My Angel

My uncle hates the arrival of his birthday date. Nobody in this world can wish him a happy birthday without getting him all worked up and ranting on “what’s so awesome about being a year closer to death each year?” and hearing him many times that day wish he could stop time. My brother, on the other hand, loves is birthday date. In fact, loves wouldn’t be an accurate description of how he feels about it; I think maybe obsessed is more of an explanation for this kind of situation. He just can’t wait to be older so he can do whatever he wishes to do when he’s finally 21. As for me… well Birthday dates meant another candle on the cake; toys turning to clothes and money for presents; reduced amount of time playing with dolls and increased time to talk about guys… it meant growing up. I didn’t think much about it. I was a regular girl; happy when things went smoothly for me, complaining when my day was going down a crappy road. Isn’t it funny how life has a way to twist everything you believe in a whole 180 degrees around?



At the beginning of last year I had a friend. He and I had a bond, much like the ones twins share. But we weren’t twins, we were far from that situation being a fact, however, we still had that special bond. It was the kind of bond that when I was sad, he felt sad too, although he didn’t really show it. He hated to see me sad or angry, so he was also that happy person in my life I felt I could never be. He was simply a very sensitive guy.



My friend had curly golden hair that reached his chin, bright green eyes that rarely narrowed and his fair skin was so smooth, a lot of people envied him; girls for the most part. In many ways, his physical appearance reminded me of one of those angels that appear in the religious portraits and paintings, and there were actually times when I wondered if he was actually even human. Why? Well, he behaved like most humans seldom do; if someone flipped him off in the middle of the freeway, he would laugh and wave back. He did not respond negatively to constant questioning; a person could spend a whole day with him doing nothing other than asking him questions, and he would make sure he answered each and every one of them. Screaming babies and children throwing tantrums in the grocerie store wouldn’t irritate him or even crush his dream of someday having at least 19 kids. Whilst standing near a building and having bird poo land on his shoulder, he would look up at the bird, shrug, and say “you gota do what you gota do” and clean it up without making a fuss.



His name was Gabriel, but he rathered his friends called him Jesus for a reason that no one could clearly understand. I was probably the only girl or actually, his only friend that could get away with calling him Gabriel and sometimes Gabe.



Gabriel was in a band. He wasn’t the singer, nor the guitarist or the bass guitarist, although he was really good at them all… he was the drummer. And he was happy about it too. He would be playing the drums and unlike most drummers I had seen, he would smile, laugh and shriek with joy. Sometimes I just had to wonder WHY was he so eager to let people know how happy he was when he was playing the drums? I never asked him; partly for fear that I would ruin whatever fun he was having… and also because if he was behaving like this without him knowing, then he would take notice of it and try to change it thinking it bothered me. I must confess that I also enjoyed to see him happy rather than serious or sad. So I let him be. Gabe and the band had plenty of local concert engagements here in El Paso. However, they also traveled over to Las Cruces as well as Juarez for gigs. After a night full of music and savage-acting humans aka metal music genre fans, Gabe and I would usually go visit a parent of his; his mother lived in Las Cruces and his father lived in Juarez.



A particular night, after a gig in Juarez, while the rest of the band members were partying at some kid’s house, Gabe and I decided to go visit his dad. My friend was really eager to see him; besides the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in a long time (Gabe and his band rarely go over to Juarez), we had seen in the news how certain people in the city were going around threatening small businesses and their owners; asking for large amounts of money in exchange for the life of the owner as well as for the business to keep running. Nobody knew who those people were, but one thing was for sure, the owners of small businesses constantly prayed these people would never go around their place.



Gabriel’s father was a mechanic; right across from where he lived, he owned land in which he had spent money building tall, solid cement walls around it, and spent a couple more days work worth of money to install a metal, sliding door that was almost as tall as the walls, and that no longer worked automatically, thus had to be worked manually in order to open up the workspace Gabriel’s dad used. We all liked to call it “The Spot” because it was the place where miracles happened.



