The Gift

I wanted to change, but the world had other plans for me that day.

​

I read the words from my journal, yesterday’s entry: I wish the world were different. I can’t change it. At least not with much effect. But I can change. Help me change.

 

Hopeless. That’s what I felt.

 

Today’s entry: How do I want to be different?

 

Before I could answer, a loud pounding on my bedroom door interrupted my thoughts.

 

“Alexis, let’s go!”

 

I want to be like—

 

My pen stopped.  Dare I write his name?

 

“Alexis!”

 

“Coming!” I slammed my journal shut and tossed it into my homemade bag, a burlap sack turned into something beautiful with embroidered flowers on the front and sturdy handles at the top. Abuela’s gift.

​

When I opened my door, Daniel stood by the front door, his gym bag slung over his shoulder and impatience written all over his face. “If we miss the bus again because of you… Coach said no more tardies.”

 

He handed me my hat and coat with a small, exasperated smile. He acted so much older than his 16 years, though only two years separated us.

 

“Thanks, Daniel,” I said as he helped me with my coat. He wore his usual: running shoes, jeans, and a heavy sweatshirt with our school’s mascot emblazoned on the front—a wild bronco with its front hooves raised defiantly, ready to gallop.

 

From the kitchen, Mama’s voice called out in Spanish. “You two must eat something before you go!”

“Mother, please use English. We’re trying to learn,” I replied.

 

Daniel answered her in Spanish. “No time. We’ll get food at school,” he called, opening the door and pulling me along with him.

 

“Don’t forget your lunches!” Mama hobbled out of the kitchen, clutching two grease-stained paper sacks.

 

Her legs hadn’t worked well for as long as I could remember, but she refused to use a cane.

 

“Bye, Mama,” I said as Daniel snatched the lunches and we scrambled out the door.

 

“Bye,” she replied with a smile in a mock American accent.

 

Daniel took the stairs two at a time. Running stairs was part of his workout. I trailed behind, my heavy boots clunking loudly. At least we lived on the second floor, not the third, and the snow was light today.

We trudged the block and a half to the bus stop. Or rather, I trudged. Daniel slid, practicing what he called a takedown. It looked like ice skating—stretching one step out low and sliding the other foot behind him, arms forward as though grabbing an imaginary opponent’s legs.

 

By the time we the bus arrived, Daniel had done a hundred pushups and dozens of jumping jacks.

The bus pulled up with a groan, the door creaking open. Today’s driver was new.

 

“Good morning,” I said cheerily, testing my new vocabulary. The driver, with his puffy red cheeks and large beard, reminded me of Papá Noel.

 

“Nothin’ good about it,” he grumbled as we climbed aboard.

 

So much for spreading cheer.

 

“Oh look, it’s the Mexican jumping bean,” said a boy from the back.

 

“And his weirdo sister,” another chimed in.

 

“You wanna go?” Daniel’s voice was low and serious. He dropped his bag onto an empty seat, his fists already clenching.

 

I tugged his arm. “Come on, you don’t want to get kicked off the team.”

 

Reluctantly, Daniel sat beside me, seething. He didn’t say another word the entire forty-five-minute ride to school. Behind us, a chorus of “La Cucaracha” broke out. The first time it was mildly funny; by the tenth, it was exhausting.

​

**************************************

 

“We became lost, or we were lost,” said Mrs. Stoneacre.

 

“We became lost,” I repeated.

 

Normally, I enjoyed writing. But today, my work was on full display for the class, projected on the overhead for everyone to critique. Mrs. Stoneacre had chosen my paper as an example.

 

“You see, this paragraph doesn’t quite fit,” she said, pointing to the screen. “You begin talking about your journey but end with a quip about your brother. Try to work on those transitions.”

 

Behind me, two girls giggled.

 

“It’s too bad English isn’t her first language,” one whispered.

 

“It’s not even her second,” the other said, breaking into more giggles.

