When my alarm went off at 5:30 in the morning I did seriously consider actually getting up and walking through the darkness to see them kill the pig. I lay in my bed for probably 10 minutes debating. I was hesitant to see it.

When I finally woke up an hour and a half later I walked down and watched them chop up what was left of the pig, Veinte, named for the day of his death.

January 21st is the Altagracia. A holiday that Bananas does well. People stay up all night on the 20th, and apparently eat a lot of pork, to welcome the day.

“I could really use an egg right now!” one of the cousins said, glaring at Yafresi, in between chopping the rib cage with a machete.

“I’m so hungry. I didn’t eat breakfast yet. I would like an egg,” the other guy agreed, nodding at Yafresi.

I looked over at Yafresi confused, “What’s all this about an egg?” She shook her head. The guys were laughing.

“I had an egg and I was going to cook it but now I can’t find it anywhere.”

“That’s the thing about eggs!” the cousin yelled, “They just disappear!”

Everyone was laughing

In that moment, I was reminded of my family. Thinking about how I would joke in the same way, complaining about the promised yet disappeared breakfast. I looked around at the blood on the ground, the men with machetes sending splinters of bone flying, the pile of intestines. 

Perhaps one day there will be no setting or situation in which I will not feel comfortable. 

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