On this night, Gabe and I went straight for The Spot, and we noticed the sliding door had a lock on it. Since my friend didn’t have the key to it, we went to the back of The Spot and unlocked a back door that led into the inner territory of the workplace. Inside I saw a little storage closet off to the side; light poles placed on every corner of The Spot illuminated the place at night and it still had no roof. It seemed Gabe’s dad didn’t really want to fix it up too much, as long as he could work miracles on fixing cars… Chained to a wall, was a big dog. When he saw us coming in, his ears perked up and his legs tensed a bit; he was prepared to see who the intruders were.



Gabriel and I walked over to him; the dog looked at us hard trying to recognize us. Finally my friend bent over to the canine and greeted him. As soon as he heard my friend’s voice, the dog relaxed his legs, sent his ears backward and fanned his tail happily. After stroking the animal a few times, my friend released the dog from its chain and the animal took off running all over the place inside the four gigantic walls, sniffing the few cars that were in the territory. As I watched the dog sniff away, Gabriel looked around for a minute and then asked “I wonder where my dad is?”



“It’s already 11 o clock at night, Gabe,” I said matter-of-factly. “Why would you think he would be in here this late?”



My friend looked at me and smiled his goofy smile. “My dad has been stressing a lot lately.” He said.



“Oh.” I replied. I understood what he meant; as humans, we all do certain things to distress ourselves. Rituals, sleeping, reading, drawing… Gabriel’s dad fixed cars in the middle of the night to get rid of stress. Taking into notice what was currently happening in Juarez, I decided that my friend was right; his father should definitely be here fixing cars. “So, what now?” I asked.



“We go over to his house and wake him up.”



I was ready to oppose the decision my friend had made, but then I remembered that those two hadn’t seen each other in quite some time… and besides, as a father, waking up in the middle of the night to see your son, was probably one of the best ways (and reasons) to get out of bed. So I kept the complaint to myself and followed my friend towards the back door. Halfway from our target, the dog growled; we thought he was growling at us, so we turned to face him only to see him trotting towards the huge metal black door across from us. That’s when we noticed the dog’s posture; tense legs, puffed up fur, ears straight up in alarm and nose flaring as he sniffed the bottom of the door. Before we could even begin to wonder, something happened on the other side of the door because the dog started to bark furiously as he charged at the door with high aggression, each collision producing a sound much like powerful thunder.



Gabriel moved forward towards the dog and the door, eyes narrowed in confusion. Not wanting to be left behind, I followed a few steps after him, at the same time fearing the black door and what might be waiting on the other side. Being a short distance away from the black menace, a loud noise thundered over to my ears, startling me; it sounded like someone was throwing rocks at the door from the other side. This sound only succeeded in multiplying the aggression of the dog towards the door and the way the door trembled was almost like it were close to collapsing. I deeply hoped it didn’t. I didn’t want to know what was on the other side.



“Lupe,” Gabe warned, “my arm.”



I looked at my friend and then at his arm. I was digging my nails into his flesh, like if I were afraid of losing him if I let go and judging by how deep in they were, I could guess that digging a little further and I would draw blood. I was about to release his arm from my claws and utter an apology when I heard two sounds simultaneously. The first was loud, and echoing, like a small explosion. The second was a heartbreaking cry of pain produced by the canine’s vocal chords. I opened my mouth to scream, but I only gasped. One minute I’m staring at a bleeding dog’s front leg, the next I’m being pushed into the closet like little room off to the side by Gabriel.



As my friend kneeled at the entrance of the little room, I noticed his mouth was moving. Was he saying something? I didn’t have time to think; Gabe lifted a wooden rectangular piece from the floor; it took me a second to notice it was a small hidden door that led to a hollow space under the little closet like room. Somehow, he persuaded me to get in there without force and as I was sitting in that space, looking up at him, I realized Gabe was talking to me. He was telling me something, but I couldn’t understand and I couldn’t concentrate to try and figure his words out. I was shaken by the image of the bleeding dog, and I think I was on the brink of tears. I was still looking up at him as he paused for a second to take a look at me before he closed the trapdoor, flooding that little space I was in, in darkness.



I don’t know for how long I sat there, hugging my legs, staring into the darkness, trying to think properly. What had just happened? What did I know? The dog was shot. The dog was wounded. The dog was bleeding. The dog was shot, the dog was wounded, the dog was bleeding. I repeated that phrase in my head over and over and over again, to the point where those words were not supposed to make sense anymore… but the more I repeated them, the more sense they made and then it dawned on me; the dog was shot, wounded and bleeding!



