Z

BANG! My eyes fly open at the sound of a gunshot in the night. My body is filmed with cold sweat, my heart races, and the memories that haunt my dreams send tears burning to the surface. Today is the one-year anniversary. One year ago, they took my love away. The first few months, my family and friends would stop by, bringing me food and comfort. It’s been awhile since anyone has called or stopped by—they too have given up on me. Every day since then, I’ve struggled to find a reason to go on. My house is as quiet and lonely as the grave. I’m alone now as I will be tomorrow and the day after that. Alone always.

It’s only two in the morning, still dark, still dangerous. I peer out into the night, nothingness as deep and never ending as my grief. My body moves on autopilot, slowly getting dressed. Floor-length skirt, long sleeve shirt, wide brim hat with veil over my face, cloak to block the chill. It is my traditional mourning outfit—all black like the night, like my soul. My fingers dust the top of my dresser until they find his memorial, a simple wooden box for his ashes, a photo and a lock of hair is all I could afford. All that is left of him is here in this box. My fingers trace the “Z” inscription. I could only pay for the first letter in his name. It kills me more every day. Money, such a transient, fickle thing. Maybe if I had more of it, I could have saved him before he lost his life, saving mine. My fingers leave the box before it pulls me into its abyss of sorrow.

An unseen force pushes me out of the safety of my home. I’m done hiding. I want them to find me now, and end my suffering. Only the moon lights my path. There are no lights in homes, street lamps, or busy buildings to block out the stars — pollution from the other side of the wall does that. I kick at the trash littering the broken streets. This place, once my birthplace; my town has been broken and shattered like my heart. I curse the Capistrano; they were supposed to be our saviors. They were the government and rule we desperately needed, but they had forgotten about this town long ago. They only care to take care of the rich and powerful. Criminals and lowlives were banished to the smaller towns like this one, hidden away from Capistrano’s rules. I kick a can loudly down the street, remembering what it was like before. Before they drew their borders and built their walls. This had been a nice town, small, and neighborly. Everyone knew everyone else. It was a good place to raise a family and live your life. Then the wall went up, and the chaos came down.

I scan the street. Tía Yolanda used to live in the house to my left. It had teal shutters, and she always had bright yellow daisies in the yard—inviting you in. Now its windows are boarded up, and the barren yard is surrounded by a barbed wire fence—warning you to stay out. It’s surely a drug dealer den, maybe even one of the gang houses. My glance travels to the street corner. The same place where Tío Ruben sold his famous homemade tortillas and elote out of a cart. Now three menacing men wait there to accost anyone who dares to walk past. I wonder if they are part of the infamous Montero gang that runs these streets or just homeless junkies. Usually, I would stay away, especially at this time of night when there will be no one to hear or care about my screams. Tonight, though…tonight whatever force has been keeping me alive has run out. I’m ready to join mi amor, my love. Tonight I dare to walk past.