Sun touches your face. You pull the musty sheets up around you to block the light. In those few foggy moments as you distinguish reality from dreams, you enjoy the warmth of the sun and the quiet of the early morning. For a few moments at least. Banging on the door wakes you with a jolt. Stomping footsteps echo towards you. The sheets are yanked from your grasp. Your eyes shoot open and that moment of peace is ruined. Papa is standing over you. He is a stern man, rough on the outside but with the kindest heart.  

“Wake up hijo! It is already 7:30! You will be late for school. Ay dios mío!” He cries. Your limbs grow stiff with agitation. 

“Ay papá! ¡No quiero despertar! Déjame en paz, estoy cansado. Vete a la mierda!” A restless night and lack of sleep forces the words out of your mouth before you could think. You regret the words the second they leave your mouth but you can't take it back. For a moment you stiffen, expecting a harsh response but he has left the room. You put on your jeans, the ones with the rips all down the sides, shove a jacket in your bag, and storm out of the room. The jacket is Papas but you're sure he won't need it. You leave the bedroom, slamming the door. It isn't your room, it's simply the bedroom, though Mama likes to call it the family room. Maybe something about that makes it feel like the sleeping arrangement was a choice. Like we wanted to sleep as a family, not that there was simply no other option. 

You push your way into the main room. The fridge is overflowing. Mama must have just gotten back from the food pantry down the street. Dirty dishes spill over the sink but you know by the time you get back they'll be clean again. Mama does everything around the house. Your sister Lena wails in the corner, her bottle spilled on the floor. Rickety chairs are pushed towards the table in the center of the room. A small plastic bowl filled with cheerios and milk sits in front of your seat. 

“I am not eating that Mama,” you groan to your mother. She is busy all day every day. She doesn't have time nor the supplies to make anything else for you, though she wishes she could. You know that but in the moment it can be hard to recognize. Your stomach growls and the thought of more cereal makes you feel sick. The trailer seems to feel smaller everyday, suffocating you. The world felt as though it was tightening its grip on you and there was nothing you could do but fight back against it and everyone in it. You simply want out.  You feel like you might start crying so you grab your bag and storm out the door. 

“Mijo wait!” Papa calls to you. You forgot to close your bag. Your pencil case falls out, landing on the second step. He picks up the bag trying to give it to you but you begin to walk faster.

“I love you! Te quiero!” He calls out after you. You say nothing and continue on without looking back. The mornings have been growing colder but this is the coldest yet. Before you reach school you pull out the jacket and wrap it around yourself. There is a strange feeling in the air this morning and mist hangs low above the ground. The rest of the world seems to have gone silent and all you can hear is the crunching of your footsteps on fallen leaves. You shiver and your breath forms a cloud in the cold morning air. 

School rushes past in a drowsy blur. Half awake, you open your bag searching for a pencil. You already know the answers to every question on your test, you studied late last night. That's why you got no sleep. Frustrated, you remember your pencil case. Cursing under your breath you turn to ask for one but before you can speak, a crackle comes through the intercom and a chill rushes down your spine. 

“Martin Garcia to the main office. Immediately,” says a gravelly voice through the speakers. Panic fills your body. Every vein in your body felt as though it was full of ice. Dozens of eyes burn holes into your back as you walk through the door and down the hallways. When you reach the office the sight hits you like a brick wall. Tio Samuel, your uncle, stood by the principle. It had been years since you had seen him. His face was set in stone. Emotionless as always, though something seemed changed. 

“Ven conmigo hijo. Ahora.” He says. Silently you follow him to his old pickup truck, shivering, though this time it wasnt from the cold. The drive is silent and ominous. You don't know where you're going but you don't dare ask a question. You pull into a parking lot packed with cars. Scanning around you immediately recognize where you are. The hospital. Your hands grow clammy and your jaw tenses.

“Tio, what are we doing here? What happened?” you ask, looking at Tio Samual imploringly but he doesn't respond.