Whoever was out there on the other side of that door was carrying a gun and Gabriel was alone with them! My first instinct was to bolt out from under the floor and warn him. Second instinct told me to stay where I was. Which one should I follow? I picked the second choice. Gabriel was smart, and he had the ability to think clearly, even if he was scared lifeless. He didn’t need to be told what was going on around him.



Now that I had decided to stay where I was, what would I do there? First choice, think things through calmly; second choice, go crazy. I picked the first choice, because keeping my sanity was important to begin with. Almost losing it had gotten me and a few others into serious trouble in the past… So I began to think as clearly as I possibly could; what was Gabriel trying to tell me earlier? After fruitless thinking, my thoughts drifted from that topic, and arrived at another question; why hadn’t Gabriel stuffed himself into this place along with me? What was he planning?



For some reason, the image of his drumset flooded my mind, and I remembered Gabriel was fast on his feet. His bass drumming skills proved it. No one except Gabriel and his dad (and now me) knew about the place I was in. So the chances of anyone finding out about the trapdoor was pretty much zero, unless they were looking for it.  Now, if Gabe had suggested I get in here, it was for a reason; he thought I would be safe in there. Putting what puzzle pieces I had together, I came up with a single conclusion; he had planed to run out of the back door to get help and then come back and get me later.



I didn’t have much time to congratulate myself for an educated guess because my thoughts were interrupted when I heard two people talking. But their voices were not familiar to me, and I concluded Gabe was on his way for help. All I had to do was be careful not to make a sound so nobody would find me before my friend got back. With a bit of luck, the intruders would leave soon and then Gabe would come back to find me safe and sound, right where he left me.



My pulse was beginning to regain natural rhythm when all of a sudden my pulse speed up again; a third voice joined the conversation, and it sounding way too familiar had my head spinning madly. It had to be a mistake. It had to be my mind playing games with me. It had to be some sort of nightmare. It just had to be something wrong with me.



What on earth was Gabriel doing talking to the two intruders? Why was he still here? What to do now? Choice one, stay hidden and hope for the best or choice two, risk my hiding place to try and find out what’s up. I picked the second one. My thoughts were obviously scrambled and I wanted answers to help put a bit of order in my mind.



Careful to not make a single sound loud enough to be heard outside from where I was, I lifted the trapdoor with my hands and head careful not to expose myself by opening it just enough for my eyes to see what was going on outside. Out on the space that was above me, the door that led to the little closet was half way open and I could see a little of what situation was outside. To my dismay, not only did I see five intruders and Gabriel, but I also saw that Gabriel’s dad was with the group.



Now I was really confused. I had so many questions running through my head and I was nowhere near an answer... My rapid pulse hammered in my ears and I had to force myself to calm down so I could hear what the conversation was about. Many times I heard the words “money”, “life”, and “business”. I drew the conclusion that these five strangers were some of the people going around asking for money in exchange for people’s lives.



I lowered the little door and tried to make sense of everything I knew so far. Gabe had stuffed me in this place, and maybe he had planned to run out and get help, but maybe something stopped him. Something like… his father entering The Spot just as the intruders were about to break in. Now, what could have gotten the father to enter The Spot? The dog making a lot of racket, the gunshot sound, the door thundering and quivering violently…



It made sense now. Of course I knew I had to consider that my conclusion was probably way off from what had really happened, but I needed something to rely on to keep my sanity.



All of a sudden, the voices outside went from calmly talking, to arguing angrily. Alarmed, I carefully pushed up the little door up again so I could see what was going on. My pulse skipped a beat and then raced madly when I saw that one of the intruders was pointing a gun at Gabriel’s dad. Gabriel was scared, or angry, I couldn’t tell which because I had never seen that expression on him before but whatever it was, it was negative and Gabriel was acting upon it.



He took a step forward and attempted to deliver a punch to the face to the one that was aiming the gun at his father. As soon as the step was taken and the arm was flung towards the man, time seemed to slow down significantly for me; from this point on, everything seemed to go in slow motion. Gabe was concentrating on the man that had a gun pointed towards his dad. Gabriel’s father turned towards his son and tried to prevent a fight breaking out; Gabe allowed his gaze to slide briefly and he looked at his father. Too late, did they both notice that the guy who had been aiming at Gabriel’s dad was now aiming directly at Gabriel himself, targeting his forehead.



