Merry Christmas from A Dead Girl

I was only seven-years-old when I died. I won’t bother telling you my name, anyway. I am just one in a sea of nameless faces. I won’t be celebrating Christmas. I won’t be playing with dolls, or skipping rope anymore. I liked a boy in school, too. I used to think I would grow up to marry him. I never told him that though, I was shy down there on Earth. Oh well, there's a lot of things I won't be experiencing. I never even danced with a boy. I used to dream I was a princess and that I had a pretty dress. Daddy said, "I was his princess, and that when we got to America, he'd work hard, and buy me a dress, and that I could pick it out myself. Thinking of that dress made the walk a bit easier.

I know you might find it hard to believe coming from Guatemala, but I was just as human as you are, or your children. I remember Daddy telling me that day, that we were going to America. He talked a lot about it. He said, “America is a good place, and not to worry.”

I remember the day we left, walking north. When I grew tired, Daddy would tell me all about the good things in America. He told me about Popsicles. He told me about a man named Abraham Lincoln, and how he freed people called slaves, and that it meant so much to him, that they had a war over it. Then, he died. Some man shot him. I still haven’t seen him up here. I hope I do, he sounds like a nice man. I also really wanted to try a Popsicle, a cherry one. I like cherry.

I miss Daddy. See, I can see everything from up here. I wished Daddy would stop crying. He seems so alone since I died. They said, I died from dehydration, septic shock, and then my heart stopped. I’m not sure Daddy can hear me from here, but if he can, “Daddy, it isn’t your fault.”

See, Daddy always made sure I had a drink of water, sometimes; he wouldn’t drink any, just so I could have more. I lost my doll, on the way. If anyone finds it, please take care of her for me. It was the only toy, I ever had. Grandmother made it for me. My doll was excited to come to America, too. She didn’t need water, but sometimes I would pretend she did.

The closer we got to the border, the more I dreamed of my future. I always wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to help sick people. I wonder now, maybe… do people get a second chance. You know come back down there, a little wiser, and a better person than we were before? Wouldn’t that be cool? I’d still walk two-thousand miles with Daddy, and I’d still try to be a doctor, if I could come back.

The thing that bothers me the most, is thinking about Daddy. Who’s going to hold his hand on the walk back to Guatemala? See, he held my hand much of the way and he sang to me, and we laughed together. He didn’t get to hold my hand when I died though. They separated us. He was scared, I was scared, but no one would listen.

I can see Daddy from up here. There’s a winding dusty dirt road, and he’s walking south. His head is down. Sometimes, he stops along the road and falls to his knees, his face hidden in his hands. I never saw Daddy cry so much. Just because my heart stopped beating, doesn’t mean up here, that it doesn’t keep feeling.

Another thing up here, people are nice to each other. Guess what else is up here, too. Lots and lots of people, all different colors, all occupations, and the only gate up here is the one between good and bad. Sometimes, I see people up here looking down, and they shake their heads when they see people talking about walls, and sending people back to where they come from, and then in the next breath, they say, “Merry Christmas.” Daddy always, said, “Don’t be scared, they are all not like that.” 

There’s Daddy again, down below. I’m okay, Daddy, don’t cry, anymore.

I hope he somehow gets my message. Hey, if anyone is listening, can you do me a favor just in case, okay? If you see Daddy, tell him, I’m okay here, and that I want him to be strong. Oh, and one more thing, tell Daddy, “Merry Christmas for me.”

Author’s note:

A seven-year-old girl seeking a better life lost hers in the search for a better life. Today, she became a piece of my conscious, and hopefully, a piece of yours. Remember, what being seven-years-old was like for you, and, what kid at that age didn’t somehow manage to get that few extra minutes past their bedtime by saying, “I want a drink of water.”

Something, that simple and taken for granted, isn’t taken for granted by the desperate seeking a better life. Those dusty feet are the same everywhere on this planet. Some have just walked a lot further.

Ronnie Ray Jenkins from Planet Earth.

?2018 Ronnie Ray Jenkins

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