to have the rest of the day off.
I wish I could say I rested, but my body never relaxed enough for full sleep to come. A tension headache had begun in the back of my neck during the night and eventually spread upward into a promising migraine. It hurt too much to even get up and take pain meds. I was beyond grateful when Mom stuck her head in that morning to check on me.
She pressed a hand to my forehead.
“Migraine,” I whispered. Thirty seconds later she was there with a glass of water and pills. I took them gratefully, wincing against the throb of pain.
Mom set the glass down on my bedside table and grasped my upper arms in her strong hands.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered. “Now relax your lower back. Let it go completely limp. Let yourself feel heavy.” I knew what she was doing. It was a simple exercise in relaxation, one body part at a time, that she often did with her dancers. “Now relax up your spine, all the way up to your shoulders.” I listened and followed her quiet directions, until the tension in my muscles shed, and I immediately fell asleep.
I woke hours later with Mom sitting on the edge of my bed again, touching my face.
“Princesa, I want to let you sleep, but the news is on. They’re about to tell us the results of the discussion and have their vote. I knew you’d want to know, but I can record it—”
“I’ll get up,” I whispered. The throb was back as I sat up, my face scrunching. I reached for the glass of water from earlier that morning and downed the rest of it. I glanced at the clock. It was nearly noon.
Mom went back into the living room and I trudged behind her. Abuela was there on the couch. She glanced at me with concern and patted the spot next to her. I went to her side, and she took my hand, rasping her wrinkled fingers over my knuckles. Grandpa Tate gave me a nod and I tried to smile.
“Mornin’,” Dad said.
“Mornin’,” I said back in a scratchy voice.
“You hungry?” Abuela asked. It sounded like hoongr-r-ry with the rolled r’s.
“A little, but mostly I need coffee.”
She tried to stand, but I held her hand tightly and said, “I’ll get it in a minute.”
The news was showing a grand room filled with officials from the U.S. and worldwide allies. I felt a flitter of nervousness in my gut, wondering what the outcome would be today. For so long the U.S. had been fighting small sects and groups, but it hadn’t been since WWII that congress declared outright war against another country, let alone three countries at once. A war of that scale would most definitely affect our family. Rylen, Tater, even Dad would be up to his ears with work. It was a frightening possibility. But even more frightening was allowing those other countries to be reckless with nuclear weapons and threaten us in a power play.
The congressional and worldwide leaders on the television took their seats and settled down. As the camera panned around the room, it was clear that the officials were weary. They’d been at their discussions since the day before. In the next moment, the president’s face filled the screen, bags under his eyes. He opened his mouth, and then . . . nothing. The screen went black. Our family stared a moment before Dad let out a grunt and stood.
I looked up at the ceiling fan, which still whirred around and around, so the electricity was working. And the television icon was now bouncing around the screen, so the TV was clearly working too.
“Station go out?” Grandpa Tate asked, sitting forward.
Dad switched channels with the remote. Every news station was out. He got to a cartoon station, which still played. But then it suddenly cut off too.
“What the hell?” Dad whispered. “Of all the damn timing. I wanted to hear that.”
“Try the radio,” Grandpa Tate told him.
I jumped up while Dad was messing with the television and turned on the stereo. Latino music blared from the station we listened to while we danced. I pressed the buttons to
I wish I could say I rested, but my body never relaxed enough for full sleep to come. A tension headache had begun in the back of my neck during the night and eventually spread upward into a promising migraine. It hurt too much to even get up and take pain meds. I was beyond grateful when Mom stuck her head in that morning to check on me.
She pressed a hand to my forehead.
“Migraine,” I whispered. Thirty seconds later she was there with a glass of water and pills. I took them gratefully, wincing against the throb of pain.
Mom set the glass down on my bedside table and grasped my upper arms in her strong hands.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered. “Now relax your lower back. Let it go completely limp. Let yourself feel heavy.” I knew what she was doing. It was a simple exercise in relaxation, one body part at a time, that she often did with her dancers. “Now relax up your spine, all the way up to your shoulders.” I listened and followed her quiet directions, until the tension in my muscles shed, and I immediately fell asleep.
I woke hours later with Mom sitting on the edge of my bed again, touching my face.
“Princesa, I want to let you sleep, but the news is on. They’re about to tell us the results of the discussion and have their vote. I knew you’d want to know, but I can record it—”
“I’ll get up,” I whispered. The throb was back as I sat up, my face scrunching. I reached for the glass of water from earlier that morning and downed the rest of it. I glanced at the clock. It was nearly noon.
Mom went back into the living room and I trudged behind her. Abuela was there on the couch. She glanced at me with concern and patted the spot next to her. I went to her side, and she took my hand, rasping her wrinkled fingers over my knuckles. Grandpa Tate gave me a nod and I tried to smile.
“Mornin’,” Dad said.
“Mornin’,” I said back in a scratchy voice.
“You hungry?” Abuela asked. It sounded like hoongr-r-ry with the rolled r’s.
“A little, but mostly I need coffee.”
She tried to stand, but I held her hand tightly and said, “I’ll get it in a minute.”
The news was showing a grand room filled with officials from the U.S. and worldwide allies. I felt a flitter of nervousness in my gut, wondering what the outcome would be today. For so long the U.S. had been fighting small sects and groups, but it hadn’t been since WWII that congress declared outright war against another country, let alone three countries at once. A war of that scale would most definitely affect our family. Rylen, Tater, even Dad would be up to his ears with work. It was a frightening possibility. But even more frightening was allowing those other countries to be reckless with nuclear weapons and threaten us in a power play.
The congressional and worldwide leaders on the television took their seats and settled down. As the camera panned around the room, it was clear that the officials were weary. They’d been at their discussions since the day before. In the next moment, the president’s face filled the screen, bags under his eyes. He opened his mouth, and then . . . nothing. The screen went black. Our family stared a moment before Dad let out a grunt and stood.
I looked up at the ceiling fan, which still whirred around and around, so the electricity was working. And the television icon was now bouncing around the screen, so the TV was clearly working too.
“Station go out?” Grandpa Tate asked, sitting forward.
Dad switched channels with the remote. Every news station was out. He got to a cartoon station, which still played. But then it suddenly cut off too.
“What the hell?” Dad whispered. “Of all the damn timing. I wanted to hear that.”
“Try the radio,” Grandpa Tate told him.
I jumped up while Dad was messing with the television and turned on the stereo. Latino music blared from the station we listened to while we danced. I pressed the buttons to
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