I remember silently praying to God, “Please, don’t let it happen, please, not in front of his dad, please not like this!” Almost as if my eyesight had zoomed in, I saw clearly how the guys thumb unlocked the guns safety… and his index finger pulled the trigger.



There were several small but loud explosions; the guy shot Gabriel more than once. I saw how the gun spat fire, I saw the bullets dig and pierce through my friends head, I saw how the back of his head opened and let loose all his brains… I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to put a barrier between what had just happened and my mind. But I felt like my eyes were stuck open, I felt unable to close them, and so I crouched low on the space I was in, immediately flooding it with darkness as soon as I allowed the little wooden door to close. I needed the darkness. I needed to not be able to see a thing.



I remember hearing a tragic howl; I knew it was human, but it sounded like a sad and angry beast. I don’t know if it was me or if it was someone else screaming.



I remember pushing and dragging myself as far away as possible from the trapdoor, trying to get away from all that I had seen and I remember bumping into the wall with my back, and still trying to desperately get back even further.



I remember clasping both my hands tightly over my mouth to silence a angry roar that longed to come out and I remember my eyes hurting because they were open wide, and I was still trying to open them wider, and I remember I had hot tears dangerously threatening to run down my cheeks.



I remember my ears were buzzing, that constant peeeeeeee annoying me and beginning to unleash my insanity while I trembled with anger, fear, sadness, confusion…



I heard a truck start up and take off at full speed. I can’t recall if I stayed in where I was for a second or longer, but all of a sudden, I simply could not be in there anymore, I was suffocating, the walls felt like they were closing in on me, urging me, pressuring me and so I bolted out of the little space underground. I didn’t know where to go, for a moment I didn’t know where I was. But then I saw Gabriel’s dad, kneeling on the ground, bending over a body. Confusion got the best of me; I ran towards him.



He heard my footsteps and turned, alarmed, his eyes bulging crazily and his gentle face twisted in a maniac expression that made me slide to a stop before I even got to him. He was hugging a body tightly, and I had a feeling that if I took a step closer, he would attack me like a wild beast. I stood still and was careful not to seem like a threat. Then his face softened as he seemed to recognize me. Wonder dawned in his face. He called my name, testing if it was really me.



I couldn’t find my voice, so I nodded carefully. He was supposed to look relieved, he was supposed to start crying, he was supposed to invite me to come over. Instead, he tensed up, tightened his embrace on the body, and with great effort, instructed for me to leave. I should have followed his advice, but my legs refused to work, and my brain wasn’t sending the appropriate signals to make me turn and leave just as Gabe’s dad instructed.



Seeing I wasn’t about to go anywhere soon enough, Gabe’s dad turned to me menacingly as if he were about to charge towards me like an angry bull. And then I saw who Gabriel’s dad was hugging. It looked like a stranger.



But it wasn’t a stranger… It was Gabriel. I saw Gabriel. I saw what was left of my friend. His beautiful golden hair was stained red and was matted and stuck to his face. His bright green eyes were glassy and dull staring off into nothingness; his goofy smile was nowhere to be seen; his smooth skin was cut, scratched and tainted with dirt and blood. He looked like an angel… like a fallen angel… like an angel God had gotten by the wings and thrown out of heaven and into the Earth to face his demise…



The display must have shocked me so much, the “flight” command clicked in my brain; I automatically turned away and ran. I ran across The Spot, I ran past the dead dog, I ran through the open black door, all the time forcing my eyes to stay open for the reason that I was sure that the hideous image would be engraved in my eyelids for ever if I closed them. I didn’t know where I was going, but I kept my legs moving, fearing that if I stopped, I wouldn’t be able to continue anymore. I ran fast, stumbling and tripping but I kept going.



I tried to convince myself that the person Gabe’s dad was hugging, wasn’t my friend. That was not my Gabriel. My Gabriel didn’t act like a human, so he wasn’t human, he couldn’t have simply died like a human...



