She stared. That’s all she did, I swear. Well, and the tear, but just one.

Frankie had dared me, “Go on, see what the crazy ol’ lady says about your areola.”

“It’s called an aura, dummy,” Lupita corrected, “And mi abuela is not crazy.” It always amazed me how Lupita could take a simple word, like ‘not’ for instance, and load it with threatening meaning.

This went back and forth for a few minutes, and as it looked like it was about to come to blows I slipped into Abuela Cruz’s dimly lit apartment, leaving my two friends to bicker on the stoop. The sounds of the city street seemed to fade away in the stillness of the apartment.

She motioned to a chair, so I sat across from her, looking back over the top of a decorative lamp. Having no idea how this worked I just sat there, probably did it wrong though, not that I’ll ever know. She just sat and stared. Her face was impassive, locked still.

Time stretched out. I felt oddly removed. She stared, shed one tear, and heaven help me I ran for the door.