Page 10 of Daughter of Rot

I want to tell you so many things. Where do I start? I’m Lucia! I am your older sister, I think by 14 years or so. I have known about you for a year. My mom (your grandma) told me about you and I was elated. She says you are bright and funny and she even managed to get a photo from Alfonso. I love your hair and your glasses. Your smile is warm and beautiful and I hope you know these things.

If your mother calls you ugly, she’s a liar.

I am so sorry we haven’t met. I am so sorry this is the way we find out about each other. If your mother picks at your body, please understand she’s a liar. Just know, we love you very much. If she ever hits you, know that it’s okay to fight back. You have an entire family tree in Texas who would love to meet you.

Tell us about yourself! What are you into? What kinds of music are you into? Do you have any favorite artists? Books? Hobbies?

I would love to send you more letters and gifts, if that’s okay with you. If you decide to write back, I will tell you more about myself, but I want to know about YOU. What do you want to be when you grow up? How are you doing? How are you surviving your mother?

I look forward to hearing from you!

Sending you so much love and warmth,

- Lucia

***

Hi Olivia,

I’m Isabel. I am your sister! It’s weird to know, right? All of a sudden, we are a part of each other’s lives. This is good. This is what should happen. I hope you are okay with this happening. Of course, let us know otherwise.

Tell me everything about you. How are you doing in school? Does mom treat you okay? Do you like birdwatching? Do you have severe anxiety like me? There are some really neat birds in New Mexico. What kinds of books do you like to read?

A little about me:

I am studying to become a wildlife biologist. Specifically, I want to work with bison populations. I love going to concerts. I enjoy my life because I know mom would hate me for it. I love hiking and getting to know the spirits of the land. I have a cat and her name is Athena. She’s a black cat who has brought me so much good luck. She’s basically my child.

Do you have any pets?

What are your dreams?

Do you dream of escaping our mom?

Please tell me everything about you. I so look forward to learning about you.

Can I call you baby sister?

Love you more than you can ever know,

Isabel

ANCESTRAL PROJECTION

Isela couldn’t remember how she got outside. Her hands shook and her teeth chattered at the thought of being hunted. A shiver slithered down her spine all the way to her toes.

Something wants me dead.

Olivia was sleeping inside and Isela told herself she was going to call for help. She couldn’t bring herself to go back into the house and grab the phone. Nothing came out of her mouth anyway. Her throat felt coarse. She managed to release a dry labored cough that gave her no satisfaction of relief.

With bare feet, she ran alongside the river and kept quiet. Her breaths were soft and tense. It hurt to stay hushed. The fragrance of roses filled the air. Something was breathing on her neck. She sprinted through the trees then back to the river. She ran into the stream, but the water was deeper than expected. Up to her waist in river water, she could not scream for help. She wasn’t quite sure what was chasing her, until she heard the undeniable voice that belonged to her mother. In the distance, she could make out her mother’s silhouette. Rita’s gray and black hair reached up toward the trees, and her feet floated lazily a foot or two above the ground. Her mother wore a lilac-colored silk robe with a train that dragged behind like a shining tail. Her mother waved her arms above her head and ripples of white light emanated from her movement. She was transparent. Isela could see the shaking trees of the forest through her mother’s body. Her mother’s hair fell from above her head and dragged behind her, past her legs and feet, past the train of her robe, collecting twigs, loose leaves, and crickets harmonizing in the darkness. Her hair moved as though each follicle had a mind of its own. Her hair swayed and expanded as she floated closer toward Isela. She stopped hovering and her feet gently landed on the earth below. She sauntered toward Isela. She called out to her again.

Isela’s body was weighed down by her bathrobe, frantic and agitated, she offered it to the river and ran out of the water in her underwear. She dashed and leaped over roots, imagining herself as a rabbit, until she tripped on her feet. Her body slammed onto the path. She scraped her palms and knees. Her mother caught up and reached down to help her, but Isela refused to touch her. She spit on the ground and flipped her off. Isela’s mother laughed, shrugged, and then swiftly climbed up a birch tree in jagged movements with her ghost bones cracking along the way. As Rita faced the purple night sky, she spoke at Isela. She told Isela to look up at the stars more often.

She rambled down to Isela from the birch tree: I am very sorry for any pain I caused you, mija. I know it is no use to say sorry now. As a spirit, it’s the least I can do, no? Mija, vulnerability is courageous and you need to show it to your daughter. Show her. It’s okay to show tenderness. Why were you always so scared to be tender? I love all of my children. You are my child, my baby, I don’t care what you think. You came from my body and now I am dust and you will be too. You are the wandering daughter who makes up colorful stories, and I always loved that about you even though I knew most of it was bullshit. Why were you so scared of the truths in your life, mija? Isela, I need you to know that even in death, we will have to face ourselves.

Isela scoffed, crossed her arms, and told her mother to go to hell. Rita chuckled to herself and climbed further up the trunk of the skinny tree. Mija, I forgive you for not letting me meet Olivia. I am an ancestor now if Olivia needs anything. Do not fret. We will all be together again someday, but beware, because there’s no therapy in the afterlife. There is a time loop: day after day after day on repeat until you learn your lesson. We are more wrong than we think. About everything.

GHOST LETTERS