Twenty

There's something is comforting about solitude. In the darkness, the absence of color makes it seem like everything around me is the same. The light coming into my bedroom is not enough but with time my eyes adjust. Noises coming from outside, there’s some type of activity going on. Music and loud voices, probably there’s some alcohol going around, and food. Some sort of celebration I wasn’t invited to but from the loud barking laughs most attendees are men. There had been a time when I could dance, not very fast but my leg sometimes was able to support my weight for a few seconds without bothering me too much.

Back at the family farm, we had nights similar to these, my brother, when on a good mood, would tell me some of it; men drinking, their women would come with homemade dishes wearing brand new dresses and rouge on their lips. It wasn’t a celebration but more like something to lift their spirits. If it weren’t for the wheelchair, I wouldn’t even be able to move towards