I Found Myself in Love With Death

Mother Mourn

"I'll tell Mother you said hi, Papa," I yell up the stairs to my father.

"Y tu abuelos," he replies. He had never been taught to speak English properly. When he met my mother, or mi madre as Papa would tell me to say, she gave him an English dictionary, but only told him how to say, "I love you". My mother wasn't always a romantic, but she could when she wanted to be. Maybe that's why she was a teenaged mother, or was going to be. She died giving birth to me. The doctors told her she needed to give birth to me early, but she had yet to tell my father the good news. She new Papa hated surprises. She gave herself so that Papa wouldn't die of shock. Now I'm a teenager. I have yet to have gotten a boyfriend and don't plan on it. Eventually, I taught my father as much English as I could, but he still doesn't like speaking it. It reminds him too much of his dead spouse.

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "Si, Padre," I yelled as I ran out the door.

   At the Homestead, the heart of my home town, everyone was setting up for the Day of the Dead. The gate before the area read "La Dia de los Muertos" in big, red letters. I saw Jacob, my friend since elementary school, who had already set up a booth for his grandmother and was preparing to help me set up mine for my mother and grandparents.

   "I thought you'd never make it, señorita," said Jacob, "Padre giving you a hard time?"

   I giggled. No matter how many times I tell Jacob to stop speaking Spanglish, he continues to do so, "First of all," I start, "He is not your padre. And secondly, as hard as he usually is,"

   "So nothing out of the ordinary. Good. Let's get to work now shall we?"

   It takes us only fifteen minutes to set up my small booth for my mother and grandparents. After we finish, Jacob continues his routine of prayer to his grandmother. I start to do the same when a cold, bony hand clutches to my shoulder, "Hey!" I yell, "What the hell are you--?" When I see who grabbed onto me, I nearly fall onto the setup I have. The Grim Reaper, Lord Death, stood in my presence.

   "Is that a way to greet someone who could end your life by kissing you, señorita?" He says in a cold, raspy voice that makes my skin crawl.

   "N-no, sir, Lord Death," I stutter.

   "Don't call me that, 'Lord Death' I mean, it makes me seem like I'm nearly a god. I assure you, I am far from. Down to business. You came here for the soul purpose of seeing your mother's spirit. What if I were to tell you that you could see her right now?"

   "R-right now? Wi-without k-killing me?" I stutter, damn my stuttering!

   "Well, there is a catch of course. I don't think you'd mind spending the rest of the night with yours truly, would you? Oh good! Let's get the party started!" The Grim Reaper cheered as he grabbed my hand and we became surrounded in a dark-as-a-starless-night mist.