Conversations Near Dead People Who: Dante Ruiz and Layla Lin What: Two people have very different reasons for being in the same general area. When: May 1st, Early Evening Where: A cemetery in Boyle Heights Rating: PG Note: All dialog written within - - is spoken in Spanish.
It wasn’t really until Dante was in college where he got his first real taste of people who weren’t necessarily what one would consider family oriented. Even when he was younger, when he knew that there were children who came from single family homes, like he did, those people would still seemingly be the type of people who considered their family to be the most important thing in the world. Maybe that was just a fact of life where he grew up. Boyle Heights was, after all, highly Latino. And while it may have been borderline stereotypical, Latino people did frequently have a stronger sense of the family unit. Sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad way.
By the time that he got to college, though, he was interacting with more people who came from different backgrounds. It was no longer the people who he had seen around the neighborhood since he was a child, or who he could run into at the local movie theater. No, these people were the kind of people who came from just about anywhere. And some of those people didn’t have the same closeness with their families like he did. Because Dante was already working at a deficit, in terms of family members that he could say were in his life, maybe he clung on to what he had a little bit harder. Certainly, that was one of the primary reasons why he was as close to his grandparents as he was. Marissa wasn’t always around, at least not in the way that one would expect from a mother, but Imelda was. His father was, functionally, a sperm donor and nothing more. Rodrigo was the only father he ever knew. Those people who didn’t have the same strong family bond were people that Dante couldn’t quite understand, although he did his best not to judge them for it. After all, some families were far from ideal, and distancing oneself from those type of people was often a better decision than the alternative. Harder, too. And then there were those people who were just ingrates, whose families gave them everything, and they felt like they deserved just a little bit more. Those people? They infuriated him.
Due to this upbringing, and his continued involvement with the family, it was never much of a surprise when they were on his mind. After all, it was basically guaranteed that whenever his phone buzzed, either from a phone call or a text, that it was one of his family members. But it wasn’t just the living members of the family that were on his mind. No, occasionally, those who had passed away were on his mind, too.
It was after work, early evening, when he made his way to the nearby florist to pick up some Mexican marigolds. The flower, for obvious reasons, was mostly in demand in October and early November, but one of the many benefits of living in area where the cultural identity was so strong just happened to be that a smaller, but constant, supply of the flower could basically be found all year round. It may have seemed odd, picking up flowers for a man’s grave, but it wasn’t only a man that was buried there. A woman was, too. A woman who he knew only from pictures and stories, but still.
Rey Vega’s name was emblazoned on the headstone, alongside his wife, Irma. Imelda’s parents. Irma had passed before Dante was born. In fact, she had died while his own mother was still very young. Marissa’s memories of her grandmother were faint, but the youngest sons of his grandparents never got a chance to know their grandmother.
It was actually because of Rey that Dante had the flowers in hand. Rey actually liked marigolds, because he said that they helped him stay close to the members of his family who were no longer there to hold in person. Rey had dealt with a lot of loss in his life. Parents, siblings, children, the love his life. And through all of that, the man stayed warm and loving. It was almost second nature to venerate the deceased, to forget the things that a person did, or who they seemed to be, that painted them in a negative light. With Rey, Dante couldn’t think of anything negative from his own memories, although he was sure that his great-grandfather was as flawed as anyone else.
Habitually, Dante dusted off the top of the headstone, removing the leaves that had fallen from the nearby trees and other sediments that had built up since the last time anyone stopped by. -Hi, ‘uelo.- Dante’s fluency in Spanish was a necessity, at the time, because Rey’s ability to speak English was practically non-existent. And even though he knew that the man was gone, every time he came to the cemetery to speak with Rey, he always spoke in Spanish. It made Dante feel like he was actually communicating with Rey. ‘Uelo was shorthand for abuelo. Strictly speaking, Dante probably should have added a grande somewhere, but, much like how his grandparents were Mami and Papi, ‘uelo was what his mother and tios called the man. It stuck.
