There is a real hustle and bustle on the street. Horse drawn carriages trot by. They carry both sleepy passengers and driver riding along to their next stop. People chatting away in front of local businesses and homes. A random dog gleefully chases a group of children on their way home from the market. A woman soothes a crying infant in her arms. A few men paint the outside of an adobe wall with cal, preventing insects from invading the home.

“Are you happy here, Papi?” Milagros interrupts my thoughts with her constant questioning. She’s at that phase. I welcome her inquisitive nature, but truthfully, it’s difficult for me to focus my attention away from my steady gait. The accident took away my nimbleness and ability to multitask.

“Yes,” I stop to catch my breath but I try not to look it. “Why do you ask?”

“You always seem so quiet on our walks.” So Milagros has determined that I must be lost in though when we go out together. What a sweet little naive girl. She knows nothing of my struggles. Having my face partially covered helps maintain the stoic facade.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m a people watcher.” I lie like a rug.

“What is a people watcher?”

“Someone that likes to watch other people.” It’s obvious, I’m sure.

“Why?” Here we go. Another day. Another few rounds with her inquisitive mind. If only her mother were here to help. Milagros is definitely n her ‘why’ stage of development.

“Because I like to imagine what their life must be like. What they do to make themselves happy. What type of people live in their homes and how they enjoy their time together.”

“That’s weird, Papi.”

“You know what’s weirder?” I can’t pretend I didn’t take a little offense to her comment.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“What?”

“My mother, your grandmother, used to walk up to people’s homes and stare through their windows,” I reveal to her.

“Oh my!”

“Don’t imagine her as a little old lady,” I continue with a bit of shame lingering at the back of my mind. My mom was incorrigible. “Imagine a little girl like you.”

“That’s still horrible!” I admit Milagros is right, but I’m not going to say anything. She laughs. I laugh too.

“I know I know. But that’s the type of person she was. She loved people.”

“And what would my bi……bissabuela do?” Milagros has as much a difficult time keeping our family history straight as I do. Her mom was better at it.

“Your great grandmother would hit your grandmother with a very worn chancla.” I shake my head. I don’t believe in violence, even with a long history of it behind me.

“¡Ouch! Didn’t that hurt, Papi?

“I’m sure it hurt a lot, but my mother was fast and would run away. Ha ha!” I start giggling to myself. I miss my mother. She had a way with her stories. She was never embarrassed. At least from what I could see. Good thing she can’t see me now.

“CRASH!”

I trip over a stone on the street. The ground zooms towards my face.

“Papi!”

“I’m ok. I wasn’t looking. It’s a little tough with only my one eye.”

“I love you just the way you are Papi.” She hugs me on the floor. People walk and stare at us. I don’t care. She’s my princesa.

“Papi, I’ll take care of you. So don’t feel sad, ok?”

“I know you will, mi amor. I know you will.”

She provides a bit of support as I struggle to stand. My one leg is injured from the time that her mom…was taken from me, along with my eye and a part of my face. I will never be the same. I can’t run but I can still walk more or less and carry a load on my shoulders. Most importantly I can still carry Milagros in my arms. I hope I always will. I don’t want her to grow any older.

“Do you remember the way to the fruit and vegetable stand?”

Milagros shrugs. “I’m getting better at it. Doña Elena said that someday I will be ready to go on my own.”

“Well, when you do, just make sure you look all around you. A carriage can run you over very easily and people sometimes are not looking at their feet.”

She begins to pout. “I’m not that small!”

“No, but when people think about only themselves they forget to look where they are going.”

“And sometimes there are bad people…?” Milagros returns back to questioning. Phew!

“Yes. There are bad people. Not all people. But there are some that will want to hurt you.”

“So I need to be…vigilant.” She struggles but the last word still makes it out of her mouth.

“Who taught you that word?”

“Doña Elena,” she says proudly.

“She is a very smart lady.”

“Yes, but…don’t fall in love with her.” I allow Milagros’ question to linger in the air a bit.

“What?! What are you talking about, Milagros?”

“She loves you.”

What?!

“But you should only love mama!” Milagros crosses her arms along her tiny frame.

“I do love your mama.” A tear begins to gather at the corner of my eye but I blink it away. “I don’t think Elena loves me, mija. Women love men that look better than me with better jobs.”

“You are very handsome.”

“Gracias mi amor.” I rub the patch over my eye out of habit when she says that.

I can’t forget what I really look like even if I wanted to.

…