We got into the back of Mommy\u2019s black car when she picked us up that night. Left back seat, sister and me right back seat.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow was school, girls?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood, good.\u201d<\/p>\n
“What did Abuela make to eat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cChicken, rice.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh sounds good, girls.\u201d<\/p>\n
We reach a stop sign and my sister says, \u201cWe met Daddy\u2019s friend.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom made a U-turn, back in direction to the zoo. Fast. No talking. Radio off. At Wela\u2019s house, she had us stay in the car.<\/p>\n
\u201cGirls, do not come out! You hear me?<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n
A chunk of eternity had passed when Mom got back in the car.\u00a0 The cars passed the slightly open window as we sped away from Abuela\u2019s house.<\/p>\n
Tomorrow showed up and school was out. Teacher told me I had to go to after school and be let out later, not during regular dismissal where Abuela would be waiting with an Icee or a bag of chips. I made new friends at after school. We did homework together and played board games. Sandwiches took the place of Abuela\u2019s island kitchen magic. Home isn\u2019t where you spend the most time. It should be. No Wela. No Nickelodeon, no salsa blasting, no smells of Abuela\u2019s cooking, no waiting for Dad, no screaming at seeing the waterbug having wings. No more passing the zoo.<\/p>\n
I always knew we were almost home when we passed the zoo.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n A six-year-old me played a game of \u201cstay awake\u201d against the car window while Mom drove me and my sister to school every morning. On Wednesdays, the West Farms train staircase looked like the stairs to reach a roller coaster. People who sported camping-sized backpacks, sandals, and sunscreen that wasn’t already rubbed into their skin […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":22,"featured_media":1284,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[181],"tags":[310,317,338,330,336,261,214,309,339,343,342,294,335,233,226,340,301,220,316,341,184,337,300,331],"yoast_head":"\n
\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.spanglishvoces.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/IMG_8184-Destiny-Padilla-1.png\")
Destiny Padilla<\/a> is a Puerto Rican poet, spoken word artist, and writer from the Bronx, New York. Mental health awareness, New York City, women, Latinx identity, and Millennials are driving forces behind Padilla’s work. She is currently finishing her manuscript for her first collection of poetry.
\nhttps:\/\/www.proudmillennialnyc.com\/<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"