I Can't Sleep

By Alejandra Labrado

“I can’t sleep.” whispered the little girl as she tugged on her mother, Maria’s arm.

Maria didn’t flinch. Her mouth was wide open with slobber all over her pillow. She was exhausted after a long day working at the hospital.

Earlier that day, a drunken man had staggered into the crowded emergency room, slumped over an old lady in a wheelchair, and vomited all over the floor. Maria gagged as she mopped up the mess. Meanwhile, sick children were crying, the old lady was yelling, and others just stared at her as she diligently mopped.

It wasn’t long after that she heard her name on the speaker with, “clean up needed in Room 23.” Maria hadn’t taken a break that day. The other housekeeper had called in sick and it was already an unusually busy day. It must have been a full moon.

Maria began to worry. Her husband, Ruben was already working the graveyard shift and it looked like she wasn’t going to be home in time to tuck Nena in bed. She decided to call her mom. She hated to rely on her so much.

“Mamá, I have to work late today. Can you watch Nena for a few more hours?”

She hung up the phone, feeling a little less anxious knowing that her mother could stay with Nena. So, she proceeded to Room 23 and walked past the drunken man and a woman crying out for pain meds. She entered the room to see blood on the floor, some of it smeared with footprints.

“It was a stabbing. Young kid. But it looks like he’s gonna make it.” Said the male nurse who was exiting the room.

Maria let out a big sigh. “Am I ever going to get home?” she whispered to herself.

She arrived home at 11 p.m. and didn’t even stop in the kitchen to make Nena’s lunch for the next day, which was her usual routine. Her mom gave her a hug and told her in Spanish, “I put Nena to bed an hour ago. Get some rest and God bless you.” She picked up her coat and left.

Maria went straight to her bedroom, took off her shoes, and just collapsed right into her fluffy pillow. She thought she had been asleep for hours when she finally felt the persistent tugs of her daughter on her arm.

“Mamí, I said I can’t sleep!” shouted Nena.

“¿Que pasó, ¿qué pasó, mija? What happened?” Maria gasped as she jumped in terror.

“Can I sleep with you?” Nena asked in her little voice with a lisp.

“What are you doing up?” Maria asked.

“Abuelita (grandma) told me about “the lady” today and I’m scared.”

“What do you mean ‘the lady’?” Maria asked in curiosity.

“Abuelita told me about the lady that always cries looking for kids.”

Maria’s stomach turned. She knew exactly what “lady” Nena was talking about.

“Abuelita caught me picking lemons from the twee and thowing them at the neighboh man. When I didn’t stop, she told me to get off the twee¡ or the lady, “La Llo-lo-na” was going to come and get me.”

Maria knew the “lady” that Nena was talking about very well. She heard about her all her childhood when kids misbehaved. Even though she had never seen this ghost “lady”, “La Llorona,” there was always someone in her small hometown in Mexico that claimed to have seen her or heard her crying “¡Ay, mis niños! (oh, my children),” looking for kids that she believes are hers.

It was strange. Her parents always warned her to not play with Quija boards, tarot cards, or anything that could potentially “invite bad spirits.” Yet, for SOME reason, it was perfectly okay to threaten them with a ghost lady to kidnap them. La Llorona had every child in Mexico terrified.

The knot in Maria’s throat left her speechless. She reflected on her own childhood when her Abuelita told her about La Llorona, “the weeping woman”. Maria’s brother José was always the mastermind at doing pranks. One day, her Abuelita caught them putting 20 sugar cubes in their blind Tia’s (aunt’s) coffee.

“What are you doing, niños (kids)? Are you trying to put your Tia in a diabetic coma?” yelled their Abuelita.

Maria’s Abuelita was a short and stocky woman with dark native features. Her demeanor always seemed angry, even though she was extremely loving and affectionate. But as a single mother, she was tough on discipline. So, when she really was mad, it made the grandkids tremble in fear.

“Get out of here, kids! La Llorona is waiting to snatch traviesos (mischievous kids) like you. Don’t give her a reason to come and get you.” she yelled in her raspy voice.

Maria and her brother ran under the table in the other room.

“See what you did, José!” Maria exclaimed.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it. You know Tia doesn’t mind eating all that sugar.”

“But we could have killed her and now La Llorona will be looking for us,” Maria said in fear.

“Ándale, go to bed traviesos.” Abuelita insisted.

They went to their room and lay on their twin beds, staring at the ceiling for about an hour, not saying a word. Finally, Maria broke the silence. She murmured, “I’m scared. I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” replied José. He felt a little guilty since it was his idea to put the sugar in Tia’s coffee.

Now here she was, 25 years later, and La Llorona was still instilling fear in Maria. But she didn’t want to show it in front of Nena.

“Don’t worry, Nena. The “lady” can’t hurt you. For decades Mexican parents scared their kids and grandkids with La Llorona so that they would behave. It’s all made up and Abuelita is old-fashioned. Besides, Dad and I will always protect you.”

Maria stroked her daughter’s hair and sang to her as she fell asleep beside her in her bed.

Hours later, Ruben arrived home from his shift, exhausted. As he walked through the door, a stream of light gave him a glimpse of mother and daughter. He was very surprised to see Nena in the bed, and Maria staring at the ceiling, clutching a bottle of holy water.

“¿Que pasó, Maria?” he said with concern.

“I can’t sleep,” Maria responded.