January

"So,"  Berenice announced.

"When I'm sixteen, I'm going to have long nails and a wig."

I looked at all seven years of her and smiled.  She plucked at the skin on my hands.

"Why is it so...loose?"  she asked.

"Don't make me get you."  I responded. 

The day that Lola died, I sang "You are the One" to her.  I am not a singer, but I always sang it to her when she was a baby.  I sang it to her on the last day, too.  Three days earlier, on the Sunday night when everything went wrong, when we saw the red spot on her eye that indicated that her blood wasn't clotting, I did something selfish.  That afternoon was the day before the first day of school.  I went out with my sister and brother in-law.  We went to foot acupressure and Vietnamese lunch.  It started storming horribly, and I didn't rush home.  Normally I did, because Lola hated storms.  They scared her to death.  I didn't rush home that day.  I let her stay at home, afraid.  

"TEACHERS:  do not walk your students in front of the school until further notice."  the announcement called.

My kids and I were walking through the interior front of the school when we saw a giant racoon walking around out front.  Casually.  In the light of the day.  I took pictures of it and texted my sister.

"Poor thing is probably hungry."  she responded.  

I took my kids to the trailer.  My mind started going in circles while they practiced their phonics.  I took out some cherry tomatoes and almonds that I had packed with my lunch and put them on a paper plate.  

"Keep doing what you're doing."  I said to the kids and ran around the side of the building.  I placed the plate by the dumpsters.  I didn't want to encounter a rabid racoon, but was hoping maybe he would drift away from the front of the school and snack a little.    While I ran back, I saw all of my kids on the patio of the trailer, watching and waving. 

The day my baby died, we gave her her favorite treat, these big breath bones that we gave her to keep her fresh.  She didn't eat them.  She walked around, burying them in the yard.  She used to do that with things that she really loved.  We were so scared, so unsure of what to do that day, but every part of what she did told us that something was very wrong.  Sometimes I have dreams that I made a mistake, that I killed my dog unnecessarily, but at least, when I wake up, I know it's not true.  Two nights ago, while I slept, I woke up because I heard Lola's toenails clicking, the noise she would make when she walked around the house.  Temple was in bed with us and either way, I knew it wasn't her.  The sound was different.  I miss my baby.  

I sat at my desk, reading our weekly Monday teacher announcements.

"TEACHERS:  do not feed wild or stray animals for the safety and security of our students and staff."

I felt my face get a little red, even though no one else was there.  

And then, I thought it might be the best thing to be called out for, picturing myself as Snow White with birds on my shoulders.  I was also glad they hadn't seen the new lizard that had moved into Steve's old moss-floored box in my trailer.  

2024

New year, new me.  Maybe, maybe not.  I hosted Christmas and New Year's Day at my house.  Put up the tree, cleaned everything.  I even put bright vintage lights outside on the porch.  I bought Alec, Temple and myself matching pajamas.  It was great getting half of December, off.  

For some reason, I feel uncomfortable saying that I miss Lola.  I feel like I am not allowed, because we have Temple now.  But, I miss her terribly.  I miss her face in the mornings.  I miss the way she waited for me in the window when I would come home from work.  I miss how she took over my half of the bed, pushing against me.  I miss her chill, when we would go outside and she would lay on her outside bed and I'd sit beside her.  I miss her smell.  

I worry that it sounds like I don't love Temple, but I do.  I feel guilty when I think of Lola while I look at Temple.  I am also not sure how to refer to my dogs.  I don't like calling Lola my "old dog", as if she doesn't exist any more.  Or calling Temple my "new dog", as if she is a replacement.  I speak vaguely of "my dog" when others speak of theirs, and I know they think I'm talking about Lola, because it was too painful for me to say that she died.  I need a term for it, but there isn't one.  

Work is busy.  I lost Rafael and Arecely, and they were replaced by five other kids.  I teach seven classes a day now with only thirty minutes of planning. I have a little extra time after my afternoon duty and I try to maximize it.  I want my lessons to be good, especially Intensive English.  

It got so cold here after the MLK holiday that we got an extra day off.  But, the Wednesday after, it was twelve degrees when I left for work and they made us come in anyway, around seven in the morning.  In the south, where people don't own winter clothing.  Where poor kids stand in the dark on unlit roads in hoodies, waiting a half an hour for the school bus.  I didn't agree with it, but obviously went in to work.  I signed in, then ran to my trailer to heat it up.   My morning phonics kids didn't even come to school, so I sat in the trailer, figuring out my day.  I heard a knock at the door.

"Eduardo!"  I exclaimed, grabbing him into the trailer.
He was all bundled up.  
"I am the only one who has to go to school today!"  he howled.  His mom was letting his little sisters stay home, because it was too cold.  We talked.  How was middle school.  How were the other kids from last year.  How was he.  I showed him pictures of Temple, still thinking of the last time he stopped by when I burst into tears because Lola had just died.  

"You look happy."  he told me, and smiled.