Her teacher’s criticism rang so true, it was an arrow piercing the center of the target
“All endings are really beginnings.” Abuelita’s voice was scratchy, thin like parchment paper, her breath shallow and slow. She reached a shriveled hand out to Margalit, which the girl took in her own. Abuelita said no more, but for a moment Margalit imagined that her great-great-grandmother’s eyes were clear and bright once again, instead of cloudy with age and cataracts. Once, they had been as blue as the sea. All too soon, though, she closed them, and her hand slipped from Margalit’s. Abuelita’s breathing slowed and then stopped.
Was this it? Was she… gone?
Margalit looked down at her palm. There was a key resting there, so small and slight she hadn’t even felt Abuelita place it there.
It was a key Margalit had never seen before. Staring at it now, she wondered if Abuelita had really just left it there a second ago. It seemed impossible. But also very possible, knowing Abuelita. Margalit had no idea what it was for.
But she could barely see it anyway, through the tears crowding her eyes. She stuffed the key into her pocket, and called for her father, her mother, her aunts, anyone.
Create a free account to keep reading.
