I am having hard trying to find an audience to draw criticism from. Any comments would be greatly appreciated!
Chapter 1
The morning sun beamed through the tarnished, dusty blinds, as the sounds of whizzing cars cascaded through Fernando’s sleepy ears like a speeding train. It was eight o’ clock in Mexico City. The dust particles flew around the warm room, as the smell of crackling chorizo sausage seeped under the door and into the pores of the cracked drywall. Fernando threw himself off of his stained mattress, and into his tiny kitchen. His Mother was shouting something about their new life. He couldn’t understand her, but her words bounced off the inside of his ears with an eminent disregard for explanation. Life in Mexico was difficult. Fernando’s father: Lorenzo, having spent his entire life under the scrutiny of a higher rank, hoped to one day leave it all and start new in America. He worked every day at the meat processing plant, and would always lecture Fernando about the opportunities and freedoms that they would one day enjoy in the United States. However, Fernando knew that his father was a man of great dreams, and shallow perceptions. Fernando grabbed a piece of chorizo, and his lucky blue hat, before flying down the carpeted stairs, and through the dimly lit lobby of his apartment complex. Fernando was greeted by the morning sun, and it warmed his face as he ran down the sidewalk. Quickly, he rushed down an alley, up a flight of green steel stairs, and through a bright red door. “Good Morning papi,” he said as he entered a freezing room that smelt of musky cologne and rust. “What are you trying to kill your papi? Shut that damn door” He threw his feet out of bed, took two red pills that were laying on his wobbly nightstand, and took a swig of cold water. Papi was approaching his 75th birthday, and walked with a long wooden cane, crimson beret, and his lucky harmonica. Fernando loved it when Papi played his harmonica. As a small child, he would sit with his papi on his small apartment balcony and listen to Papi play as the sounds serenaded the sun as it set behind silhouetted city buildings, and kissed the thick smoke of grilled meats being prepared by street vendors on the strip. “It’s times like these that I wish I was back in the states. Can’t even get a decent cane here” Fernando helped Papi out of his room, and into a hard wooden chair in the adjacent kitchen. Heat was radiating off of the black pavement outside, and the sound of car horns was prominent over all others. “You know, it wasn’t always like this. There was a time when I didn’t worry about growing old. When I was about your age, I could get a gig in any nightclub in Texas.” “Yes Papi, I know,” said Fernando. “Can we start the lesson now?” Papi whipped out his lucky harmonica and rolled his chapped lips over the cold, smooth steel. He licked his lips, subsequently pouring out a complex harmonica solo. It was always a spectacle when Papi played his harmonica. Everything he played was steeped in passion, and molded through his personal experiences. Fernando sat in awe as he watched his grandfather play. Fernando played a few squeaky and disorderly notes. Papi laughed, and turned the harmonica around. “You’ve got it backwards son.” “I knew that Papi. I was testing you.” The two sat for hours exchanging their company with one another. It was not too long before they would be in a new land. Lorenzo stared out of his papi’s dusty barred window, and watched brown faces pour in and out of tall white buildings, and down the hot pavement. He closed his eyes and continued to play his harmonica.
The dinner table was silent that night, filled with nothing but the gentle hum that Lorenzo made after every bite of his roast. There was a delayed anticipation in the air. They were waiting for the phone to ring all night. For 3 months, they had been waiting for their paperwork to go through. For 3 months, they all had the same queasiness in the pit of their stomachs. That kind of queasiness that is never quite settled, until you know everything is going to be alright. They sat quietly, hardly uttering a single word, except for the occasional request to pass the red beans. “Why haven’t they called yet?” asked Fernando. Lorenzo shuffled his thoughts trying to find the right answer, but could only mutter an “I don’t know,” followed by a loud sigh. The white Hewlett Packard telephone clung to the stained, rotted drywall all night without making a single peep.
Chapter 2
“Get up You is going to be late for school” Fernando looked at his clock. 8:15. Lorenzo grabbed his blue hat, kissed his poor mother on the cheek, and ran out the door. As he darted down the street, he noticed how beautiful the long Spanish moss’ were. Fernando saw his Papi sitting on the balcony, and he waved. “Ola Papi” “Get your ass movin boy, your gonna be late for school” Fernando could hear the captivating melodies of his papi’s harmonica as he continued his pursuit to school. He made it to school right before the dreaded toll of the bell. He sat down next to his best friend: Christopher. “Did you hear?” “No. Hear what?” “Mrs. Tuppolo is dead. They found her this morning in her house keeled over in her oatmeal” “What happened?” “Heart attack. She tried calling the ambulances but they were too late.” Fernando sat in silence for a few minutes. This teacher who taught him how to count, and write, and to be a good person, and share with others is now dead.
Chapter 2
“Get up You is going to be late for school” Fernando looked at his clock. 8:15. Lorenzo grabbed his blue hat, kissed his poor mother on the cheek, and ran out the door. As he darted down the street, he noticed how beautiful the long Spanish moss’ were. Fernando saw his Papi sitting on the balcony, and he waved. “Ola Papi” “Get your ass movin boy, your gonna be late for school” Fernando could hear the captivating melodies of his papi’s harmonica as he continued his pursuit to school. He made it to school right before the dreaded toll of the bell. He sat down next to his best friend: Christopher. “Did you hear?” “No. Hear what?” “Mrs. Tuppolo is dead. They found her this morning in her house keeled over in her oatmeal” “What happened?” “Heart attack. She tried calling the ambulances but they were too late.” Fernando sat in silence for a few minutes. This teacher who taught him how to count, and write, and to be a good person, and share with others is now dead.
