“Wham! Slam! Boom! Bang!” I hammer the needed pieces together for our neighbors kitchen table. It fell apart one day for an elderly couple and I felt compelled to help them.

“Thank you so much, Señor Gael. Without this table, mi señora would not be able to have a place to put all the food she cooks for our familia.”

“Do not worry, Don Jose. It is the least I can do for you. You have such a wonderful family and you always bring us something to eat when you have some left over. We appreciate it.” When I tell someone I appreciate something I truly mean it. I don’t know if my delivery makes it known.

The old man sits in a nearby chair. He grabs a handkerchief out of his pocket, proceeds to blow his nose, folds it back up and into his pocket. It's definitely a behavior I noticed among the older generation of men.

“If you wish to rest, you can use my room for the meantime.” I normally don't offer my bed to anyone but he's an elderly man who should not be doing anything but enjoying what time he has left with his family and home. Instead, he is still out working to make ends meet. Que Dios lo bendiga.

“No, no.” Don Jose tries his best to hold back his chronic cough. I can hear the phlegm within his throat. "I’m fine,” he says as he turns to look out the window. “Siesta time will come quickly today and by then I will be at home with mi señora. Do not worry about me.”

“Well I am almost done with the final adjustments, so I will have it completed soon. And I’ll make sure to clean up my mess so that you don’t trip.” I take out some sanding tools and a bit of old semi-dry paint.

“It is looking very good, Alvaro.” A sweet voice touches my ear.

“Thank you, Elena. It is difficult to see depth with my vision. Your extra eyes help me get an idea of the full picture.” I glance over my shoulder to see her standing over me. Most of the work has to be done on the floor. I don’t have proper tools or table. “I will get started on those other projects you have planned for me soon.” I wipe the sweat from my brow. “So don’t worry."

Elena walks over to allow me full view of her and the project at hand. “Those can wait. In your condition, I should be thankful you have this much done.” She stutters. “I mean, I don’t mean to sound rude. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.” She stutters again. “Not that I’m saying that you are not able to do a job correctly. Um…”. She finally stops herself and gasps for air. She was digging a deep hole for herself. I don’t mind it. “Here. I brought both of you some limonada. Milagros squeezed a lot of lemons for this.”

The old man takes the glass in his wrinkled, weathered hands. “Anything made by those angelic hands is as blessed as any bendición from God.” Such a flirt.

Elena smiles from the doorway at the old caballero’s generous comment.

“Ugh!” A sharp pain erupts in my wrist and the palm of my hand. I drop my tool onto the hard clay ground. A small indentation appears where it hit.

“Sorry…My grip suddenly gave out.” I can’t lie. I can’t fake this or shake this off.

“It’s from the strain of the day’s projects,” Elena says as she kneels by my side. She takes my dirty rough hand into her slightly smaller and delicate one. She carefully massages it between her slender hands.

“Here. The tendons have tightened and are a bit swollen from overuse,” she states with a seemingly high level of knowledge. The slight pressure of her finger tips against my wrist sends a tingling feeling to the very tip of my own fingers.

“You feel a tingling don't you?”

“Yes,” I mutter. “How did you know?”

Elena rolls her eyes back and closes them as she tries to retrieve an old memory from long ago. “Back in Spain my father suffered a similar pain from writing in his journals for so long.”

“I honestly did not know you were from Spain.”

“I am. But it's also the stories Mamá told me as I was growing up. My family were well off and Papá had an abundance of time on his hands. Most nobleman spend their time at a brothel or boast with other men in company, but he decided to keep to himself.”

“I don’t see that as a fault,” I admit.

“Nor do I.”

I never noticed how Elena squints when she smiles.

“But Mamá would attend to his wrist like the way I am…with yours…”

“Uh, thank you,” I squeak. “That feels very good.” The pain is still there but I can focus on Elena if I try.

“I feel I can do this forever.” Her words are barely audible to my ears. She clearly longs for something that I feel I have no place to offer.

“Ahem.” The old man clears his throat as he stands. "I think I will go see what my señora will be making for lunch.”

“I will have this done in a few minutes Don José.” I try to return to my duty but my hand is still being held by Elena. Don Jose walks towards the adjacent building via the patio and waves back at me without turning.

“Papi, um…”. Milagros makes an unexpected visit to the kitchen. Possibly waiting for lunch to be served.

“Oh, I forgot!” Elena drops my hand and jumps to her feet. "Can Milagros get something from Rocio down at the market?”

“…no.” I immediately cut her off. “Not without someone accompanying her.” I admit I’m pretty strict.

“Please, Papi,” Milagros begs. Elena rushes to her defense.

“It’s something small and quick.” Elena pinches her pointer finger and thumb together. “I can even see her pathway towards the market from the doorway of the kitchen. If I leave it open.”

I look at both pairs of pleading eyes.

“I promise I will not go anywhere else, Papi.” Milagros is practically whimpering at this point.

“And you already…know Rocio…rather well, don’t you?” Elena grumbles the entirety of the sentence. She almost sounds like she’s accusing me of something rather than the pleading tone from earlier.

“Fine!” I finally relent. The two gazes soften what remains of my beating heart. “But I want you back before lunch. I should be done with my work by then."

“That doesn’t leave me much time to…”

“Milagros!” She is stubborn in her ways but sometimes I have to be forceful with my decisions. It’s what keeps us safe.

“Si, Papi. I understand.”

Elena swoops to the rescue. "Come here, Milagros. Let me give you the money and the list for…Rocio.” A fake smile crosses her lips.

“Thank Rocio for me, Milagros. And be patient too.”

“I’m always patient.” She puffs up her cheeks in defiance.

“No mean looks.” I think about how her mother carried her emotions on her face.

“What mean looks?” She tilts her head to the side and flutters her pretty eyes.

I try not to smile. “I mean it, nena."

“Sí, Papi.”

I look at my hand. It is feeling much better than I had anticipated from Elena’s care. It’s hard for me to get a reading on the women in my life. Although, I really shouldn't get my hopes up. To be fair, I should only love one person. But what happens when a person is faced with constant loneliness and despair? Milagros deserves her mother. But without the real thing, should a stand-in be adequate? Does she even need a mother figure?

Seeing how this world is wrought with danger at every turn, especially for people like us. The Commandante has instilled so much anger in the small populace. And for what? A bit of power? Surely no one can take all the wealth and power in the world to Mictlán. The other side. Mictlán. Sometimes I wish I could just go over there and see my lovely wife and our family. Those we lost. Just to see them again and to make sure that they are all right.

The church makes us believe in Heaven and Hell. Our anscestors told us other things. And then I look at myself. What home, what life, can I give my daughter? Looking like I do, as weak as I am? Sometimes, we have to live with the consequences of our choices I just hate that sometimes, those we care about have to live with them as well.

I pick up my tools and clean up my work area.

What little strength I have in me is enough for me to pick up the table and carry it back to Don Jose’s little apartment.

I’m sure his wife will be happy to have it back.

…