-I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Maybe because it’s almost been another year since you passed away.- May 23rd, to be precise. Dante would be back with the family on that day, to pay respects once again, but he still came by from time to time by himself. Not as often as he should have, maybe, but still. -Or maybe because… I don’t know. Maybe I’m just thinking of the safest person to talk to that I feel like I won’t be letting down, or that I’ll have to explain myself to, and you’re the first one to come to mind.-
He paused for a moment, starting to say one thing before something entirely different came out instead, -Everyone’s doing well. Mami and Papi are still so in love that it’s hard to believe at times. My mom and her brothers are still driving each other crazy, but they’re always there for each other the moment one of them needs something. And Aurora’s almost fifteen, so we’re getting ready for a quinceanera. Mami’s so excited about it. I think she’s more excited about it than Aurora or her parents are… but… you’re going to hear all this again when everyone’s here… and I didn’t really come here to…- Dante stopped himself, feeling his resolve wane and his words falter.
‘Uelo had never really been an intimidating man, at least not to Dante. There were stories that he had been told, sure, where Rey’s rage seemed all consuming, but to Dante, all he ever saw was an old man who almost always had a smile on his face. And it wasn’t even like Rey was right there, but even the ghost of the man’s presence was intimidating. The soft sound of crinkling plastic echoed quietly as Dante gripped the stems of the flowers. -I’ve… been trying to figure out what I believe in, ‘uelo. And the more I think about it, the less I think that it’s what everyone wants me to believe in.- Dante chuckled nervously, -I don’t even know why I’m telling you… I bet you’d tell me I was crazy for even thinking of giving up my faith.- Rey was, from memory, just as Catholic as the rest of them. -But maybe that’s why I’m telling you. I can assume I know what you would tell me, but it isn’t like you’re able to prove me right or wrong. I… just wish I could tell them, too. I want to, but it’s always so hard.- The last words came out barely above a whisper. Speaking with the dead seemed so easy, but telling those that were still alive the same thing? Much, much harder.
This particular cemetery, Layla had never been to before. She was curious enough to come and take pictures though, bringing her camera and finding the best shots - rows and rows of tombstones, a sea of the dead; some were crumbled and weathered, some were smooth marble and looked brand new. Maybe some were so old, even those who mourned joined the others beneath the soil.
She took pictures of those gravestones, of verdant moss and yew trees, and she was so focused on what she was doing that she didn’t realize someone else was here.
It was too late to not be awkward about it - she’d stumbled across the man speaking in Spanish, and was equal parts curious and embarrassed. Of course, her boots weren’t exactly silent - twigs cracked beneath her feet, and she sheepishly lowered her camera to let it rest on the hardy strap around her neck.
“Sorry - I’m probably too loud. I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”
It wasn’t like he thought that Rey’s spirit could appear from the ether, or wherever spirits went, if they went anywhere. And it wasn’t like the man was going to pull himself out of the dirt that covered his coffin to offer him council. Dante was thankful for each of those realities, because, much as he loved Rey, and as much as he valued the memories that he had of his great-grandfather, zombie or ghost ‘uelo would probably make him run towards his car so fast that it would be like he was back on the track team, with some extra jet boosters for good measure.
Still, the sound of the twigs behind him was enough to startle Dante. At first, he gave a soft smile, thinking that it was one of his family members. It wouldn’t be the first time that an unscheduled gathering ended with multiple members of the family gathering together. That smile was wiped away from his face the moment that he heard the voice. The voice of a stranger. He was surprised, but Dante was able to wipe that surprise off his face before he turned to face the person who had spoken to him, gently placing the marigolds on the top of the tombstone before he turned around.
“You weren’t too loud.” He almost answered in Spanish, because he had just been speaking in his second language, but it was easy enough to default back to English. “Startled me a little bit, though. Mostly because I was busy being caught up in my own thoughts.” He offered a disarming smile to the woman, trying to help ease any tension, if it even existed.
“There’s no need to apologize.” After all, it was a public place. And while he may have been having a slight crisis, it wasn’t like Dante was wailing on the floor, so he wasn’t being interrupted… or, at least… being interrupted in some deeply private moment. Just a moderately private one. Way different.
