Cihuateteo | Roman Sawicki (9)

The cool, clay cup weighs heavy in my hands, its corrugated grooves feel like stakes in my

palms. The heat of the fire, often comforting, feels accusatory and volatile, flickering flames

licking at the corners of my sight and burning holes in my retina. I feel myself quivering, I lower

my head in shame at not being the warrior I should be, my finger tips as icy cold as river water

and my insides twisted and mashed into sludge.

The shaman takes my chin, his wrinkled gaze meets mine with a reassuring smile. I ready

myself, flashing a smile back, and I feel the weight on my back grow heavy.

Here goes nothing...

Trying to get it done as soon as possible I cock my head back and gulp down the chalky,

bittersweet concoction, a gritty aftertaste making itself apparent immediately. I feel it travel

down my throat with the ease of a hard truth. As it deposits itself deep in the bowels of my body

I feel... nothing. Not the chill of the wind, nor the heat of the flame, still flickering before me. I

move to set down the empty cup but my hands start shaking, shivering like a newborn and just

as cool to the touch. I look up and find the familiar forest gone, replaced by void and smoke,

now billowing from the humble flame. I reach out my hands and swipe away at the smog futilely,

more and more rising from the glowing heat. Despite the now overwhelming fire I feel nothing

but the beat of my heart and the sweat on my brow.

Nothing...

Until I see him. He rises from the flame like a phoenix, coming up barely to my waist yet his heat

hits me as if to singe away the hair from my skin. His hair, touseled and messy, rests above his

shimmering eyes, dual glossy pools as black as an obsidian blade.

Dread fills my lungs and leaks down my ribs, causing me to tumble from my seat. Yet he looks

unworried, unfazed, an innocent grin of joy across his plump, round cheeks. I scramble away, my

lips move too fast for my ears but I feel my lungs light aflame as I scream into the wind. His

warmth grows closer and closer, little feet slapping playfully against the ground as they

approach. Tears stream down my face as my lungs expand out of my chest with volatile,

guttural movements.

His giggles announce his arrival, and with a sure hand he palms my tear stained cheek with his

soft grip.

Warmth and a deep, motherly love is all I can use to describe what courses through my veins

now, his little fingers almost hot to my cheek as it wipes away the remnants of my pain, my

grief.

And for the first time in a while, a smile makes itself welcome on my face. My arms wrap around

his flame and I utter...

My boy, my baby.

I hug him tight and close my eyes.

I hug him until all that remains is a puff of smoke and the rainforest, the weight returning to my

shoulders.

Not unburdened, but just a little bit lighter.