If I die...will there be a wake? Will someone cry quiet tears of friendship or weep great heaving sobs of pain over lost causes and missed opportunities? Or will someone dance his waltz of relief over my passing?
Last night I dreamt of vultures. Great flocks waiting for my dying. They were loud and swift. Chasing dizzying circles against a backdrop of blue. It was only when one broke away and made a dash for land when I woke up. Was this dream a harbinger of things to come?
Permit me then the luxury of a wish. When I die, wrap me in sorrow and allow only the chosen seven to see me as I sleep: my parents, my sisters, my cousin Grace and two of my closest friends--Trina and Mariliz. They are the seven who know my dark and light.
Then allow me the comfort of dark...close my coffin for the wake. And on the last day, cleanse me with fire...bright and swift. Gather the ashes in a porcelain jar, seal it and bring it to Buenasuerte where other relatives wait for my coming.
Write me an epitaph, write me a book of epitaphs...let them be truthful so that the world may know that I lived as I saw how to live. Let them say, here lies a bitch. Or, here lies someone who shouted out my incompetence. I am no saint and do not expect my epitaphs to say that here lies one.
Finally, let those who come be those who genuinely weep. Fair warning to those who come to gawk and point because I will come for you with my flock of vultures.
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