La La La for Lalo

Para Lalo (otra vez)

An orange has been sitting on my desk for 3 days now. It is still orange. It was given to me by a co-worker who gives me her healthy food when she becomes overwhelmed by health food and goes to Carl’s Jr. Oranges can not be eaten at the desk. Hands get sticky as will the mouse, the keyboard, and possibly important papers. It reminds me of Lalo. Lalo from McHenry library who was also Cuban, I think. Lalo who is dead. Lalo who is now a metaphor with a moral. Lalo who once consumed me with regret. Lalo whose death made me writhe on my dorm room floor, screaming. Lalo who told me jokes. Lalo who drew me maps. Lalo who helped move Renee’s furniture. Lalo who fixed computers with a smile. Lalo who I think of whenever I hear Coldplay. Lalo, for whom I watered the redwoods with tears. Lalo who’s sister was named Sunshine. Lalo who I pretended to ignore sometimes. Lalo who brought me a flower, when I brought him a handful of summer grasses. Lalo who was older than me. Lalo who bought me Falafels. Lalo who I gave a high-five when he dropped me off. Lalo who scared me because he was nice to me. Long before his desk became a memorial full of pictures, catholic candles, and a photocopy of his handwritten will full of inside jokes. He had a bottle of carrot/orange juice upside down on his desk for months, months and months. I would give him a hard time about it, ‘what if it fell over and broke?’ I would tease. ‘it would probably stink, but it hasn’t broken yet, and its decorating my desk’. He put a paper party hat on the bottle. I miss Lalo for what never was. I miss Lalo and I want you to miss him to. Lalo is more than metaphor. He once had breath and muscle and freckles.

For Lalo today, I will buy paletas y tacos and I will not be afraid. And that is all I can do.

I was late to work today because there was a car accident on Figueroa by the convention center. I knew there was more traffic than usual, but I didn’t know what to do so I just stuck it out. I eventually passed the car smashed up, the car overturned, the police officer directing traffic with white gloves. How many people were angry because they were late, sucked in that breath hateful breath with remorse, upon realization that life may have been lost on the way to work. How many people were still angry and drove quickly, running red lights because they were late to work still, not realizing that there were bodies driving those cars now rendered un-drive-able. What was the police officer in the white gloves thinking? How many car wrecks has he had to sift through? I placed my hands at 10 and 2 as the tears crept up and made nests out of my eyelashes and gently pressing the gas, continuing toward work.

For Car A and Car B whose drivers may be in the hospital, or the morgue, or with a few scratches and new appreciation for life, I will breathe today and not worry about things that I could worry about.

I will not be afraid and that is all I can do.