Stars

The stars weren’t the right shape. He kept drawing them and staring at them but they never quite looked the right way.

He was about to rip the page when Sandra came to his desk.

"Do you always work like this?" Sandra said.

"I like working," Marcelo said. He was coloring the sketch the teacher had asked them to do.

Pencils, erasers, a sharpener, and a ruler were scattered around his desk. He was working on a corner.

Something wasn't quite right.

The moon was meant to be pink and the eyes of Super Boy weren't the deep green he had thought of.

"A-hem," said Sara. She was always pretending to be more mature and grownup than him.

People just didn't get it.

"Yes?" he said, fully aware of the girl's intentions.

"You are messy," she said in a clipped tone of voice. "These things are meant to be done a certain way."

"Oh, I know," Marcelo said. "We don't do it properly."

"I can't believe it," she said. "I'm going to tell the teacher."

"You can tell her," he said.

She went to search for the teacher, and Marcelo relaxed.

* * *

He came home.

Mom was always busy with work. She had a pile of papers to grade, and a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes when he got home.

Myriam was much the same. Although her eyes didn't have any of the kindness his mother had.

He wondered if she secretly hated him.

But then came the worst part of being home. His Dad.

Myriam tensed up, dropped her pen, and spoke to him.

"Come here," she whispered.

She was pale. Her skin had turned something similar to his own.

He pointed it out.

"Shh," she said. "Now is not the time."

He nodded and played with his hands. Making the movements of a bird was always easier for him.

She let him do it. Her room was bigger and she was always busy but this she allowed.

"I'll just sit there and work, get it?" she said. "If you need anything, I'm here."

"Okay," he said.

Something crashed and his sister turned to look at him with a horrified expression.

"Wait here, alright?" she said.

Marcelo stopped playing. Was his mother hurt?

"Did he hurt her?" he asked.

"Of course not, baby," she said. "I'm going to go and see what they need and you stay here playing with the disk."

The disk was a toy she'd made with one of her old CDs.

"I don't like this band anymore," she'd said.

And now he played with it whenever things got too intense.

In-ten-se. A strange word. It meant pain and deception.

"Do me a favor," she said. "Stay here, even if you hear any sounds and if anything else happens, you hide under the bed until I come."

Her voice was soothing but her hands were trembling.

"I will be here," he said.

She ruffled his hair. He hated to have it ruffled by anyone but her.

***

"You can't do this to me!" Karen said. "He is a child-"

"That shouldn't be witnessing his screwups."

"You don't know how it is, wait until you grow up and have a husband--"

"I promise you I'll never choose someone else over my children," said Myriam.

"Why are you turning against me? You were always a good child," Karen said.

"I'm not a child anymore. Leave him or I'll take Marcelo home."

***

Cancer was another horrible word.

He was older now. Enough to know what his little quirks were about.

There had been an attempt at many labels, but they were poor and short-lived. With a single salary and a broken economy, only a few could survive.

Theirs was a calamity, sure, but many people were going down their own personal hells.

Karen was now older. She was on a bed, pale as a sheet and body wrecked by the years of guilt, stress, and pain.

"Mi niño," she said. "It's been so long."

It'd been a long time. She was right.

He took one of her frail hands with his.

"Mama," he said. "Be strong. Remember?"

She looked at me surprised before smiling deeply until she let out a full-blown laugh.

"Oh, I wish I couldn't remember child," she said. "Come here. Your sister doesn't want to come."

She said it with aplomb. He sighed.

"No," he said. "She is busy with a big case, but she wants you to know she's coming here later."

"Oh, it won't be necessary."

"Why?"

"There isn't much to do now. I've been sick for a while."

"Why do you say this?"

"The doctors are waiting for the last results. But I'm pretty confident about the nature of these results."

He sat there. The truth didn't seem to sink in.

"We'll have a second opinion."

"No. You can't fight cells at work. It's a race and my death is their goal."

“I don’t want that to happen!”

“Neither do I. But it is done.”

She looked tired but a small spark of hope was hidden in her

“It’s time for you to see the world on your own.”

***

“What did they say?”

“That she won’t make it.”

“Is she giving up?”

“She seems calm.”

“God, I wish I was there. I’m going to have to cancel and take a plane.”

“You won’t make it in time. Besides, remember how they are about your visa.”

She sighed.

“I don’t like this, little dove.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not twelve anymore.”

“You’ll always be my little dove.”

“God, it sounds awful in English. Imagine if you say it in Spanish.”

She laughed.

“I wouldn’t. In Spanish I’d to call you something like Hawk.”

“Take care and let me know when you need me.”

“Don’t worry,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, I’ll do my best.”

***

“Her lungs aren’t holding up.”

They were in the hallway, watching people pass by.

“Metastases,” he found himself saying.

“Yes. Very clever, you could be one of us,” Rania, the Doctor said.

“I couldn’t, it’s notoriously difficult to get into medical school and to pay for it,” he said. “But thank you for being nice.”

Contrary to popular belief, he was very aware of uncomfortable interactions.

“I don’t mean to pry, but I believe anyone who is neuroatypical deserves the chance to make it into the field,” she said. “We need the out-of-the-box pattern.”

He sighed.

“Thank you for your services,” he said.

“It’s nothing,” she said with a kind smile.

***

“It has happened,” he said.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, tell the doctors that—”

“No problem, they are waiting for you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

A tear slipped, and he dried his eyes.

He went outside and looked at the stars. They looked like that day he drew them. Undefined points in the sky.