05 January 2014

lisina, reina de reinas

[Elisa nos ha dejado esta noche, muy tranquila y con mucho cariño. Mañana estaremos en el tanatorio de La Paz en la salida 20 de la carretera de colmenar (sentido Madrid-Colmenar) de 11h a 19h. Gracias.
Elisa has left us this evening, very quiet and with much honey. Tomorrow we will be in the La Paz funeral home at exit 20 of the road from colmenar (Madrid-Colmenar sense) from 11 h to 19 h. Thank you. (Translated by Bing)]

elegy for a queen
reina de reinas
i can't write for her, about her, or of her
like that
like her mother or her brother can or ex-lover ilya can
or her best friend guille can
or her country can
in recent years
i took to taking a gander at her facebook page every day
i would aggregate what i could from her sophisticated spanish and would keep my eyes peeled for words like "ánimo," o "fuerza" and its variations, "fuerte," q seas fuerte, tal y tal, y tal, siempre tal
us impotents, posting out of love, yes. and wishing and hoping, yes.
she, posting from the hospital with a feeding tube down her nose
me thinking, "shit, it's great she's in spain. she can stay in the hospital as long as she needs to." 
fuuuuuuuck, this, SHIT!
me, obsessing about how she was getting along so bravely, as if we have any other choice, do we?
mas flaca que nunca, it was another woman that day, i remembered, parading down the middle of JFK Drive in a Hawaiian shirt in May, her Ray-Bans and red wig were visual markers of the path ahead.
they partied every fucking night
in costumes and gowns and sequins and glitter
because this was san francisco motherfuckers
i have not one pope to answer to!
they did not would not could not stop. i watched in awe.
english class was a visa joke, they all knew english already.
once, i heard guille say to an argentinian, "why are you fighting with me? we created the language that is coming out of your mouth right now so calláte."
but she never said anything like that. she was the queen of the apartment, the only one i could have befriended had i not been in a daze or in a job i hated so deeply or in everything else that felt wrong about those years. unf, que grey cloud tan horible (me).
once she came into my room to help me 'feng shui' the furniture.
it was small, i had minimal things
knowing i would leave again, knowing no one would share the twin mattress with me, knowing i didn't need a real box spring, knowing i was just passing through
these shoes this room these clothes these moods
all the rest of it, too.
"Guapa" was posted frequently on her page. i don't think she knew i was looking but that doesn't matter. i cared. these things can take any turn at any point. 
no one knows anything, really, which is why we are so scared. this is why we drink too much or settle or run away or check our phones or fear what we love or hold it in or second guess ourselves or doubt our vitality or create roadblocks, etc.,...you know all of that.
while i was still on crutches i read something she wrote the gist of which spoke to being ok with any kind of cold wind or air or temperature blowing on your neck, any kind of discomfort, on you or in you, because that is, at least, one of life's many signs.

i took that to heart when i was hobbling around on one crutch down the frustrating staircases of the subway, wind wooshing from my back to front because obviously i was the slow one but no, mm mm, i'm not falling down because you got a 10 am, no sir. i fucking love this speed. this is me, all day every day, you can walk around.
i'm going this pace
this pace exactly
and this pace alone.
she said this, "Es increíble como funciona el ser humano.... A pesar de todo y a día de hoy sigo viendo pisos en idealista..." 

and her friends responded with: "calla, calla, calla..."