star torres
Bio
writer, wanderluster, INFJ, chronic empath, lifelong learner :/ also fronts a band from Boston you've never heard of
Stories (2/0)
i miss my dad, and the skeletons in his attic
The ladder to the attic groans in protest underneath my mud-caked wingtips, my feet like deadweight as I swivel my body in a precarious dance to leverage another box of Pop’s infamous whatsits against my waist. The man was a closeted hoarder; a survival technique turned obsession that may have served him well when he first left his country to settle here in the States. He always seemed to have two of everything, like our house was Noah’s Ark. Need a pair of jumper cables? Garage, left hand cabinet in front of the Buick. An air fryer? In the living room underneath the floral-print table cover, still in its original box being used as a makeshift coffee table. Maybe he felt more like a pharoah—pillaging the American Dream, padding the inside of his pyramid with appliances that would ward off boredom in the afterlife. The twist at the end is that he passed in the ICU surrounded by entirely new objects, sounds, and people (he had somehow avoided ever going to the hospital in his life). My mom and I, unfortunately, had to say goodbye over the phone. It was the first time he ever used Facetime, and we spent our last conversation with him looking up into his nose and repeatedly reminding him to flip his camera back around. Covid is one hell of a virus.
By star torres3 years ago in Humans