Weeknights With Walter

It’s the evening ritual with mom. Every night at 5:30, after she came home
from a long day at work and I had finished my homework, we’d climb
into her bed together, laying side by side and turned on Telemundo.
Or was it Univision? Whatever, it was time for Walter y las estrellas.
I sat and listened to his astrological predictions, never quite catching
all of it. His Spanish was too fast for me. But Mami always translated. We listened for Tauro, my mom, the symbol of Earth and wisdom.
Next came Libra, my brother, the bearer of truth. Then Escorpio, my father and abuela, born under hot blood. Of course, Mami listened for Capricornio,
for Ricky, our favorite singer. Mine always came last, Acuario, the water bearer.
I don’t remember any of his predictions. What I do recall is how alive
and himself he always seemed. The grand, theatrical atmosphere.
Spectacular, shining garments like better versions of what the ministers
of the church wore. Graceful hand gestures as he excitedly told you to expect the best, because the best was always yet to come. But it’s his voice
that sticks to my memory. Almost raspy like a smoker’s. The musical trill as he rolled his R’s. And always, full of mucho, mucho amor.

Meagan Cahuasqui is a Latinx-American poet and fiction writer with a B.A. in Creative Writing from the University of Central Florida and an M.B.A. from Nova Southeastern University. Her work has been featured in Lift Every VoiceAvatar ReviewLatino Book Review, and Burning House Press, among others.