Mommy's Blood

The way Hollywood portrays murder scenes in movies doesn’t quite capture how odd everything feels. I’m sitting in the back of this van, with a space blanket. I’m being treated for shock, something the EMT’s have assured me I have.

Shock feels a lot like I think an acid trip would feel.

My hearing is affected with everything sounding fuzzy or muted, then repeating. I can smell everything so intensely. I can still smell Mommy’s blood. It’s all over me, of course I can. Que pendeja I am. What am I even thinking about right now?

The blue and red lights are blurring my vision and irritating my eyes. Calmate Leti. There are still three cars here for the officers completing the investigation. I guess they leave the lights flashing to keep people away. They don’t want the crime scene contaminated. I did that enough already. That’s why I'm nearly covered in blood.

But I had to try. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try to stop the blood. I had to try, but three bullets lets the blood out fast. The heart isn’t built to take those kinds of hits.

Christmas is never going to be the same again.

That's probably the best thing, and I hate that I can see that already.

I’m sure I should be crying but the pain in my throat won’t let me add to it with more mocos. I always get the worst migraines when I cry. I don’t think I could deal with a migraine right now. Who would make me yerba buena tea? I suppose I could take Señor’s vicodin. He’s not going to need them now.

How many cops have to go in and out of the house? Andale pues, I’m tired.

I don’t understand why it is taking so long. It’s been four hours since he shot her and I’m still outside. I can’t stop shaking. When are they going to move her body?

Señora Martinez is speaking with one of the officers and looking my way every few minutes. She is a good neighbor. There were many times I had to sleep on her sofa when Señor was at his worst. She always has pity in her eyes. I’m not ashamed. I know everyone pities me.

Is it bad to just accept the pity?

They told me a half hour ago that Señor is dead too.

I should be crying.

From joy.

I guess his escape didn’t end so well. Who would have guessed that a literal Mack truck would be what took him out? I wish it was me. I wish I had been driving that truck. The EMT’s gave me a shot of something. I’m feeling very relaxed.

I’m never going to say sí Señor again. Not once.

They are finally bringing her out. Mommy. I can’t believe it happened this way. I always knew it would be him that killed her. I didn’t know that I was going to witness it. That he would point the gun at me afterwards. I didn’t know that he would die too.

The van that takes her away is like the one I’ve been sitting in. I guess they use whatever’s available. The cops are leaving and Señora Martinez invited me back to her place to sleep. I told her thank you but no. My sisters are supposed to come back tomorrow. I won’t let them see the blood on the floor. I have to clean.

Cleaning is nothing new. Cleaning Mommy’s blood is not even new. But this will be the last time.

I stare at the puddle for a long time. The contrast of Mommy’s blood against the stone floor is stark. I can’t help the things I am thinking. I know other artists have painted with this medium before.

Is it sacrilegious? Do I care anymore? Did I ever care?

I’m going to do it. I will paint a picture of Mommy. I have photo albums. I’ll pick a photo from when she was young. I hurriedly collect a jar from my stash. I always save every little jar because you never know when you will need one for turpentine or mixing thinner to clean brushes. Then you can just put the lid on to discard.

I should be crying.

I grab my caddy of cleaning supplies and walk back to the puddle. You can see where I was kneeling in her blood. I realize then that I haven’t even changed yet. It doesn’t make sense to change until you clean the blood. I convince myself that it’s not blood.

It’s not blood. I think as I scoop some of the congealing liquid into the jar. I keep scooping until I can’t get any more off of the floor and then I close the jar. I grab hydrogen peroxide next. I don’t know how it’s going to affect the stone floor but I know it will decontaminate it.

The floor is fizzing as Mommy’s blood is broken down by the hydrogen peroxide. It will be easy to clean with solution after this. I use paper towels to wipe up all the solution that I poured over the rest of the stain. I do this three times even though I couldn’t see any blood after the first time.

I think it’s clean. Why can I still smell the blood?

I take all the paper towels out to the backyard and put them in the fire pit. The paper towels are wet with solution and I know I’m probably going to scar my lungs with the fumes, but I take the lighter fluid from the outdoor grill anyway. I make sure to douse the pinche paper towels really good.

I light the match as I’m standing back from the fire pit and set it on top of the paper towels. The fire catches quickly and as I jump back, I realize again there is blood all over my clothes. I unbutton my dress and take off my tights. I walk forward and feed the clothing to the fire carefully then step back again.

I wonder if the neighbors are watching me stand in the backyard in my chonies. I wonder if they realize exactly how crazy my brain is right now. I know I should be crying; Mommy is gone.

But we are all free.

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