It was when he got the chance to really look at the person who he had randomly encountered that he saw the camera. Dante was no photographer. He left picture taking to the members of his family who were actually passionate about it, even if Mami’s actual skills as a photographer left much to be desired, or cast members who may or may not have had some actual amount of skill at the craft, but at least they were getting paid to take that picture of him with Donald Duck in a sombrero. Well worth the wait.
“You don’t see many people bring cameras to a cemetery. If you don’t mind… is there a reason you’re taking pictures here?” Hopefully the question wasn’t accusatory in nature, because Dante tried really, really hard to make sure that his tone was more curious than anything else. If that answer was information that he didn’t need, though, he’d leave it alone.
Layla didn’t mind answering the question, though usually no one bothered to ask. She considered her response, maybe something that wouldn’t sound ridiculously creepy - like how she found it fascinating that cold bones and flowers closed the gap between the living and the dead, just for a moment.
She often switched back and forth between her hound form and the human skin, but this was the longest amount of time she’d ever stayed human. Bits and pieces of how to get along in human society, collected and stored tucked away in her unconscious for centuries was a lot different than actually living it. “I think they’re interesting,” she replied, looking at the ground then up at the man who spoke to her. “They make good compositions sometimes, in the shots. And cemeteries tell stories about cultures and how they memorialize the ones who pass away.”
Maybe that still managed to sound creepy. She shrugged then, lifting one shoulder. “It’s a lot different where I’m from.”
That response did make a lot of sense to Dante. He may not have been the type of person who just casually hung around graveyards for fun, but, perhaps, in their own way, they could be seen as beautiful. Indeed, he could think of a time where the place was, undoubtedly, picturesque in a morbid kind of way. “If you haven’t already been here around Dia de los Muertos, you should come back then. A lot of families bring flowers, like the marigolds that I brought, and a bunch of other stuff. Usually it’s got some special connection to the person who is buried here. Although you do get a lot of generic stuff, too. Like skeletons and the like.” Basically, Coco. Not that it was a bad thing. Coco was amazing.
While it was still kind of odd to find someone who seemed… drawn… to cemeteries, and didn’t look like they came out of the most emo portions of any given Hot Topic store at a mall, Dante was able to let those slight inquiries flow off his body. “A lot of people who are buried here are Latino, mostly Mexican.” Not exclusively, of course, and, in fact, because the cemetery had been around for awhile, it could almost be seen as some sort of snapshot before it became so Latin focused. “So there’s a strong amount of homogenization.” And Dodger representation. Lots of that.
“What’s it like, where you’re from?” An odd question, perhaps. But Dante had given information about his culture, even if it wasn’t exactly something that most people didn’t already know. And, really, if there was a place to talk about death related stuff… a graveyard was probably the best place to do it. He couldn’t think of a better place. Not that he wanted to think about it too deeply.
“It’s - “ How could she describe the Otherworld? It was where everything dark and evil was born and bred - both hot and cold, bone-dry winds, but yet a distinct chill that clung to your innards, settled within your spongy marrow. A distinct lack of warmth, a distinct lack of hope. Layla was grateful she wasn’t sent back there, only to be recycled into another hellhound form after the last of her family passed on. No hound she knew (though she hadn’t met very many, despite how old she was) wanted to return and she couldn’t blame them.
But that seemed to be a long story, one that might get the police called on her. And guarantee a spot on the 11:00 news - crazy lady found wandering in a graveyard, stay tuned for more info.
“I’m from Hong Kong,” she added softly. She supposed it wasn’t a lie. “There isn’t any available space for tombstones anymore. Even the hillsides are full.” Private graves cost around $30,000 - however, no one really had that kind of money, at least not the average person. “But we have a festival called Qingming, once a year - it’s known as tomb sweeping. People clean the graves of their ancestors and make offerings.”
Paying respects to ancestors was important, in China. She wasn’t sure if it was as important in other places. “I’m Layla,” she added helpfully - or maybe it wasn’t helpful. “Never been here for Dia de los Muertos. I just moved.”
