PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It is common knowledge in my family that when we visit Monclova, my parents’ hometown, we don’t refer to it as “We’re going to Monclova!” but as “We’re going to the Porfiriato!”; this is mostly due to my grandmother’s house. My grandmother’s house is the only place on Earth where you can travel back in time when Porfirio Díaz was Mexico’s resident president/dictator. Basically, my grandmother’s house looks and feels ancient. It’s so ancient that going to the bathroom at night means filling a bucket with water if you want to flush the toilet. Now, there are places in the house one doesn’t simply go to; not because it’s forbidden to do so but because doing so means one is open to creepy situations. For example, the basement is a dark and creepy place; it is so dark and creepy that I can’t even remember the last time I went down there. If I could paint you a picture it would be like this: Dust and cobwebs in the corners, towers and towers of boxes filled with random, useless stuff (my grandma’s kind of a hoarder) and the ever-welcoming swarm of cockroaches. Now, cockroaches are the second greatest population in Monclova, only beaten by the actual residents of said town and, of course, 80% of said insect population lives in my grandmother’s house. It’s not unusual to go to bed at night, look up and see a brown/black spot moving across the ceiling. That reminds me of the other non-human residents inside the house. One might think that as her grandchild, my grandmother would favor my sisters or, even better, myself but that isn’t the case. My grandmother, ultimately, favors something else above everybody and that is her feline companion.  It is not uncommon to hear, as one walks out of a room, “Watch out for the cat!” or “Don’t let the cat out!” or the classic “Close the door so the cat won’t leave the room!”. There’s an unspoken rule in my family that every time we go to my grandmother’s house, we should bow to cat. And no, I don’t mean to literally bow down to the cat but keep in my mind that within the chain of command in that house, the cat will always be above you. Also, it is of utmost importance that I talk about the sleeping arrangements in my grandmother’s house. I’m the shortest one of my two sisters and the three of us share two twin size beds that are pushed together; now, before my youngest sister grew up to be 9 meters tall, she used to sleep in what we call the hoyo. The hoyo or the hole is the gap created when one sleeps between the two beds; as you can imagine said hole makes nights just a little uncomfortable. These and many other strange quirks like the Wi-Fi corner, the million pigeon nests and the Wheel of Fortune/The Price is Right scheduled viewings make up my grandmother’s house. All in all, it’s the only place where my exercise-addicted mother doesn’t exercise, where my father can forget the stress of work and where my sisters and me can enjoy the simplicity of a cold, flour tortilla. And even though everybody bows to the cat, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.