grabbing her from behind. He ropes his arms down around both of hers and jerks her to the side to free the gun.
It’s all happening so fast. Isabel stumbles but holds the gun beneath Benicio’s grip.
I dive to the side just as the gun goes off. I land on my arm and scream in pain. I scream again in anger.
Benicio grasps Isabel’s wrist and the gun goes off again, shooting the seat of the chair I just sat in. The sound is deafening. Everyone’s screams are just as bad.
Isabel’s arm continues to flail. She’s trying to kill me.
Only seconds have passed from the time Benicio jumped from his chair to the gun going off once, twice, and now a third time.
A sting, and then a deep wrenching seizes the side of my calf.
Benny wails down the hall as if he’s the one who’s been shot.
Benicio flings Isabel against the wall, chopping her wrist so hard that the gun tumbles to the floor. Isabel screams. He snatches up the gun and points it at her face.
Her mouth fixes into an O . She’s crying now, holding the wrist he’s cut down.
“Celia?” Benicio says without taking his eyes off Isabel.
I’m still on the floor, the shots ringing in my ears. I’m afraid to look at my leg.
“Celia!” he yells.
I look. Blood streams down my calf. The sight of the hole intensifies the pain. I swipe at the blood, but it continues to flow.
Benny continues to wail.
Isabel shouts at Benicio.
Benicio screams for me. He moves to see my leg without taking his eyes off Isabel. “Shit, shit, shit,” he says and glares at his sister with a look of pure hatred.
“I’m fine,” I say. “It didn’t go in. I could use a stitch or two, but I’m fine.”
“Quick,” Benicio tells me. “The medicine cabinet in the bathroom beneath the sink. There should be some gauze.”
I catch my breath and hop to the bathroom, reminding myself of the pain of childbirth as I retrieve the gauze and a brown bottle of rubbing alcohol. I hop back with the pain shooting into my hip.
Benicio and Isabel remain in a standoff. Benny continues to cry.
I sit on the edge of the bed. I bite down and pour the alcohol on the wound like a soldier. Spit escapes through my clenched teeth. I tear a piece of gauze and tie it tightly around my calf. Then I hop across the room and get in Isabel’s face. I want more than anything to smash it the way Leon smashed Benicio’s. The shrill of Benny’s cries stop me short.
“Hurry.” Benicio motions for Isabel to move into the hallway in front of him.
The bedroom we enter smells faintly of urine but is clean and spacious with the same glossy terra cotta tiled floors. The furniture and décor are similar to the condo, warm, colorful, tropic. The double bed is neatly covered with a white down blanket. Above the crib a mosquito net hangs like a white spotlight cone around Benny.
He can’t be more than a year old, standing there in a diaper. He grips the bars of his crib and quiets when we walk in. His legs give a small bounce.
Isabel starts toward him.
“No!” Benicio says, and she freezes.
He lowers the gun but keeps it directed toward her. “ Hola , baby,” Benicio says sweetly.
Benny bounces his legs again.
I limp around Isabel, my leg on fire. I open the net and see the boy’s face is red and soaked with tears. His hair is surprisingly light. He barely looks Mexican, though his lips are undeniably Isabel’s.
“Hurry!” Benicio urges her.
I lift the boy from his crib like we planned. Benny seems cautious at first, staring deeply into my face. He looks at Benicio and then me. He reaches out and feels my hair. And then he smiles, and that’s when I know.
Even if I hadn’t been shot my balance would have wavered beneath me. I turn to Benicio. “He’s not,” I stammer when Benicio looks away. “Oh my God. My God,” is all I can say.
“Put him down!” Isabel shouts.
Benny starts to whimper.
“Ssh.” I bounce Benny on the hip of my good leg, stifling tears from so many kinds of pain.
Then
It’s all happening so fast. Isabel stumbles but holds the gun beneath Benicio’s grip.
I dive to the side just as the gun goes off. I land on my arm and scream in pain. I scream again in anger.
Benicio grasps Isabel’s wrist and the gun goes off again, shooting the seat of the chair I just sat in. The sound is deafening. Everyone’s screams are just as bad.
Isabel’s arm continues to flail. She’s trying to kill me.
Only seconds have passed from the time Benicio jumped from his chair to the gun going off once, twice, and now a third time.
A sting, and then a deep wrenching seizes the side of my calf.
Benny wails down the hall as if he’s the one who’s been shot.
Benicio flings Isabel against the wall, chopping her wrist so hard that the gun tumbles to the floor. Isabel screams. He snatches up the gun and points it at her face.
Her mouth fixes into an O . She’s crying now, holding the wrist he’s cut down.
“Celia?” Benicio says without taking his eyes off Isabel.
I’m still on the floor, the shots ringing in my ears. I’m afraid to look at my leg.
“Celia!” he yells.
I look. Blood streams down my calf. The sight of the hole intensifies the pain. I swipe at the blood, but it continues to flow.
Benny continues to wail.
Isabel shouts at Benicio.
Benicio screams for me. He moves to see my leg without taking his eyes off Isabel. “Shit, shit, shit,” he says and glares at his sister with a look of pure hatred.
“I’m fine,” I say. “It didn’t go in. I could use a stitch or two, but I’m fine.”
“Quick,” Benicio tells me. “The medicine cabinet in the bathroom beneath the sink. There should be some gauze.”
I catch my breath and hop to the bathroom, reminding myself of the pain of childbirth as I retrieve the gauze and a brown bottle of rubbing alcohol. I hop back with the pain shooting into my hip.
Benicio and Isabel remain in a standoff. Benny continues to cry.
I sit on the edge of the bed. I bite down and pour the alcohol on the wound like a soldier. Spit escapes through my clenched teeth. I tear a piece of gauze and tie it tightly around my calf. Then I hop across the room and get in Isabel’s face. I want more than anything to smash it the way Leon smashed Benicio’s. The shrill of Benny’s cries stop me short.
“Hurry.” Benicio motions for Isabel to move into the hallway in front of him.
The bedroom we enter smells faintly of urine but is clean and spacious with the same glossy terra cotta tiled floors. The furniture and décor are similar to the condo, warm, colorful, tropic. The double bed is neatly covered with a white down blanket. Above the crib a mosquito net hangs like a white spotlight cone around Benny.
He can’t be more than a year old, standing there in a diaper. He grips the bars of his crib and quiets when we walk in. His legs give a small bounce.
Isabel starts toward him.
“No!” Benicio says, and she freezes.
He lowers the gun but keeps it directed toward her. “ Hola , baby,” Benicio says sweetly.
Benny bounces his legs again.
I limp around Isabel, my leg on fire. I open the net and see the boy’s face is red and soaked with tears. His hair is surprisingly light. He barely looks Mexican, though his lips are undeniably Isabel’s.
“Hurry!” Benicio urges her.
I lift the boy from his crib like we planned. Benny seems cautious at first, staring deeply into my face. He looks at Benicio and then me. He reaches out and feels my hair. And then he smiles, and that’s when I know.
Even if I hadn’t been shot my balance would have wavered beneath me. I turn to Benicio. “He’s not,” I stammer when Benicio looks away. “Oh my God. My God,” is all I can say.
“Put him down!” Isabel shouts.
Benny starts to whimper.
“Ssh.” I bounce Benny on the hip of my good leg, stifling tears from so many kinds of pain.
Then
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