The streets are soundless, the town square is bare, and we are here in the same spot where we turn grief into game. The world feels like a bubble but we don’t care. Look, Herminia just fired up the stove and the cauldron sizzles in this rinconcito of Rio Piedras, Puerto Rico.

We are one, we are song, we are strong but a few nights ago that “we” was hurt, because one was lost. We knew someone would heed the call of that terrible disease; we just never thought it’d be him. Ismael was the life of this place, a tiny Energizer battery that lit up the entire neighborhood. Last time he was here, dressed in that striped white and blue shirt, he recited that bolero:

Reloj, detén tu camino
Porque mi vida se apaga
Oh clock, stop time,
because my life’s ending.

And it did. So we still come here. Capicú, Trancao, we keep slapping the tiles on the table because our game is eternal. Yesterday I thought I saw him, still with the COVID mask walking by the table.

Was he smiling?
I’m sure he was.