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Isn’t it interesting how a person can be as present after death as they were in real life?
He’s quoting Gran. I’ve told him how she used to say this every morning as she pulled my curtains open when I was a little girl. “Rise, polish, and shine!” her voice trilled, bright and cheerful like a singing sparrow. She died before Juan Manuel could ever meet her, and yet in ways I’ll never fully comprehend, parts of her live on in him just as they live on in me. This truth adds solace to all of my days.
I make an important discovery in that moment: it doesn’t matter if you understand another person’s pain because their injury is real nonetheless.
My gran. She was always like that. She always found a way to ignite hope. And what is hope if not the decision to shine light into the dark?
His eyes are steely blue, as they’ve always been, not bloodshot. He’s tall, lean, and well dressed, not hunchbacked and hirsute. He’s clean and looks respectable, not a wolf in sheep’s clothing. There are no piles of bones in the corners of his study, nor does he live on a bridge, terrorizing whoever wishes to pass. But I see it now. I see it clearly as I never have before—how a man can be a man and a monster at the very same time.
Never fear a new beginning. One chapter must end for another to begin.