 

Mrs. Stoneacre ignored them, focusing on her lesson. I couldn’t blame her; she was trying to be a good teacher, juggling a class with wildly different skill levels. Still, their words stung.

 

I took notes in English, knowing the critique would help me improve. And if there was one thing I wanted, it was to become a better writer.

 

A knock on the door interrupted the lesson. A student entered and handed Mrs. Stoneacre a note. She read it, her expression shifting.

 

“Oh, my. Of course.” Then, to my surprise, she called my name. “Alexis, this is for you.”

 

All eyes were on me as I walked to the front of the room. My cheeks burned. I took the note, already dreading what it meant. Daniel. It had to be about Daniel.

 

“Could I get notes later?” I asked.

 

Mrs. Stoneacre nodded. “Of course, honey. Someone will share theirs with you.”

 

As I left, I heard one of the girls mutter, “If only someone were taking notes.”

 

Laughter erupted behind me, but I didn’t look back.

 

The note was from the school counselor. My stomach churned as I made my way to the office, wondering what Daniel had done this time. When I reached Ms. Anderson’s door, I paused. There was a police officer inside. The assistant principal, Mrs. Mercia, was there too.

 

“Alexis, this is Officer Rollins,” Ms. Anderson said, her voice unusually soft. “And I think you know Assistant Principal Mercia.”

 

I nodded, unable to speak. Officer Rollins stood straight, his face a mask of stone. Mrs. Mercia’s perpetually windblown gray hair and misty brown eyes made her look even more severe than usual.

 

“Please, sit down,” Ms. Anderson said.

 

I sat. My breath felt trapped in my chest.

 

“Alexis,” she began, “I don’t know how to say this easily, but your parents…”

 

My face went cold. “No,” I whispered.

 

“There was a fire at the restaurant,” Officer Rollins said. “Your mother must have fallen, and your father was trying to save her.”

 

The words ricocheted in my brain like stones off a canyon wall. My world tilted. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.

 

“No,” I whispered again. Louder this time. “No, this can’t be true.”

 

“I’m afraid your brother left school. We don’t know where he is,” Ms. Anderson added. “I gave him the news first, thinking…”

 

“Do you have any family nearby?” Officer Rollins asked.

 

“My uncle, Marco. He’s my mother’s brother.”

 

“Good,” Ms. Anderson said. “We’ll need his phone number.”

 

I nodded, tears blurring my vision. My parents were gone. My brother was missing. And my world would never be the same.

 

 

 

***************************

 

 

 

If I could go back in time, I would say goodbye to my mother one last time. I would eat her breakfast, no matter how simple it was. I would carry her greasy sack lunches with pride, the way she made them with love. I would get up early just to hug my father before he left for work, no matter how tired I was.

If only I could go back in time.

​

The pounding on my door jolted me from my thoughts. "Alexis," Daniel's angry voice cut through the morning stillness. "We need to leave."

​

I rubbed my eyes and sat up in the dim room I shared with my cousins. They were already dressed and in the kitchen. I followed the smell of eggs to the kitchen, where I found Uncle Marco and Aunt Marabel at the table, their eyes tired but welcoming. My cousins, Isabel and Maria were munching quietly, the clinking of their forks on plates the only sound.

​

“Please, Alexis, Daniel, have some food before school,” Uncle Marco said, gesturing toward the skillet of scrambled eggs still steaming on the stove.

​

“We have to go,” Daniel muttered, not bothering to hide his impatience.

​

Marco frowned, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. “No. You have time to eat breakfast.”

​

“I’m cutting weight, Uncle Marco. I can’t eat until after weigh-in,” Daniel snapped, his tone clipped and unforgiving.

​

Marco sighed, his broad shoulders sinking slightly. “Alexis?”

​

I hesitated, glancing at Daniel. His dark eyes burned with frustration. I didn’t want to argue, not today. “I’m sorry, Uncle,” I said softly. “Daniel’s my ride to school.”

