it matter if it's in Barranquilla, instead of Yakima?" he asked.

"Fuck-... Flipping seriously, papá?!" Monica fired back. "You think, like, oh, my daughter packs to come home to Nowhere, Washington for a month, and that's the same as packing to go to Caribbean for a month?!"

Francisco just stared at her. A long, long stare. He waited for her indignant glower to fade, but it didn't. "Are you serious right now, mija? Your abuelita is dying and you're mad you packed the wrong clothes?"

"Ugh!" answered Monica. She tried to remain indignant. She tried to keep glowering. But soon her eyes rolled away and she turned off to the side. "I mean, like... No, that's-... That's not what I'm upset about! I'm just upset! And, you know, it, like, does matter. How I pack. How I prepare. But... whatever. I'll just go shopping when I get there."

Francisco sighed.

Barranquilla, thank god, was only getting nicer and nicer. When her father had left, back before Monica was born, it was a scary place. Now, well... there was still crime. But she was smart enough to avoid any real danger... and the weather was sure nicer than in Yakima!

It was good to see family. It was good to be "home". Monica was born in Washington, and then had grown up mostly in LA, but she visited frequently. Her father beat into her head how she was Colombian. Her family was there, and they were always so accommodating.

And then there was her abuelita... her father's mother. A woman that was as strong willed as she was sweet. A woman that had visited Washington far more often than Monica had been 'home'. She'd been the first one to teach Monica how to cook, Colombian style. How to swear, Colombian style. How to dress, Colombian style. She was Monica's lifeline back to her heritage. And now, that sweet, stubborn old woman was dying.

Monica had called the University. Her grandmother was dying, she wouldn't be back at the start of the semester. She had no idea when she would be back! But her grades were good and a death in the family was an acceptable reason to take a leave of absence.

She then called her house mates. The people she'd lived with for months... that she still wasn't sure she really knew. Her fault. It was easier to be social on social media. It was easier to make friends when the consequences of failure were a lot less severe. She'd become the weird house mate that was always around... but not really.

Thankfully, Sparrow didn't have any issue with her being MIA. She was still paying rent, after all. Or, well, her mother was still paying rent but that doesn't matter!

And so... Monica found herself in Barranquilla, staying at her grandmother's house, with not a single thing to do but visit the old woman in the hospital. And so this unfortunate situation turned into one that wasn't so awful. Her grandmother got worse and worse. She eventually passed. There was a funeral. There was crying. But there was also family. There was a huge party. There was warm sun and impossibly beautiful beaches. Monica did just fine.

Monica wasn't sad she missed most of December, all of January, and most of February. No when she was spending it on the beach, instead. Part of her wished she had stayed another month. March in Gray Harbor was not a happy time, by her definition. And surely her newly dyed blonde hair and perfect tan didn't suit the gray... but part of her was happy to be back in this strange, strange place.

Now... to find out what all insanity she missed...