ABSTRACT
Smoke swirls towards the ceiling, enveloping lights and what appear to be the disembodied heads of my aunts and uncles. Their voices are loud, cascading in intensity as the speakers move swiftly between Spanish and English, from one dispute to another. Aunt Stella can be heard above the others, rebuking one of her brothers who has dared to question her views about something. On a formica table in one corner of the room, amidst bottles of red wine, ginger ale, and plates of cookies lie the remains of a large platter of arroz con pollo.