​

Marco stood, his chair scraping loudly against the tile floor. He wore his blue work shirt, his name embroidered in bold white letters. His dark pants were frayed at the hems, and his black boots looked worn but sturdy. “Come, then,” he said. “We pray.”

​

We formed a circle, hands outstretched. Daniel folded his arms across his chest, refusing to join in. Uncle Marco’s expression remained calm, his voice steady as he thanked God for our blessings and prayed for safety, health, and wisdom. I bowed my head, but Daniel’s defiance weighed heavily on the moment, casting a shadow over the family’s quiet moment.

 

As we left the house, I couldn’t hold my question back any longer. “Why do you always do that?” I asked, hurrying to keep up with Daniel’s long strides.

 

“Do what?” he shot back, not looking at me.

 

“Disrespect their prayers.”

 

He stopped suddenly, turning to face me. His height made him seem like a looming storm. His black eyes were in stark contrast—one nearly healed, the other freshly bruised. His ears were swollen with cauliflower, and his crooked nose told stories of fights I didn’t want to know about.

 

“Did God hear our prayers two years ago?” he demanded.

 

“I… I don’t know,” I stammered.

 

“I’ll answer for you,” he said, his voice cutting like broken glass. “No. He didn’t. God took our parents, Alexis. Why should I thank him?”

 

I had no answer. The words sat heavy in my throat, unable to escape. Daniel yanked open the car door with a creak, the old motor sputtering to life before roaring angrily.

 

“Marco got you a job at his shop,” I said finally, my voice small. “That’s something to be thankful for.”

He snorted but didn’t argue. The rest of the drive to school passed in silence.

​

 

**********************************************

​

​

Four years seemed like an eternity, and only yesterday all at the same time.  Daniel had moved out and I was in my senior year.  As much as I liked school, I was nervous and apprehensive.  What would happen after?

​

I finished grading the last quiz. The rhythm of checking answers and circling grades was oddly soothing, but it didn’t last. “I’m finished,” I said, closing my book and sliding it into Abuela’s handmade bag.

 

“Thank you, dear,” said Mrs. Stoneacre, her warm voice breaking the stillness. “I suppose you’re off to work now?”

 

“Yes,” I replied, rising to leave.

 

“Alexis.” Her voice stopped me, and I turned back. Her sharp, intelligent eyes pinned me in place.

 

“Yes, Mrs. Stoneacre?”

 

“What are your plans after you graduate?” she asked.

 

“Uh… well, I’ll go to work, of course.”

 

She tilted her head, her gray curls bobbing slightly. “Have you considered college? I could see you studying journalism.”

 

I shrugged, trying to mask the ache her words brought. “I can’t afford college.”

 

“What if you could?” Her smile widened, radiating an optimism I couldn’t muster.

 

The idea hung in the air, tantalizing and impossible. “Then I would go,” I said finally, the truth slipping out before I could stop it.

 

Her smile didn’t falter. “Have you written your speech yet?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“I’m proud of you, Alexis. From a student who barely spoke English to...." her voice nearly broke.  She composed her thoughts and finished: "You’ve come such a long way.”

 

Her words followed me like a shadow all the way to work, turning over and over in my mind. "What if you could?" I dreamed of college during the short walk to the mall. It was a pipe dream, of course. Uncle Marco had too much on his plate already. But maybe—just maybe—I could save up someday.

 

The shop smelled of plastic packaging and cleaning solution. Costume jewelry glittered under fluorescent lights, cheap and cheerful. Aunt Marabel greeted me warmly as I stepped behind the counter. The holiday rush had passed, leaving us with a new moneymaker: ear piercing for boys. I was getting good at it, too.

 

“This may sting a little,” I murmured for the hundredth time as I prepared a customer’s ear. My voice was on autopilot until I glanced up—and froze.

 

He was gorgeous. Long dark hair framed his face, and his shoulders were broad and solid. He moved with an effortless grace, like he belonged in a movie instead of this tiny shop. My stomach flipped when his eyes swept over me, pretending not to notice me. I busied myself with the next customer, my heart pounding.

