Doll of Mine (A Dia de los Muertos Story) by Lila Felix

Author:Lila Felix [Felix, Lila]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rebel Writer Productions, LLC
Published: 2014-10-31T00:00:00+00:00

THREE

That night, Lucia went with Alma to the celebrations, travelling with her in the backpack. Decorating her father’s grave and partaking in the feast she and her mother had so lovingly prepared took up most of the night. Though it kept her busy, she couldn’t help but have her attentions pulled again and again by the prize resting against her back.

When they’d arrived home, Alma waited most impatiently for her mother to go to sleep before she dug into her bag. The rest of the night was spent getting Lucia back to her former glory. A night inside a back hadn’t done well for the girl’s looks.

Alma took care to brush Lucia’s hair, making it resemble its former glory. She straightened Lucia’s lovely hands and apron. She replaced the doll’s shoes and the ribbon in her hair, then flattened the dainty collar on her dress to a primped fold. Alma even took the liberty of fluffing the doll’s dress.

“There. I’m sorry for today. I didn’t mean to bump you around so much.”

Alma’s mother left early the next morning to begin the celebrations, but Alma was not expected to participate. One day was enough for her. Lucia was set on the bed, tucked into the blankets. The doll’s face seemed to have brightened since the night before. Instead of worrying over it, she lit the candles on her father’s altar and made herself a simple breakfast of eggs over rice. She spoke to her father’s image while she ate, telling him so many things that she was afraid to tell her mother—afraid it would upset her further.

“People treated me differently after you died. We lost a lot. Mom has to work all the time and she even makes dresses on the side. I have to work and I can’t go to college anymore. The money went to pay for the funeral. I’m not mad, Papá. I just miss you.”

Alma cleaned the house for the rest of the day and worked through all of her mother’s silly rituals out of respect when her mother came back. She looked weary and took a seat at the table. Looking around the small home, she praised Alma—until she saw the bed.

“Babosa! What have you done?”

Alma could see that her mother’s eyes were on Lucia. She had two choices. Alma could lie to her mother or she could tell the truth and face the wrath.

She’d learned at a young age that her mother knew the truth most times anyway, and the azotes that followed drove the point home—don’t lie to your mother.

“She was from the island. I couldn’t help it.”

“You think you can just take something and it’s okay, Tontita? People from around here don’t visit that place for a reason!”

Alma trembled under the rebuking from her mother. “But he said if I bring it back before tonight, it will be fine.”

Every drop of blood rushed from Carmelita’s face and she turned in her seat. “Quien, mija? Who told you that?”

“The man. I saw him in the market and then on the island.

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