I don’t know, but I’m here.

I got high before Grandpa’s wake. Chiefing the pen in my brother’s Chrysler, I felt the electric rosin taste swirl in my mouth and leak out the cracked window. I said it was for the nerves so I could relax. 

My leg kept bouncing next to Grandma’s. Her crepey, soft brown skin. How does she stay so tan? Watching the slide show over his open casket, my cousins and I pointed at outfits Grandpa wore that we wanted to steal. Verbally Sharpening “Mine, mine, mine.” 

Grandma made us all kiss his giant waxy forehead. One by one, the Arnolds, with their own giant heads, bent down and kissed him. 

My dad was late, per usual. I didn’t see him walk in though. I went to the bathroom with Kristin to take another puff and listen to her say something funny. I couldn't stop laughing. Eventually, we were both howling, our cackles bouncing off tiles. 

“I guess we should go back out there.” 

“Ya I guess so.” 

“How much you wanna bet your mom’s going to ask you to sing something.” 

“She already has.” 

“Hah.”

I munched on food hard, shoveling a Ritz cracker with salami one after the other. Eventually, the dry small talk and creeping sadness made my throat close up. I sat back down next to Christopher. Then heard my mom’s sneezes a mile away. Dad was at the front and she had just emerged from the back. This was their first public appearance together after the divorce. 

That part made my head swim. The out-of-body experience of watching tears fill up my eyes was interrupted by Uncle David. 

“Your dad tells me you got a new job?” 

“Ya, it’s great, love it. Great benefits, pays well, doing what I love.” 

“That’s great, it’s been a lot harder for an old man like me to find one that quickly.” 

Our conversation cut off by watching Grandma run crying past her daughter and legal daughters-in-law and into my mother’s arms. 

Apparently, she didn’t even get up when my dad walked in. I don’t blame her. The last time he saw his dad, he could barely look at him, swiping left and right on Tindr—

“Richard! Talk to your father.” 

“I have nothing to say.” 

After that hospital visit, Dad and I drove home together. 

“Let’s go out.” 

“I don’t feel like it, I’m sad.” 

“What, why?” 

“Because Grandpa is fucking dying?” 

“Hijita, you can’t just sit around and mope.” 

“Grieving is normal.” 

“Ya well, there’s nothing to grieve yet.” 

“Drop me off at Mom’s then. I’m not going out.” 

After the wake, I got in my (now mom’s) hot tub, drank cans of wine, and ripped the pen. I looked like a sad red dragon in a smoldering lair surrounded by crushed shiny treasure and steam rolling off protruding backbones. 

My little brother comes in. 

“Oh, you’re crying” 

“Ya, 'cause this is fucking sad, dude.” 

“Huh, so this deeply affected you, then?” 

“No shit.” 

The day of the funeral was my ex’s wedding. I wouldn’t have gone, but my boyfriend was in the wedding party. 

If this all sounds fake— I fucking wish. 

I looked hot at the funeral. Black trousers with side slits up to my hips, sheer black top with a black pushup bra. To my aunt’s chagrin, I read the first biblical reading and flashed a tanned, toned leg at the altar. Coming off my spiritual high, I sat back down next to my dad. 

“It’s inappropriate,” my aunt whispers. 

“Damn hijita, you look good! Great outfit.”

“Thanks, Dad.” 

My dad keeps it together until the end when David talks. That was the hardest part. Discreetly passing tissues to him, and taking them back and putting them in my purse. 

I took my mom’s van home so I could get ready for the wedding. I skipped the burial. I started pregaming in my childhood bathroom. Puff, sip, smile. Practicing over and over again. 

Bad, bad granddaughter. 

Good, hijita. No moping. 

The wedding was a traditional Catholic wedding for a formerly atheist man. Lucky me, two Catholic masses in one day. The irony wasn't lost on me or anyone else.

Uncle 4: “Oh you’re going to a Catholic wedding after this, what are the odds?” 

Friend 1: “Oh dude, I’m sorry. Are you ok?” 

Ex’s Mom: “Oh I missed seeing you. You look great.” 

Friend 2: “Oof that sucks. I thought going to just one mass was bad.” 

“Ya, the odds are odd.”

“Nah, but what are you going to do about it?”

Funny cause I didn’t miss you. 

“Wow, lucky me.” 

I put the ass in mass because I wore the sexy pants again. Then got so hammered at the afterparty, the sexy pants couldn’t handle it. Despite the rips and button pops, I continued dancing. 

Got in a fight with my boyfriend. Cried harder than I did all day. Probably because I was black-out drunk. Ya, that’s it. 

I don’t know what I learned from this.

But, I’m here.