 

He picked a pair of silver hoops and joined the line.

 

“You can have piercing for ten dollars,” Aunt Marabel said as she rang him up.

 

“Yes, I’d like that,” he said, his voice smooth and confident.  He was looking at me when he spoke.

 

I struggled to keep my hands steady as he sat down. “This might sting a little,” I said, my voice softer than I intended.

 

“What time do you get off work?” he asked, a small smile playing at his lips.

 

“I said, this might sting a little.”

 

“I know,” he replied, his smile widening. “What time do you get off?”

 

“Nine-thirty,” I blurted before I could think. Then I panicked. “Wait—I can’t go out. I have school tomorrow.”

 

“Sure you can,” he said, easy as anything. “Tell your parents I’ll have you home before midnight.”

 

“I…” My mind felt like mush. “Okay.”

 

“What’s your name?” he asked.

 

“Alexis.”

 

“I’m Javier,” he said, flashing a grin that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Nice to meet you.”

 

 

******************************************

 

I fumbled with the deadbolt, my fingers trembling slightly, and pushed the door open. It creaked, a tired groan that echoed the weight in my chest. The room was steeped in darkness, thick and mysterious, the kind that swallowed sound and made you strain to hear even the faintest breath.

​

“Hello, Alexis,” a voice called out from the shadows, calm yet startling.

 

“Uncle Marco!” I gasped, my heart skipping a beat. “I didn’t see you there.”

​

He sat in his chair, the one worn smooth by years of quiet reflection. It was where he began each morning, Bible in hand, reading the scriptures.

 

“Who is this boy?” he asked, his tone gentle, like an inquisitor more interested in the truth than judgment.

 

“How do you know I was with a boy?” My voice wavered as I clutched Abuela’s old bag to my chest—a flimsy shield against the unspoken.

 

Marco’s face softened, his gaze steady but kind, as though he could see the swirling storm inside me.

 

Resigned, I let the truth tumble out. “His name is Javier.”

 

“When can we meet him?”

 

“Meet him?” I echoed, my grip tightening on the bag as if it could anchor me.

 

“Alexis,” he said, leaning forward, his voice carrying the weight of a promise, “even though your parents are gone, your Aunt and I have a responsibility. A responsibility we take seriously.”

 

“Soon,” I muttered.

 

“When do you see him again?”

 

I shrugged, my thoughts drifting to Javier. To his smile, the way he made the world brighter and sharper all at once. It was only our third date, but he’d already given me stories to replay in my mind—like sipping tequila from red plastic cups, bitter and burning, and pretending to enjoy it just to see his grin. And then, the kiss. His lips were soft and electric, leaving me weightless, floating on the memory of that moment.

“When he calls me,” I finally replied, the memory still warm in my chest.

 

“Good,” Marco said, standing. He wore his faded blue pajamas, their simplicity somehow adding gravity to his words. “Next time he calls, tell him he needs to speak to me first before he picks you up.”

 

“Yes, Uncle,” I whispered, the weight of his gaze like a spotlight on my soul. Could he see right through me?

I turned toward the bedroom, my steps soft against the floorboards.

 

“Alexis,” he called.

 

“Yes, Uncle.”

 

“Be patient in finding love,” he said, his voice low but firm, like a prayer whispered in the dark. “You will find it in God’s timing, not your own.”

 

“Yes, Uncle.”

 

“Find a good man. Someone who will treat you with the respect you deserve.”

 

“Yes, Uncle.”

 

“Good night, sweetheart.”

 

“Good night, Uncle.”

 

 

**********************************************

 

 

Daniel stood tall in his dress blue uniform, the crisp fabric adorned with polished insignias, and a tan beret tilted perfectly on his head. He seemed like someone I barely recognized—a man shaped by the weight of duty and discipline. His presence filled the room, steady and unyielding, and even his voice carried a deeper resonance than I remembered.

 

“I’m proud of you, sis,” he said, his tone soft yet firm as he reached out to help with my gown.

