Bedtime
Yoriam Laboy Alvarado, Stevenson University
I had already bathed just like my grandmother had instructed me to
right after dinner,
obedient as always.
She was already in bed with her signature mug of hot coffee
—which is still too bitter for my taste—
as the light from the screen of the television made her glow, in the dark room,
the main characters from her favorite soap beginning to kiss passionately.
I quickly turned away,
(it was a time where gagging was my response to every display of romantic affection).
My feet slapped the tile floors with each step I took towards the porch
where the music was coming from.
Despite it not being a very clear sound,
it was a familiar one as it had played one radio station for longer than I had been alive.
My grandfather was dancing my himself with a can of beer in one hand,
laughing at himself as he bounced slightly,
scared as I unexpectedly came through the front door and around the corner.
He stumbled,
continuing to laugh as I slightly pushed him
towards the rusting metal rocking chair.
His walking was rocky,
Watching him was almost as tough as the denial that kept pushing his feet towards the fridge
filled to the top with dozens of beers.