I don’t have much to recall to concerning what happened after that. From the time when Gabriel died to where I finally start remembering much of life after his death, I only remember one day and it was the day when Gabriel was supposed to be buried. The faces of those who attended the funeral are blurry; as so are the words of private quiet conversations people exchanged with one another.



At his grave, I stood at the very edge as I saw the coffin carrying my friend. Part of me hoped Gabriel wasn't the one in there; but the rest of me knew it was. Dirt was thrown into the grave to cover the coffin, roses and flowers were left behind to symbolize people's sorrows and hopes for his soul. I didn't deliver a plant; I wanted him back at my side telling me everything would be alright.



That day was a reality check for me, because I finally was forced to accept that Gabriel was gone. When Gabriel’s casket was 6 feet underground, I went back home. Gabriel’s drum set was at my house; after getting home, I went to the garage and looked at it. According to my mother, I had pleaded to the band members to let me keep it once they had decided to split up. It was set up exactly how Gabriel always set it up for concerts and practice.



I didn’t get near the kit; I kept my distance, concentrating on the seat behind the drums. The drum sticks had been placed neatly on top of one of the drum heads. I don’t know why I looked at the set, maybe it was vague hope that Gabriel would come in, take a seat, grab the drumsticks and begin playing. My mother had to cover the drums up with a blanket because I wouldn’t go into the house to eat. I pleased her by gulping down her food and excusing myself just so I could go back to the garage.



I removed the blanket and stared at the drums. A sudden thought came to my mind; my mother had said that I had begged the band to allow me to keep the drum set. I wondered what would have made me reduce myself to getting on my knees and begging for such a request to be done. I mean, I didn’t even know how to play drums.



Aside from spending most of my days staring at the set, I can’t remember much. Its almost as if my mind had grown to be a black hole that sucked every other daily experience in, never to see the light again. I call this, my black-hole-memory period.



This period ended a day before my birthday date last year. I remember my family members were making plans to throw me a big party. I didn’t want that party. I really didn’t. It had been three months since Gabriel had left this world, and I wasn’t over the depression. I wasn’t ready to party. Nonetheless, the date of my birthday, my family gathered at my house with gifts and food. Even Gabriel’s dad showed up. I really couldn’t see how he was already leaving the memory of his son behind. But I wasn’t given much time to think about it. I was expected to receive the guests with warm welcoming hugs and a relaxed smile. I felt like a corroded robot, doing everything tensely.



I tried to enjoy myself, forcing a smile every now and then, hoping every time that for once I actually felt like smiling at people again. I couldn’t stand to be in the dinning room with my family, so I went to the kitchen to serve plates. In a few minutes, I heard laughter roaring from the other room. I briefly wondered why they were laughing, but I ignored it. Then my mother came into the kitchen, and she offered to help me serve. I asked her why she was laughing, she said my brother was reading jokes off some papers he had printed from the computer. Jokes.



I walked into the dinning room, set plates on the table and was about to leave when my brother said, “Hey Lupe! Here’s a joke for you.” Oh no. Not right now… “What kind of tater is the one that never seems to participate, but is just content watching while others do everything?” I pretended I thought for a second then shrugged. “Spec Taters!!” He said. Everyone roared in laughter again. I on the other hand only forced a smile.



“Wait, wait, here’s another one.” My brother said just as I was turning to leave. “There are those taters that say they will help but somehow they just never get around to actually doing the promised help. Do you know what they are?” Again I pretended to think and again I shrugged. I didn’t care. I just wanted to get out of there. “Those are Hezzie Taters!” More laughter, even from Gabriel’s dad. That was like a blow to the face. According to what my brother had just said, I was a “Hezzie Tater”, since I didn’t help Gabriel when he needed it the most. My smile vanished as I remembered.



My brother didn’t seem to notice my somber expression, because he continued. “Did you hear about the taters that never do anything to help but are gifted at finding fault with the way others do things?” Everyone shook their head except me. “They are Comment Taters!” More laughter. But I was angry. It was an insult. I was getting ready to walk over to him and give him a piece of my mind when my brother said something else.