 

The gold robe, shimmering faintly in the dim light, draped loosely over my white dress. I’d spent hours searching for matching shoes, finally finding a discounted pair at the mall that felt like a hidden treasure.

I smiled up at him. “I’m proud of you too, brother.”

 

He placed his hands on my shoulders, his grip firm but comforting. His face was resolute, etched with a quiet determination that hinted at the battles he’d fought, both seen and unseen. “Do some good, sis. Make Mama and Papa proud.”

 

We stood there for a moment, letting the silence wrap around us like a warm embrace. It had been six months since I last saw him, and time had only deepened the space between us. From the other room, the muffled sounds of Marco’s family bustling with last-minute preparations drifted in, but for now, this was our moment.

 

I slid my folded speech into Abuela’s bag, the one I couldn’t bear to part with. The embroidered flowers, once vibrant, had faded over the years, but the stitching remained steadfast, like the memories it carried.

 

“I can’t believe you still have that,” Daniel said, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

 

“It gives me something to remember,” I replied, my fingers brushing over the worn fabric.

 

For a fleeting moment, his eyes grew distant, unfocused, as if caught in a memory too heavy to share. Then, as quickly as the cloud passed, his focus sharpened again. “We better go, or this time you’ll be late for real.”

 

I laughed, the sound light and familiar, like a thread connecting us to simpler days. “Just like old times.”

 

We stepped outside, the cool air brushing against my skin as we waved goodbye to the family. “Meet you at the stadium!” I called over my shoulder.

 

Daniel’s car, a definite upgrade from his high school days, gleamed under the fading sunlight. The interior was spotless—no torn seats, no faint smell of fast food—and even the radio worked, playing a quiet tune. It was clear he’d taken care of it, the way he seemed to take care of everything now.

 

As we pulled out of the driveway, his voice broke the comfortable silence. “Marco tells me you’re seeing someone,” he said, his tone unreadable.

 

“Javier. He’s very handsome… and nice,” I replied, a soft blush creeping into my cheeks.

 

“Is he good to you?”

 

“Of course,” I answered, a little too quickly.

 

“What does he do?”

 

“He works for a shipping company. Says he’s up for a promotion.”

 

Daniel nodded, his face unreadable as his eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead. The silence stretched between us for a few minutes before he spoke again. “Will he be here today?”

 

I shook my head, the words catching in my throat. “He’s away,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “On business,” I added, the phrase sounding hollow even to me.

 

Daniel didn’t press further. He simply nodded, his expression calm, but his silence spoke volumes.

 

“If he comes back into town before I leave, tell him I need to talk to him,” he said, his voice low but firm.

 

“Daniel!” I protested, but he didn’t flinch.

 

His gaze, sharp and blazing with intensity, remained fixed on the road. “I’ve already lost my parents,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “I’m not losing you.”

 

His words pierced through me, heavy and unrelenting.

 

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You don’t have to protect me anymore.”

 

His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, but his voice remained steady. “I will protect you for the rest of my life, sis. That’s just the way it is.”

 

 

************************************

 

 

 

“And now, we will hear from our valedictorian, Alexis Hernandez.”

 

The stadium erupted in cheers that seemed to shake the very air around me. It was louder than I ever expected. Sure, I had friends, and I knew people, but I wasn’t popular. The volume of applause surprised me.

Why were so many people cheering?

 

As I stood, my knees felt like they might give out under the weight of a thousand invisible eyes. Butterflies churned in my stomach, their frantic wings rising up into my throat. I steadied myself, brushing a trembling hand down the gold gown that billowed awkwardly over my white dress.

 

I had barely taken my first step toward the podium when Dr. Roenfelt’s voice interrupted my thoughts. He remained at the microphone, a warm smile on his face.

 

“I've been holding on to this surpise for this very moment.  On behalf of local businesses,” he said, pausing dramatically as the crowd quieted, “I would like to present to you a full-ride scholarship to the college of your choosing.”

