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A cell phone is ringing in another room-- once, twice, three times-- the alerting chimes a nuisance to my ears, like a mother shaking her school-aged child on a weekday morning, but I don't have anywhere to go, or anything to do, it's my Thanksgiving break and I refuse to open my eyes, so I try to shut out the bustle of the city, East Los Angeles, the town I was born and raised in, my home again for a week, where caged birds sing at sunup, and neighborhood dogs bark in chorus, where music in English and Spanish blasts from residences and cars alike, and the youth rev their engines without consideration-- they mute television programming and interrupt a good night's sleep-- this is the norm around here, a norm I am no longer accustomed to, my senses spoiled by a quieter environment, the place I've called home for ten years now, my apartment, fifty miles away, tucked in the middle of a large apartment complex near a university, where pets are not allowed and the street hubbub is a short block away, at least that's my estimation if I have to put the distance from my door to the main gate in layman's terms, but I'm not in Kansas anymore, despite my efforts to ignore the commotion, I hear my mother outside, muffled through the walls, which explains why the phone keeps ringing--four, five times-- she's talking to a man, and I want to know who he is; I can't blame someone for keeping me up if I can't put a face to them, he can be anyone, the possibilities are endless, ranging from neighbors to those strolling up and down the street, because my parents talk to everyone, and everyone stops to talk to them, usually to compliment their garden or ask for a bundle of medicinal herbs they've spotted on the other side of the white picket fence, this is a friendly community, and their friendliness is contagious; I greet more people while washing my car in the driveway than I do all month at my complex, but right now I'm being nosy, an inherited characteristic I keep subdued but can activate quickly under any circumstances, which is what I wish I could do with the blankets, command them to extend over my head, because I want to be sleeping, this is my ultimate goal, which I'm losing hope on, especially since rattling pipes have taken center stage in my conscious, making me wonder, Is someone watering the lawn, but it rained last night, I know it isn't my mother just rinsing a pet's dish, either, because the buzzing in the pipelines is continuous, like gallons of water falling from the highest slide in a water park, and I have the urge to check up on this matter, but I crush it by initiating mindfulness, Ignore it, I say, taking a deep breath and focusing on the darkness that is my eyelids, but laughter steals my attention, Who is she talking to, I demand to know again, and a woman with a high pitched voice joins the mix--they're trying to kill me-- she's my parent's tenant, I positively identify, who lives with her family in the one-bedroom rental behind our house, and the exchange proceeds with my mother greeting her son, Hi, Andrew, while the phone continues incessantly--six, seven times-- beautifully muted like stars scattered in a black sky behind a full moon, the morning isn't letting up, this town is running on Energizer batteries, coffee, or, more likely, super-powered DNA, after all, it is composed of immigrants, some who ran across the border like my father, others who hid in trunks of cars like my mother, which means there's courage, dedication, strong will, and work ethic deeply rooted underneath the fruit trees and nopales throughout the yards, and it renews itself and emanates daily in the air we breath, it's the air I'm breathing, calling my name, begging me to rise like the birds, the dogs, the workers, the water from the ground, and I cave, peeling the covers off me, but I halt in the hallway because the sounds I've been receptive to are swooshing in my head, I'm unsteady, it takes a minute for them to settle into a puzzle composed of over-sized pieces, that's when I'm able to pinpoint her location--my mother is behind the house-- I trail her through the back entryway, pushing the door she left ajar, where I catch Andrew standing on his porch, staring back at me, and I worry my bedhead is frightening him so I wave calling truce, then proceed into the crisp autumn day that envelops me in goosebumps, causing the hairs on my body to stand, my warmth piercing the air like rocks shattering glass, and it's surprising to see my mother enduring the chilly temperature, but not startling to see her bent over a patch of spewed soil, Look what the cat did, she says upon seeing me, and by cat, she means a stray, I though I'd hidden Tuxy's catnip, she explains, picking up a flower pot on its side, but he managed to knock it down, and I acknowledge her by responding, Your phone is ringing.