There is the type of love that you only possess as a little child. Pure. And, not towards your mother, or your father, not even to Santa Claus. No.
Abuelo. He is your hero, who sees no wrong in you, and prefers you above all. Once, a long time ago, I had this great love of my life. Until one day, not so long ago, I said,
I walked to the house where my Abuelo lived. Still lives, only in my dreams now. February is a bitter month, winter blowing strong. And, memories flooding every corner of 61st and Lexington as I crow that long block towards 3rd Avenue. Dark. Bleak. The harsh and hollow wind is killing me.
Oh, yeah. Valentine’s Day is tomorrow. And I am on this last visit, honoring the wish of a dying old man. This old man, not a saint, not even close, broke my heart. In this house I walked towards, a mansion in the city, a golden Castle, Abuelo abandoned me. Like my mother before me, like his beloved island of Borikén, como madre, así la hija.
I had flown to him, during my darkest hour, at my lowest point, and he chose The Others.
The money. The Famous Wife.
I walked across the street, now on 71st and 3rd. Winter whispered in my ear,
“Prepårate mija, demons walk among your querido.”
Oh, the card I bought for him, I hadn’t even filled.
Still in the CVS bag in my backpack.
And, that is where it stayed.
287 East 71st Street, that door now stared me down. Face me, I dare you to knock on me. Could I knock.
Enter this house, where I used to live, where I used to love my Abuelo, and where he broke me. The door opened.
I opened my eyes.
It was already Valentine’s Day, and I woke up in my bed.
I remembered then, I had not seen him ever again, since he asked me to leave, and never come back.
I forgive you.