 

I froze mid-step. The world tilted slightly as if gravity had shifted. My eyes darted to the crowd, searching for confirmation—was he really talking about me? My breath caught.

 

A nervous smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I straightened my gown and continued forward, though my steps felt unsteady.

 

“And,” Dr. Roenfelt added, “for the added expenses of books and other items you may need, Mrs. Stoneacre organized a fundraiser with the faculty. You’ll have everything you need to succeed.”

 

He extended two envelopes toward me—one large, one small—his grin as wide as the horizon. Applause rippled through the crowd like a wave, washing over me as I reached the podium.

 

My mouth felt like the Sahara, parched and uncooperative. The butterflies in my stomach had morphed into dolphins, now doing backflips. My heart thundered as I scanned the stadium. The graduates in blue and gold robes sat neatly arranged, their mortarboards forming a patchwork checkerboard across the field. Beyond them, the audience in the stands was a kaleidoscope of color—balloons bobbing above heads, banners waving in the warm afternoon light.

 

A loud whistle pierced the air, followed by a booming voice. “Alexis, I love you!” More cheers erupted, a cacophony of support that left me stunned.

 

“I…” My voice cracked.

 

The truth clawed at the edges of my thoughts: I didn’t have words. My carefully planned world was unraveling, thread by thread. College wasn’t part of the plan. Javier and I had made plans—he hinted at marriage, and I was going to work alongside him. How could I accept this scholarship? I hadn’t prepared for this. I hadn’t dared to dream this big.

 

“I… I don’t know what to say…” My voice wavered, barely audible over the roar of the crowd.

 

More whistles and cheers filled the pause, their enthusiasm a stark contrast to the chaos in my mind.

Honestly, I don’t remember giving my speech. The words were memorized, but they tumbled out without meaning. My vision blurred as if the stadium was dissolving into a hazy mirage. The faces in the stands became indistinct smudges, the bleachers seemed impossibly far away. When I finally reached the end, the applause that followed felt distant and hollow, like the faint crackle of winter smoke rising from Uncle Marco’s chimney.

 

I stumbled back to my seat, the gold gown swishing softly with each step. My turn to retrieve my diploma felt like a lifetime away. The ceremony marched on, an endless rhythm of names called, cheers erupting, and students crossing the stage like pieces on an assembly line.

 

Finally, my row stood. The chairs, perfectly aligned in orderly rows, stretched endlessly across the field. As we shuffled toward the stage, a figure at the sideline caught my eye.

 

A face I knew too well.

 

“Javier!” I gasped, my voice a mix of surprise and confusion. “What are you doing here?”

 

 

 

***********************************

 

 

 

“You can’t do this, Alexis,” Javier said, his voice low but heavy with an edge of desperation.

 

“Javier, you shouldn’t be here!” I hissed, glancing nervously over my shoulder.

 

The line of graduates moved steadily toward the stage, oblivious to the brewing storm between us. My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I caught sight of one of the larger male teachers making his way down the line, his eyes locked on us like a hawk zeroing in on prey.

 

“Please,” I whispered urgently, my voice trembling. “We can talk later. Just go back to the stands.”

 

But Javier stood firm, his jaw clenched tight. “We’re talking now,” he said, his tone like iron. “You can’t accept that scholarship.”

 

“I know,” I admitted, the words catching in my throat.

 

His eyes burned with intensity, a mix of anger and hurt swirling in their depths. “If you take that diploma, Alexis…” His voice cracked. “We’re through.”

 

Before I could respond, a shadow fell over us. “What’s going on here?” The teacher’s voice was deep and authoritative, cutting through the tension like a blade.

 

Before I could even attempt an explanation, another voice rang out from behind me. “I’ll handle this, sir.”

 

Daniel. He emerged from the sidelines like a storm, his presence commanding and predatory. His jaw was set, his dark eyes fixed on Javier with an intensity that sent a chill through the air. He looked like a wolf, poised to pounce on prey that had wandered too close to his pack.