“And how about the ones that are very bossy and like to tell others what to do but don’t want to get their hands dirty?” I waited like everyone else to hear what other hurtful thing he had to say. “Dick Taters!” Everyone laughed and banged their hands on their knees and table. And me? Well, I was off at the corner shaking my head and biting my lip, trying really hard not to smile. But I couldn’t resist. I just had to give him credit for that one. And so I allowed myself to laugh. I felt good, to laugh even a little bit, after so long.



I managed to relax around the people at my house that day. Little by little that night I laughed more and more. I began to remember silly jokes I had heard a while back and so I told them. Hearing people laugh made me smile too.



At some point that evening, I had a chance to talk to Gabriel’s dad. He didn’t really seem to be grieving his loss, but I didn’t ask why because I didn’t want to sound rude. He asked if he could see Gabriel’s drum set. So I guided him to the garage. Once there, he behaved like I had the last couple of months; keeping his distance from the kit, and looking at the seat behind the drums. Then he did something I hadn’t done in a long time; he walked over to the kit and touched one of the cymbals. The metallic sound I heard made me shiver.



“Have you been using it?” he asked. There was nothing cruel about how he said it.



“No.” I replied.



He turned to me. “Why not?”



His question took me by surprise. “Uh… well, I don’t know. The drums, I mean. I don’t know how to play the drums.”



“That’s no excuse,” he said. Then smiled. “Why don't you make up your own beat?”



I was stunned. I had nothing to say so I nodded. I was volunteered to sit behind the drum set. Since Gabriel was a lot taller than me, I had to rearrange the closeness and height of the drums and the seat before I could even begin to consider playing. When it was all done, I placed my foot over the bass drum beater attached to a pedal and stepped on it. I felt the beat of the low pitched sound in my chest, like a heartbeat. It was a familiar feeling; when Gabriel used to practice his bass drum beating abilities, I could feel the beat in my chest, like if the drum and my heart were going at the same speed and rhythm.



After a few minutes, I promised Gabriel’s dad that I would continue to practice drumming. Then he asked me another question. He asked, how come I had been somber when my brother had been joking with the taters. I told him about what I had thought. He told me that it was not that I was a “Hezzie Tater”, it was just that there was nothing I could have done to save Gabriel. I hadn’t had a weapon to threaten the intruders, and even if I had somehow managed to help my friend, the intruders would have come back later that month to settle scores with The Spot owner. I saw his point of view.



I know it’s a little sickening to have knowledge that I was in a way grateful Gabriel had died, but here is the thing. I mentioned before that I rather see him happy than serious or sad. I meant it. If Gabriel’s dad had taken the bullet and died, I know that despite not acting like a human for the most part, Gabriel would have been human enough to be sad and suffer. The same situation applied if I were the one that had taken the bullet. I never wanted for him to be sad. I wanted him to smile. And so I’m grateful he died because he didn’t see anyone he loved die. It’s a strange thought to come across after much suffering, I know. But it made sense then, and it still makes sense now.



We went back to the dinning room where my brother was telling more jokes. People were crying with laughter, falling off chairs, leaning against each other… and they were all sober. Laughing and joking around made me feel guilty at first, because I was having fun when my friend was dead, but then I came to a realization.



That is what I want. When I die, that is how I want my loved ones to be, living their life, joking, partying, laughing, not crying and feeling miserable. Life was much too short to be wasting much time feeling blue. I don’t know what Gabe told me that night he died. I really don’t. I wish my listening skills had been active when I was so scared. But I have a feeling that if Gabriel knew he was going to die that day, he would have told me to not be sad or angry or feel miserable. Why? Because I knew just how much he disliked the image of me suffering.



One of my birthday gifts that year, was a unique one; it was a realization of something. A Birthday date is not about being a step closer to dying or getting older so one can do what they want; its about living life at the fullest and learning from each and every experience. Its about making a rhythm, a beat that you are comfortable with following in order to live this life. All this hit me the date of my Birthday. And it took going through the death of a dear friend to figure this out.



When a birthday date comes, one has a chance to look back at the past years that were lived, and then has a chance to celebrate those years along with the new one that’s starting. So I celebrated My Birthday date, thankful to Gabriel that he gave me an opportunity to live a little longer, for giving me time to spend with my family, friends, and pursuing a dream. And up to date, I still practice the drums, making up a beat I can follow to live my life, just like Gabriel did with his.