Email from Matt in Mexico

Yo,

We made it to PV last night and met up with Cait after 9hrs on the bus. It's 930am now and we are going to take a cab up the coast and see what happens. Ok bye.

The Bleeding Has Stopped

I did a nice job on my finger this morning. I cut three pieces of gauze and wrapped them around my finger and then taped the gauze to my finger. It was the first time I saw the cut since the accident. I wondered if I should have gone to the emergency room when it happened. I was glad the injured finger was on my lefthand. Around here you have to bandage your own wounds.

This Boy Is Dead

Ben Bauer, age four years 11 months, lies still in a small silk lined casket, dead from meningitis. His hair neatly combed, his hands folded, his eyes closed. Above him float foil balloons tied with colored ribbons and decorated with cartoons; 101 Dalmatians, Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers, The Lion King, more balloons than Ben ever owned when he was alive.

His twin sister, Ashley, plays at the foot of his casket. She waves to grief stricken relatives and smiles. They smile. Her father gets up from his seat and takes her by the hand. It is impossible to understand his pain. Her mother shepherds her to a table with Ben’s collections of rocks and toy cars. Her mother is thin and frail and dressed in a faded, green dress. Her eyes are red and swollen. She tends to her daughter, guides her from here to there, cares for her and smiles, loses herself in her daughter, sits down, closes her eyes, rests, and realizes her son is dead. This is a nightmare that will never end. The boy she bore will always be dead, and she will have to live.

A hired preacher stands beside the casket, behind a podium, holding a bible, reciting the 23rd psalm. Afterwards he speaks of children as small gifts, as rays of sunshine, as vapor, and only once calls Ben by the wrong name.

After the service, in front of the funeral parlor, Ben’s sister walks up to me and says.

“I’m in Miss Vega’s class, and Ben is in Miss Taylor’s class.”

She is small. I put my hand on her shoulder and smile weakly. “Yes, I know,” I say and wonder when she will understand what this day means?