Loss

Two weeks later Regina descended on the Alarcon household. Maria Teresa answered the door, and the woman strutted in.

"Where is that little monster!" She growled.

"Excuse me?" said Marcus's mother in outrage.

Marcus was upstairs, peering over the side of the banister. As soon as he saw who it was, he rushed downstairs. "Tia Regina, what's wrong?" he asked anxiously.

Regina answered him with a slap to the face. The impact knocked Marcus to the floor.

Maria Teresa slapped her back, screaming, "Bruja loco! Whore! Sacate de mi casa! Don't you dare touch my son!"

Howling in rage, Regina flung herself towards Marcus, but his mother held her back. Tochtli started crying in the other room. Teresa Maria joined her twin. Marcus realized vaguely he was shouting.

"What did I do! Que hice?" He was shocked, angry, scared, he didn't know what. His pulse pounded in his ears. They've found out, was all he could think.

"Because of you my nephew is dead!" Regina screamed at him. Suddenly she collapsed. Maria half-carried, half-shoved the woman out the door, but Marcus pulled her back.

"What?" Marcus asked, voice trembling. He sank to the floor with Regina. Vaguely he noticed the woman's mascara running, her lipstick smudged.

"Marcus, who is this woman? What's going on?" Maria demanded.

"Diego is dead," Regina sobbed. Marcus held her, headless of the howls, the fists she drummed on his back, pounding over and over again, almost out of reflex.

Tears are a strange thing. They're meant to cleanse the eyes, but for a small moment they make everything harder to see. Wet trickled down Marcus's cheeks. He didn't know if they were Regina's tears, or his own.

A moment later Maria was leading them both gently into the living room. She offered them both drinks, a wet rag for Regina's face. Regina wiped all of her makeup off, laughing between choked sobs.

"I'm sorry," she said to Maria, "You must think I'm crazy, barging in and attacking your son. I'm a passionate woman, I know. I know it's not his fault, not really."

Marcus sat curled on the couch, half-listening, half dreaming.

"You're Diego's aunt? What happened? Why do you think my son is involved?"

Regina handed over a note, which Maria Teresa read wordlessly.

"I found him this morning ha-hanging," she stumbled, "in his closet. He'd left this note under my door, but by the time I'd seen it... he was already gone." She laughed again, bitter, harsh. "I feel like I'm the only one mourning him. His father said nothing, only asked when breakfast would be served. His mother's been missing for years. I was the only one he had, and..." Regina glanced at Marcus, "I know he had some friends."

"Marcus, this note says that you kissed that boy?" Maria Teresa went on, uncomprehending.

Marcus said nothing.

"Marcus, answer your mother when I'm talking to you!" Maria Teresa said, shouting.

Instead it was Regina again that spoke. "Diego told me maybe a couple months ago about his affliction. I tried my best to help him. I tried to keep him pure, long before he said anything. I thought something like this would happen."

Maria Teresa rounded on her. "Something like two boys falling in love? What a shame that would have been, eh? Grand work you did, mujer, driving them apart. Now no one will have Diego! You made sure of that! If anyone's responsible for his death, it's you!"

Regina stood quickly, face red, but Marcus rushed between them. "Momma, she's upset. She just lost someone dear to her." He turned to Diego's aunt. "I'm sorry, tia. You know I'd never hurt Diego. Tia, I'm sorry."

Regina's face lost it's color gradually. Clutching her bag, she stammered, "I've got to go," and she practically ran out the door. A moment later they heard her car peeling away.

The funeral was at the end of the week. Family only. Carnation bouquets. Regina made regular calls, keeping Marcus updated.

Maria Teresa asked her son if he wanted to visit the graveyard on the day of the funeral, maybe watch from afar, but he only shook his head. Instead, he went to the hummingbird. The streets were crowded, loud and painfully cheerful, the sun was shining its fire on his back, sticking his clothes to his skin like mud, and dust choked his throat. When he finally came to the spot, he almost didn't recognize it.

The wall had been whitewashed. The jaguar, his family, the boat, the girl, the hummingbird, it had all been stripped away and laid bare, a desert of empty walls.

Colibrí was gone.