​

“It’s none of your business, bro—” Javier started, his voice rising in defiance.

​

But Javier didn’t get to finish. In a blur of movement, Daniel had him in some kind of wrist lock. It happened so fast I could hardly process it. One moment they were standing toe-to-toe, the next, Javier was spun around, his arm twisted behind his back, his face a mixture of shock and pain.

​

“Daniel, stop!” I called out, but my brother was already walking him toward the sidelines, his grip firm and unrelenting, as if escorting a disobedient toddler.

​

“Alexis!” Javier’s voice broke, raw and frantic, as he struggled against Daniel’s iron hold. “You can’t take that diploma!” His words rang out across the field, desperate and pitiful, drawing a few startled glances from the stands.

​

I stood frozen, my breath shallow, my face burning with shame and fury. The whole world seemed to narrow to that moment—the unbearable weight of choices that could never be undone.

 

 

 

 

 

***************************

 

 

 

I held the bag close to my chest—a fragile shield against the storm brewing inside me.

​

“You know where that came from?” Marco asked, his voice gentle, yet weighted with meaning, as he pointed toward the bag.

 

My fingers traced the burlap's coarse, weathered texture, finding the delicate embroidery that hinted at another life, another time. I shook my head, unable to speak.

 

“That was from my father’s grain factory,” he began, his eyes distant, traveling to the past. “The foreman let the crew take the old sacks—the ones with holes or too worn. Your Abuela would patch them up, make them new again.”

 

I nodded, swallowing hard. This bag, once a cast-off, was now a relic of survival and love. I would carry it with me, guard it fiercely until it unraveled completely.

 

“Do you think God can do that with us?” I asked.  More of a question to myself than uncle Marco.  “Take something frayed and falling apart and turn it into something beautiful?”

 

Marco smiled deeply.  He glanced upward and studied the horizon.  From his house we could see the mountains in the not so far distance.  I looked out to where he was looking.  The morning sun was climbing the slopes.  Soon, our entire city would be bathed in its light. 

 

“Uncle Marco,” I whispered, “I wrote in my journal once that I wanted to be like Jesus. How do you think He would see my decision?”

 

He paused, the question hanging heavy in the room. “It’s your choice, Alexis. We love you no matter what, and Jesus loves you even more, but…” His voice cracked.

 

“I know,” I murmured, cutting him off before he could say what I wasn’t ready to hear.

 

I slipped the last of my belongings into Abuela’s bag—my journal, its spine worn from nights of confessions and dreams. My heart ached as I tied the drawstrings closed.

 

“Then be a good wife to this man,” he said quietly. “Call us.”

 

“I will.”

 

“One last prayer?” Marco’s voice was soft and low, a plea more than a suggestion.

I nodded, though my faith felt as frayed as the edges of the bag. For Marco, I would pray.

 

He prayed for me, for Javier, for a union he hoped would flourish despite the shadows of doubt. His words were fervent, each one a thread tying me to the family I was leaving behind.  The embroidery work a chance to make something even better.  When he finished, I caught a glimpse of his tear-streaked face, the glint of a single drop escaping down his cheek.

 

“You’ll always have a home here,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You know that?”

 

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of the moment.

 

I hugged Auntie, my cousins, each embrace a goodbye that felt heavier than the last. Their warmth lingered on my skin as I stepped outside, clutching Abuela’s bag like a refugee. The air felt sharp, the sky too bright for what I was leaving behind.

 

Javier’s red Corvette gleamed in the driveway, its polished surface catching the sunlight. He stood beside it, the perfect picture of charm, holding the door open like a gentleman in a movie. My steps faltered as I approached.

 

I slid into the passenger seat, the bag pressed against me, a fragile piece of home.

 

As we pulled away, I turned back. Marco stood on the porch, his arm around Auntie, the kids at their sides. They waved, their silhouettes framed by the doorway—a snapshot of the life I was leaving behind.

The road stretched ahead, but their image lingered, etched into my mind like a prayer waiting to be answered.