There… wasn’t any space left for headstones anymore? That was something that Dante found difficult to comprehend. Thinking about it, he supposed that it was only logical that there would eventually be a lack of real estate, well, anywhere… but what did that mean for people who passed away now? Did they automatically just get cremated? He almost wanted to ask that question, but decided that it really, really wasn’t appropriate, and possibly borderline offensive. A part of Dante wondered what would happen when he died, if there would be space for him somewhere. Assuming he didn’t want to be cremated. He wasn’t sure. And thinking about it was unnerving. He wasn’t sure if the chill that ran down his body was because of the wind or because of something else.
Change of subject, please. And, just as soon as he internally yearned for it, Dante was given a lifesaver from the SS Save Us From These Morbid Thoughts. “I’m Dante. It’s nice to meet you, Layla.” He paused for a moment before focusing on something else that he could hone in on. “You just moved here?” Hardly a surprise. People came to Los Angeles for the first time on an almost daily basis. People who were hungry for the alleged fame that Los Angeles almost always brought to people. Except, in Dante’s own life, as someone who lived in Los Angeles since the moment he was conceived, he actually hadn’t known anyone who had “made it,” so that part of the Los Angeles mystique was clearly overinflated. “How’s it compare to Hong Kong?” A place that Dante knew of, certainly, and he had probably seen images of it at some point in his life. He knew that it was a big city, too. And an island, right? Seemed nice. Not a place that was high on the list of places that he wanted to see, but if he was able to go, he wouldn’t complain.
“I’ve lived here my whole life. It doesn’t mean I know everything about the place,” although he did know the places where, allegedly, the underground lizard people of Los Angeles were supposed to be living. In a world where werewolves, witches, and all kinds of other spooky things were real, the lizard people didn’t seem that far off… but was he willing to be one of the people who proved the legends right? Nope. “But you’re more than welcome to pick my brain if you have any questions about the city. I’ll do my best to give you as much information as I can.”
“I heard there was a thriving supernatural community here,” Layla said - that was true, and really her only reason for moving so far away. She’d spent what felt like many lifetimes in China and it was time for a change. Good thing she was the type to actually embrace change, since so much freedom, and humanity, were all so different from what she was used to.
How did LA compare to Hong Kong though? She had to think about it, fiddling with the strap of her camera. “The public transportation is better there,” she decided. “And the food is healthier. It’s a little more diverse here though. Even if Americanized Chinese food is terrible. I feel...less judged here too.”
In Hong Kong, you were constantly under scrutiny - were you from mainland China? Did you speak Cantonese? Were you carrying a straw tote bag or something designer and expensive? It made her want to spend as much time in hound form as possible - less of that to worry about.
“But, um...thank you. For the brain picking offer,” she smiled gently. “I work at a place called Wing’s Curiosities if you decide to stop by, and are looking for a unique gift.” Layla may even take him up on that offer to pick his brain - because in a cemetery, it seemed kind of awkward even for her.
“There is,” he gave a slight nod. Immediately, Dante was able to guess that Layla was probably, in some facet, supernatural herself. There weren’t many people who were “normal” humans who really cared about something like that. And, sadly, if there were people who were, it was probably because they wanted there to be less of a presence of supernatural individuals than more of one. “There are areas in the city where the community is stronger, but there are smaller pockets in a lot of different places. I’m not really well versed in that, but I have a passing awareness.” Like he said before, it wasn’t like he was some walking guide to Los Angeles. Actually, Dante was a walking guide to Los Angeles. Just not an omnipotent one. Wouldn’t that be nice? No, actually. It would be rather horrible.
Hearing Layla mention the public transportation made him chuckle under his breath. Dante hoped that she didn’t hear him, or, even if she did, that she didn’t think that he thought her comment was inane. “Sometimes it can be a pain in the ass. Frequently, in fact. But even when you’re stuck in traffic on a bus for what seems like forever, at least you’re on a bus and someone else is being paid to be the person paying attention, so you can play around on your phone or something. But we have light rails, too. And the subway. But I don’t necessarily recommend taking the subway.” That was what made him chuckle. He remembered his conversation with Marcus and their mutual disdain for the subway.
