[https://i.imgur.com/6CNOw4A.png]

Light illuminated the room as the sun rose. The window shutters did little to prevent the occasional flying pest to enter the room too. I had been staring at the ceiling since the early hours of the previous night. I want to say I was in a trance or lost in thought. I even managed to count the roof supporting beams several times over.

It was a form of meditation for self preservation, or so I made myself believe. Sleep was indeed a stranger to me. Most of the night I paint by candle light to ease the pent-up anxiety in me.

Nothing good comes of it, the painting that is; nothing sellable at the very least. I fancy myself an artist, the starving type. But I do indeed feel better afterward and can rest for a few hours, even if sleep never comes.

My drawings are comprised of the myths and legends told by my ancestors and passed down through the generations. Probably the very reason nothing ever sells at the market. Who has time for old stories? Not anyone in this pueblo. Too much time is spent on trying to survive.

I turned to the side of the bed facing the adobe wall under my window. My hand reached out to the small, flat straw-filled pillow next to me out of its own volition. It was cool to the touch but empty. It’s been a long while since a warm body had resided there, next to me.

I slowly sit up, rub my one good eye, and dangle my leg to the side. I refit my patch over the other eye and reach for my makeshift cane. My legs are not totally useless but they are difficult to manipulate first thing in the morning. I can only say that my joints are a bit inflamed and swollen.

I stop. The sound of footsteps approach the entryway of my rented room. They bring with them the sweet spicy smells of vanilla and cinnamon. The aroma intensifies as the footsteps grow louder on the ceramic tiles. I blank out for a moment and realize that I have not yet dressed into my usual and daily attire.

I move quickly…well as quickly as I can, to finish getting dressed. The door flies open as I struggle to put my pants on. I fall from the effort and sudden surprise.

“Papi!” Milagros Gael yells at the top of her lungs. She’s the cutest little girl on both sides of the Rio Grande. And she runs up to me.

“Silly Papi!” Milagros giggles. “Why are you on the floor?”

She tilts her head slightly, as she is prone to do when something does not make apparent sense…especially when her one parent is concerned.

“I’m looking for my paint brushes and charcoal, my love.” I try to explain.

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“Papi, you just woke up,” scolds Milagros. “Can’t you save the drawing and painting until later?”

My daughter releases the tense expression she had on her face and giggles. She lays a tray with breakfast on the crate, which serves as a temporary nightstand and dinner table for us.

“Amor mía,” I begin, “you know better than to carry such heavy things alone.”

She huffs with a retort. “And I told you, Papi, not to get dressed without my help. Hmph!”

It is hard to be cross with her. She is almost a duplicate of her mother, albeit smaller and only 6 years of age. She is growing up so fast and there is no way for me to keep her pequeña. Sometimes I wish I could stop time. Other times I wish I could turn back the clock. And sometimes, just sometimes, I’d like to end things before they get more…bleak.

“Let me help you get up Papi.”

I grab her hand, but I do not get up.

“Agh!”

Milagros shrieks as I pull her down toward me on the ground.

She snorts and giggles and tries to talk. A combination of high pitch laughs bounce off the adobe walls.

”Papi….hahahaha….stop tickling…me…hahaha…you…haven't…shaved your face…hahaha…food is going to be cold!”

I hug my daughter tight and kiss her soft cheeks as many times as I can within the span of seconds. Every moment is precious when so much has already been lost…or taken.

“I just love you soooooooo much mija!” I can’t help but express myself so deeply. She is my one true treasure in this forsaken world.

“I know, Papi. I know.” She agrees as she picks herself back up from the floor. She wears the little embroidered dress her mom left for her years ago.

“Eres mi sol!”

Milagros rolls her eyes as she turns towards the plate food.

“Sí Papi, I know, I know I'm your Sun. I am the center of the universe.” I catch a faint smile hiding under her “annoyed” demeanor.

“My universe,” I correct her as softly as I can. She can be very sensitive to tones and inflections.

“Buenos dias?” A voice chimes in from the doorway. “Hola? Um, is everything all right in here?”

Our landlady and neighbor suddenly enters the room. She can be nosy but she always means well. Milagros shrieks and acts as if she was caught in some questionable act.

“Doña Elena! What are you doing here? My father isn't even dressed yet!” My beautiful daughter screams again.as she clinches her fists by her waist.

“Oh!”

Elena exclaims as she enters the room…our room.”Perdoname! I am so sorry.”

The dainty little brunette placed a hand on her face as she blushed from embarrassment.

She tried to run out of the room but tumbled after bumping into the doorway. The frame has taken a slight beating over the years.

“Doña!” I cry out. I can’t move fast enough to check on her. My heart stops for a second. I can finally here her down the hallway as I strain to hear.

“I’m ok, just, um, try not to scream so early in the morning. You'll worry your neighbors.”

“She ran out without looking, “ I whisper to Milagros.

“Oh dear. Please watch your step on your way out!” Why Elena is pointing this out now, I don’t know. We’ve only been here one year shy of Milagros age.

“The sweet little señorita must have bumped into a flower pot or something,” I think to myself.

I let out a small but painful chuckle.

"Ha ha! Aye, pobrecita…poor thing. She means well.”

I feel Milagros’ stare.

“Hmmph! Papi, you really need to watch yourself around women.”

She makes a habit of saying these type of things to me.

“Don't worry mija.” I fix the patch back over my eye. I stand and take a quick glance in the cracked mirror. I feel my face frown.

“Do not worry of such things, mi amor. With my face, and this broken body, no woman will ever look twice in my direction.”

“Papi! You are very guapo. Don't say things like that.” I don’t have to look at Milagros face to know what expression she is wearing.

“You are a dulce niña. No one is as sweet to me as you are.” I let out a sigh. “Never change.”

The room is quiet for a long second. She hesitates.

“Mama was…right?”

“Mama?” I ask.

“She was dulce to you too.”

I assure her with a nod and kiss her on the cheek.

“Yes, little nena, she was dulce to me too.”