 You follow him in silence down many long hallways till you reach a room marked 153.  In the room you see the backs of two doctors, three nurses, and some family you vaguely recall meeting but don't remember their names. Mama sits in a chair near the bed, collapsed and sobbing uncontrollably. She gasps for air in between whales and her body is wracked with grief. Lena, only 8 months old, is in the arms of a nurse, squirming and begging to cry asswell. You push your way through them all, first rushing to Mama but as you pass the bed you stop dead in your tracks. Bringing your eyes to look down, you see a figure lying there. Though he was dressed in a blue linen gown and hooked up to countless machines, you instantly know who it is. Your heart drops into your feet. You can't read hospital machines but the line that should be steadily beating is now no more than a flat line. You can't breathe. Papa. It can't be. One machine can't tell you he's gone. You don't believe it. You rush to his side, shoving everyone out of the way. You grab his hand, shaking it, yelling, but nothing happens. The line stays flat. The world seems to stop spinning and everything goes still for a beat. You gasp for air but all that comes out is a scream. A gut wrenching cry that seemed too raw, to primal, to even be human. 

The truth slams into you like a tidal wave, crashing into you and slamming you down. The last words you said to Papa blared into your mind. Vete a la mierda. F*ck off. And Papa, standing in the door, leaning out to say goodbye. 

“I love you! ¡Te quiero!” The echo of his words ring in your skull. The doctor puts his hand on your shoulder, whispering soothing words. Something consumes you, something hidden deep within. He was gone. They should have saved him! Seemingly detached from your own mind you spin around and punch him square in the face. The doctor stumbles back, blood dripping from his nose as he collides with the floor. Mama screams but it sounds like it is coming from underwater or a thousand miles away. The room starts to blur and dizziness consumes you. Darkness creeps into your vision until it goes black and you begin to fall. Screams and echos are all you hear until you hit the floor and the world goes dark. 

In the following weeks, grief takes hold, its strong fist wrapped around your heart. You can't get out of bed so you lay there suffering in silence. The dim light of a cloudy morning spills through the curtains and onto the dusty floor. The once neat house has fallen apart without Mama tending to it. She doesn't do much of anything now. The mattress beneath you somehow manages to stay frigid no matter how many blankets you stack upon yourself. The pillow beneath your head has a permanent indent, the mark you have made from never leaving this one spot. Wrapped tight around you is the jacket, the one you brought to school that day. Papas jacket. Something about having it makes him feel closer, like somehow he's still holding you. 

A tapping on your shoulders startles you, bringing you out of your halfhearted slumber. You roll over, shrugging it off but something keeps poking at you. It's probably Lena. You shove it away and grumble to be left alone but it doesn't stop. Cracking your eyes open you squint through the light and see it's not Lena. It's not even human. A small figure, about four inches tall, crouches on your shoulder. You cant place its color, it's changing every second, spiraling and swirling together. From reds to greens and even blues. You begin to feel dizzy and a little seasick as you look at it. It has an innocent face, but cruel eyes. Small spindly legs and boney arms poke out of a little round belly. It has a nubby tail jutting out of its behind and long pointy nails protruding from its spindly fingers. It taps you again and those round black eyes stare into your soul. It taps your head and as it does so, a small burst of red sparks shoots out from the tip of its finger and flies directly into the side of your skull. The memory shoots back into your mind. That day comes rushing back to you in a wave. Papa, lying lifeless and pale, the flat line on the machine, it all comes back. You feel like you have been punched in the gut and you choke up. The room starts spinning and you can't breathe. You shudder and begin sobbing uncontrollably, wrapping your arms around your body. Your chest tightens and images flash through your vision. The words you said to him slam into you again and in the whirlwind of emotion you can almost hear his voice calling out to you. Your chest tightens, squeezing the air out of your lungs and choking your heart. It's all happening again. You are back in the hospital when ice ran through your veins. Rage takes hold of you again and you feel like running. Running as far as you can, anything to get away from these memories. You feel your hands tightening around the jacket pulling it tighter around you. It no longer feels like an embrace, it feels suffocating. Memories of Papa envelope your entire body and you feel something deep within you break as the grief takes over. You feel like you will burst and you want to escape, you want to fight but you are drowning. In the corner of your eye you can see the little creature, floating calmly watching you suffer. Your eyes shoot open and you punch it, anger flashing through your body. Your fist passes through it as if it was made of mist. It seemed as though it wasn't even there but you can see it, clear as day. It tilts its head and gives you a quick wink before moving to your shoulder, where it sits, content as if glued to your body. And that's exactly where it stayed. Stuck on your shoulder for years to come. Every so often tapping your head with its little red sparks.