“We do have a lot of different types of cuisine,” he agreed. “You can basically find anything here. If you look hard enough. And maybe if you’re willing to take a few risks.” Dante could take culinary risks from time to time, but there was nothing wrong with remaining loyal to the staples. It was a bit of a blow to hear her mention that Americanized Chinese food was terrible, since it was actually his favorite type of food… but he had to admit that, while it was certainly tasty to his palette, he couldn’t quite call it authentic. It was like… going to Taco Bell, or Chipotle. Sure, those places may have claimed to be inspired by the food of his culture, but they really were bastardizations. And, while he could find himself occasionally eating the food they offered, it was mostly with a hefty amount of reluctance. Except the cinnamon twists. Those were always welcome.
Dante lowered his eyes and looked over at the grave behind him before he spoke again. “I’m… sorry you felt judged where you came from, Layla.” And without actually saying it, using words to convey his empathy for the situation, the words carried that feeling of kinship. Rey was one of those rare people in his life who never begrudged the fact that Dante was bi-racial, even in a way that would have been considered harmless by the people who made him feel that way. As someone who had spent literally his entire life knowing that there were people who he cared about that treated him differently because of something that wasn’t his choice, empathizing with Layla was all too easy. And still painful.
“Maybe I’ll find myself over there at some point.” He had heard of Wing’s Curiosities. Loving Chinese food the way that Dante did, Chinatown was one of the places where he frequented. It was mostly just stuff that he overheard, though. Not direct conversations with him.
Chinatown was a decent way for Layla to ease herself into American culture - it was familiar, but not. More like just enough. “Cool,” she grinned, and hoped that her use of the word wasn’t too ‘out of place’ - because a hellhound who was older than dirt, she was actually way behind on what phrases were still in. “You should definitely come by. I live above one of the noodle shops near there.” It was nice because she could walk to work - having a car seemed like a silly idea.
The shop she lived above was good too - she liked to watch how the noodles were made, with all the modern equipment. Conveyor belts, a machine that mixed the dough, fancy rollers. The broth simmered for three days, to get the right flavor, and she with her sensitive nose had no complaints about that aroma at all. What a world, what a world.
“I should leave you to your privacy now though,” she added, not wanting to stand here and just...keep interrupting. “But it was nice meeting you.”
While he didn’t think that Layla was interrupting him, Dante wasn’t about to force someone to keep on having a conversation with him if they decided that they had talked enough. In a way, it was almost refreshing. Usually, the people that he had conversations with, such as members of his family, tended to ramble longer than they needed to. It could be exhausting. Perhaps people thought the same of him, but were simply too nice to say anything about it. Hmm, food for thought.
“I’m actually on my way out anyway.” He came and said what he needed to say. Rey wasn’t going to provide him any answers, but that was okay. Dante wasn’t looking for any answers, really. He was more using his great-grandfather as some sort of, for lack of a better word, test dummy. Someone to practice the resolve that he needed to strengthen in order to have the conversation that needed to happen with the people who needed to know. He still wasn’t ready for the big leagues, as it were, but he did feel better telling someone. Even if it was someone who couldn’t offer anything but an attentive ear. “But yes, it was nice to meet you, too, Layla. I hope you Los Angeles gives you the things you want in your life.” It could do that. It could also take someone and almost literally eat them alive. He hoped that didn’t happen to her, but only time would tell.
He gave Layla a genuine, if quick, smile before he turned his back to the woman, letting her continue on doing whatever she felt like doing in that moment. The marigolds had stayed on the top of the tombstone, but Dante grabbed them gingerly and knelt down before placing them on the ground. If it got windy, the flowers could get knocked off their perch, and then ‘uelo wouldn’t be able to enjoy them. That wasn’t something that Dante wanted.
-I have to go now, but I’ll be back in a few weeks.- Dante’s hand brushed against the parts of the tombstone that marked Rey’s name as the wave of emotion passed over him. -I miss you all the time, ‘uelo. Thanks for listening. I love you.- Having dealt with the man’s passing all those years ago, he wasn’t on the verge of tears, but that could happen if he just thought about it a little bit more. Better to not even do that.
Dante removed his hand, stood up, gave the gravesite one more look and then made his way back to his car. He went to the cemetery to feel better, and maybe in some ways he did, but while he was expecting to feel a pang of grief, too, it still managed to somehow surprise him.