Christopher Nicolás ‘28
It was the day of the year when I felt happy (apart from Christmas, when we celebrate someone’s birth). It was the day I felt a connection to other people apart from my mom.
It was Día de los Muertos.
My life was monotonous and disorganized.
The sky was orangish and dark, and the sun was about to disappear.
I started grabbing the tamales and setting them on the ofrenda. I grabbed a lighter and lit the candles.
My mom set some drinks and a plate of steaming hot black mole on the table. She also put up the last piece of papel picado. She put more cempasúchil on the table.
The completed ofrenda was beautiful. There was a photo of my abuelo. The table was decorated with a simple but beautiful cloth. The food was hot and looked appetizing on the table. There were tamales, tacos de lengua, atole, a glass bottle of Coca-Cola from Mexico, and other small Mexican treats. The cempasúchil flowers stood on the edges, decorating the edges. The candles were everywhere, and a cross was set in the middle, above my abuelo’s photo.
Era hermoso.
My mom turned off the lights.
The ofrenda didn’t lose any of its beauty. In fact, the darkness only made it even more beautiful. The darkness contrasted with the lit candles and the vibrant colors of the ofrenda and papel picado. The darkness made it better.
The ofrenda was like a light in the darkness. It never turned off, never lost any hope. It only grows and becomes more powerful. It would not succumb to anything. It looked beautiful.
My mom looked at the ofrenda.
I saw a deep sadness in her eyes. I could tell the ofrenda gave her bittersweet memories.
“¿Cómo era mi abuelo?” I asked my mom.
Every time this day came, I asked her this question.
“Era como tu, pero mucho más maduro y menos serio,” she said.
I looked at her, her brown eyes exposing a rich sadness.
My mom was from Oaxaca, but she immigrated to the US to find a job and help my grandparents. She ultimately found a job and worked enough for us and our grandparents.
She then met my godly father, and soon, they were about to have their first and only child.
But my grandfather was always drinking sugary drinks, and he lived with diabetes for thirty years. The disease was taking over him, and he was lying down on his bed, ready to die.
My mom wanted to go to Oaxaca and yearned to hug my grandfather for the last time, but she couldn’t. She was pregnant, and my godly father didn’t want to risk it. She couldn’t legally leave the country, and if she did, she would be temporarily locked out of the US.
I was born as a blessing to my mom.
But my godly father left my mom, and my abuelo succumbed to diabetes, dying in his sleep.
My mom was happy about my birth, but she couldn’t stop crying after hearing the news about my grandfather. Every time I was asleep as a baby, she would cry alone. Cry alone for a week after my grandfather’s death.
But she also felt abandoned because my dad had abandoned her. She was barely nineteen with a child in her hands, alone.
But she soon recovered, and she was now happy again.
“I know it’s hard,” I said. “But let’s celebrate his life. Today is Día de los Muertos,” I said.
“Es cierto,” she said. “Eres lo último que tengo, la última persona que mantendrá con vida a mi abuelo.”
“Tal vez,” I said. “But he’s also alive in your heart,”
“Gracias,” my mom said.
“De nada.” I looked at the ofrenda.
The ofrenda meant a lot to me, but it meant even more to my mom.
While my life was horrible—it was a constant mess—my mom lived a worse life. She had no one but me to help her. She was lonely. She had to work to get a decent apartment.
Meanwhile, I found a new home with other demigods. But my mom was alone. I had something to do. I knew I would one day decide the fate of Olympus.
“Go to sleep,” my mom said. “I need you to go to school; we’ll eat pan de muerto tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I said. “Buenas noches.”
I was in my room, pondering about how my mom felt.
“Tal vez, I have luck,” I said.
But my head wasn’t in the right place. I felt like I wasn’t okay.
I looked at the candle on my desk. I would let it burn until the morning in honor of Día de los Muertos.
While other kids were out trick-or-treating, I was here, having a good time thinking.
Usually, I would be enjoying Día de los Muertos, but today, I didn’t feel as happy.
Maybe it was because I was still adjusting to my new demigod life.
My head started to hurt.
A green aura started to appear, and the candle lost its flame.
“Qué—?” I got up and looked.
My whole room was masked in a green aura. The place seemed frozen.
I wasn’t in the mood to be attacked by some god. I was about to turn my watch into sword mode, ready to defend myself from whatever monster was lurking in the shadows.
“Elias, your mom is like me; I am trying to protect my daughter.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“You’ll know. Tell Zoe that I’m coming for her soon.”
I looked around.
“I don’t know what you want with Zoe,” I said. “But if you work for the Time Lord or my friends—then you are playing with fire!”
“I don’t know if that’s true,” the female voice said. “But I know you will try to stop me, and you should enjoy your useless holiday. Enjoy the moment before the world you know is over.”
“Don’t dare to call this holiday useless!” I shouted.
“But this is just the beginning of a new era,” the voice said. “You’ll see me again. Soon.”
The green light disappeared, and time resumed.
I instantly ran to the ofrenda, making sure it wasn’t destroyed.
It stood there as if no one had touched it.
“¿Qué pasó?” My mom asked.
I looked at her and told her what happened.
“Eso no es bueno,” I said.
“Relax, it might be a coincidence,” my mom said. “Meanwhile, enjoy the moment.”
My mom was too calm. Maybe she wanted me to relax.
But I knew this had to do with it. It wanted me to tell me something was coming for Zoe. I don’t know what, but it was not good.
I might not have much time left. I had accepted my destiny.
“Bien,” I said, but with a bit of worry.
I looked at the ofrenda. Its beauty allowed me to relax.
Maybe my mom was right.
