The Agains and Agains
by Marisa Cadena
Marisa Cadena, the sun came out, digital photograph, 2017. Courtesy of the author.
THE AGAINS AND AGAINS
By Marisa Cadena
SEPT/OCT 2026 | Issue 55
ESSAY
I.
It’s cold and grey here. A cold and grey that penetrates. Permeates.
My ghosts linger here—the ones I pretend don’t exist in my real life. Or at least can be ignored, buried deep, where the only reminder of their existence—is my existence. Here, they can be found at any given corner, at any given time of day or night. They sneak up on you, tricky little fuckers. And they are known to sucker punch.
Boom! Bang! Splat!
Driving past the parking lot of the nail salon halfway between their houses—my childhood home and his rental. My brother and I, waiting in my dad's silver Astro minivan with our duffel bags and backpacks filled with homework, ready for the pass off. My mother pulls up in her black Mazda to retrieve us for her friend-of-the-court determined days. Sometimes I am tasked with the handing off of a note to her in a white envelope.
The shared custody exchange dance is nonverbal.
She says she doesn’t remember the parking lot.
Negotiating memories with my mother. Again.
Here, there are two versions of the truth. Simultaneously existing. Opposing timelines. Contradictory facts. Both true. Neither true. Does it matter anymore? Aren’t we too old? Haven’t we made peace through all of the agains and agains? (Except when we get drunk together).
How is it possible that every time I am here, a new memory emerges that needs to be reconciled?
II.
It’s so cold that schools are closed. Exposure of less than 20 minutes threatens hypothermia. Here, kids wait for the yellow buses in front of their homes, at corners and cul de sacs.
My dog needs exercise so we drive to the mall. Or what used to be a mall. Now, it’s called a “town center” though it is neither in the center of town nor encourages any sort of community gathering. The ghosts of my teenage years are trapped behind newly erected walls, concealing what used to be a food court and arcade where I would play Street Fighter while pretending not to watch the boy who I would lose my virginity to at fifteen.
The Target, the Sears, the JC Penny, have all disappeared. What remains is a Claire’s (I wonder if the adolescent employees are still puncturing innocent lobes with staple guns. Free piercings with purchase!), a noxious Bath & Body Works I can’t be within 10 feet of without an instant headache, a Zales jewelry and Spencer’s gifts—apparently boob-shaped mugs, penis straws and t-shirts that say “Professional Virgin” never go out of style. The town center’s new tenants are less retail focused and more service-based businesses like Born to Bloom Doula Care center, Cosen’s MMA studio for youth, and my personal favorite: X-Treme Carpet Racing, a remote control car race track. I wonder if it’s the carpet or the racing that’s extreme?
My dog is bored after three laps so we leave.
Marisa Cadena is a bartender, curator and producer. Her drink recipes are featured in New York Magazine, Health Magazine, and a few books and websites. Her words appear in New World Writing, Eclectica, Hobart, Khôra, and Babes of the Abyss. Cadena produces People at the Core Podcast and the Palace Reading Series in Brooklyn.