Ana Eliza de Melo Garcia: From Yourself To Yourself

From Yourself To Yourself

CW: death

Don’t cry. You cannot cry now. Your mother can. Your sister can. You need to be their floor, their walls, and their ceiling. Don’t cry. Keep walking. Give directions. Your mother cries while you stand firm. “Mom, make a right turn.” She cries and you know you need to do the same. But don’t cry. Your mother cries while you walk with her in the hospital. She cries in the bedroom while you tell the family. “He’s dead.” Everyone cries around you, but you cannot cry. “I’m sorry.” “Thank you.” People hug you with tears in their eyes, but you smile. Yeah, don’t cry. Your mother cries again as she drives home. Your sister has red eyes. But you don’t. You cannot cry. You try to eat a banana, but you almost throw up. Your dogs watch you, waiting for you to cry. But you cannot cry. You give the banana to your dogs, and you go to the funeral. Your sister is surrounded by people. Your mother is surrounded by people. You’re alone. They cry, but you don’t. Your mother cries even more. Your sister finds comfort in the arms of her friends. You take a deep breath. Air comes in. Air goes out. Your father doesn’t cry or breathe anymore. You cannot cry. Children adore you and you laugh with them. Your mother cries alone next to an unconscious body. Your sister has familiar arms around her. But you are laughing. You cannot cry. People you don’t know talk about your father. You smile. No one smiles. “You’re so strong.” No. You’re the weakest one, actually. You cannot cry. A deep hole is open. Silence. People you’ve never seen in your life are crying. Who are these people? The hugs continue. You hate hugs. “Now, everything is okay,” one of them says. I’m sorry, but what the heck? You walk away with everyone still crying. But you cannot cry. Not yet. Your mother cries during the night. Your sister is surrounded by people. You’re sitting alone in the living room. Your father used to watch movies with you on that couch. He used to sit there too when the cancer ate his internal organs while he was still alive. You hear your mother crying while you’re alone in the dark. You cannot cry. In fact, I think you never will.

Ana Eliza de Melo Garcia is a Brazilian writer and screenwriter who loves diving into ordinary lives to reveal the extraordinary hidden within them. She has been writing for years and can’t imagine doing anything other than creating new worlds. She has published books and had two of her scripts produced; one of which she also directed.