Paloma o 99,9 Porciento Pura Like most girls her age, Paloma had no idea how beautiful she was. Looking in the mirror, she thought to herself that she would look better, if only she lost five pounds. The reality of the situation was she was already ten pounds under the average for her height and looked quite stunning with her jet-black hair, perpetually tan skin and smooth curves. To her, like most girls, food was like sex. It feels good while they are doing it, but afterwards they feel guilty and hate themselves. "Let's see, I could go with the black knee length dress, no veil or I could do a blue blouse, black floor length skirt, black veil. It wouldn't hurt to go with the skirt considering how my legs are getting, but would it be too informal? Stupid Mexican showers. Why can't these people have the slightest clue about sanitation? I don't see how Abuela could stand it. I'm already 'glowing' like a light bulb with two cans of Right Guard down and no end in sight…" Abuela is Spanish for grandmother. In Paloma's case, it refers to her recently deceased grandmother, mother to her long deceased father. "Dead."
Paloma's father was a Mexican of pure Spanish descent, who came to America, married Paloma's mother, and died of a brain tumor, all before Paloma was one year old. Sometimes when you're in a relationship, the love grows and grows until one of you dies. And those, those are only in the best cases. Paloma had no idea that her relationship with her father was as good as it could have been, but then Paloma never read the works of Leibnitz. Since her father's death Paloma judged every man she met by the standard he left her: untouchable perfection. Paloma's mom had a lot of trouble getting new dates after Paloma took to responding to requests for the passing of some condiments with, 
The word just seemed so final to Paloma. In Spanish, there are two different be-verb groups, ser and estar. Ser is used for statements of finality, definitions, and the like. Estar refers to things that are presently, like location, emotion, and other transitory states. Estar is also used to state that a person is dead.
Looking out the window on the plane ride to Mexico, Paloma was tempted to imagine that her perspective was one from which all the invisible lines that cover the earth could at last be corresponded to reality.
That river must be the Rio Grande, and that must be Mexico City or… Wait, no… In truth, the relationship between the blobs of brown and green and geopolitical boundaries are all but impossible for the untrained eye to make out. The world is vaster than anyone can imagine. Yet the distance between stars makes our world recede into a mere speck of dust in proportion to it.Paloma is Spanish for dove. She had always disliked her name. It stood between her and her goal of passing for an Anglo, her goal of passing for normal. No one she ever met had her name. No one on TV had her name. She wasn't like the Ashley's or Tim's of the world, who could coast by on the commonness of their names. It was Paloma's personal cross to bear-- her own private shame. Of course, she had no idea that the other kids were trying to fake normality too.
She used to stay up late wondering what kind of person her father was. All that she had ever heard about him made him out to be a saint among men. Still the occasional reminisces of her mother never answered her questions.
What kind of person would leave his country behind and become a citizen of a foreign land? Of course, most Americans have such people in their ancestry, but that doesn't make it any less odd. Why would you leave your family, your life, and your language behind and live with a bunch of foreigners? Who was this man, that left behind all he knew to bring Paloma into the world then was destroyed from the inside by a brain tumor? Maybe the cancer was in him the whole time, a ticking time bomb, pushing on his brain, propelling him away from home toward his destiny then destroying him."Hola chica żEstas listo?" came the voice at the door. Paloma quickly prayed a silent prayer to St. Romero, the patron teacher/saint of high school Spanish at her old school.
"Let's see umm… listo is a ready, so uh. Sí, yo soy es listo? No! Uh."
"Sí, estoy listo,"
Paloma replied untruthfully. She couldn't think of the Spanish for "not quite" though. Señora Romero never quite got that far in the book. Well, Paloma would have to go out in the dress after all.The trouble with Mexico is, there is no regular trash service, and even if there were people would continue to throw it in the streets. You see, once in the streets, pigs convert trash into food with poop as a by-product. The poop in turn mixes with other sewage to contaminate the water supplies. The bad water then gives people dysentery and on rare occasion, it kills them.
Looking up at the ornate towers of the church, Paloma wondered about the priorities of the Mexicans.
Which is more important, your city having a beautiful church or your city having clean water…?What kind of a person was Abuela? She was born, she had sex with a man, she bore my father, and now, she's dead. Genes pass on because way back a billion years ago those little genes that happened to be able to pass themselves on survived and those that couldn't didn't. Chain reactions tend to propagate. Is this the miracle of life?
The most important person in Paloma's life, about whom she had never heard, an ill word spoken, abandoned her. She was starting to speculate that there may not have been a reason, but she couldn't help but feel there was. Now his mother, one person who potentially held the clues to his motivations joined him in the silence of the grave. Death was a black hole, out of which no information passes. Those on the outside can only guess what happens inside.
At the front of the chapel, the priest spoke gibberish that everyone but Paloma understood. He talked about what a great member of the community Abuela had been. How she had lived. How she was now with God. The priest was fairly confident that he knew what was on the other side of death.
"Abuela was once a girl my age, living in this same crud town. She was the same as me, but now she's old and wrinkled and starting to decompose and… Holy Crap I'm gonna die!"
"There, there Paloma. Go ahead and cry. I loved Abuela very much, too. She was such a sweet old woman. It'll be OK Paloma, she's in a better place now…"
Paloma didn't listen. She just kept crying. Not for Abuela or even herself, but for death, for irreversible change, time itself. Why did the universe have to be so permanent? Why can't there be an undo or a rewind or any sort of help at all. It's like being tossed into a football game near the end without knowing the rules and being expected to score a touchdown. Only you don't even know when the clock will run out.
"If life was a flower without any petals, would it still stink?"
Paloma smiled as the tears streamed down her cheeks.
That night Paloma lay in bed awake. Her room was hot and she was sweaty and it was loud outside and her bed was too short and… She wondered.
Why do some people die young and other people die old, yet at always at the most inconvenient time? She resolved. She resolved that her life's mission would be to have lived. Now that she has fulfilled her mission, she has the whole rest of her life to use however she pleases.Looking out the words on the screen in this story, the reader was tempted to imagine that her perspective was one from which all the invisible psychological borders that affect Paloma's life could at last be corresponded to her actions.
That quirk must be the death of her father, and that must be fear of abandonment or… Wait, no… In truth, the relationship between the blobs of memory and fact and personality are all but impossible for the untrained eye to make out. The mind is vaster than anyone can imagine. Yet the distance between souls makes our mind recede into a mere speck of dust in proportion to it.Like most girls her age, Paloma had no idea how beautiful she was. Unlike most though, Paloma was learning.