THE MERCHANDISING

I started at the new school, just three months before my sixth birthday. I prayed and prayed so hard that Pablo was in the same class as me, in the first grade. Later, we learned that his parents had talked to the principal of the new school and convinced her to put us together.

Thanks to some friends who came from the new school, my fame as a brave boy and my friendship with Pablo was spread all over the new school, so that no one messed with either of us, and many others came to make friends with us, and we formed a group. This all continued when we were in the second year. Well... until the middle of the second year.

Three months and a few days after my 7th birthday, suddenly mamá felt a strong headache. So bad that she fell to the floor, writhing in pain, and grabbing her head with her hands. Mamá was moaning and screaming, writhing on the floor.

I took her cell phone and called 911, and the ambulance arrived quickly, again. When we were at the hospital, I called the Mendonza's, who went there with me to talk to the doctors. One of them, was the same doctor who was there at the first mamá crisis. So, since he already knew what had happened to her before, he repeated the tests in his head, and in a short time he had the diagnosis in hand.

After the Mendoza talked to him, the same woman who had talked to me the other time, came to meet me in the waiting room. But this time, there was another woman with her. This other woman was a doctor, and she introduced herself as a psychologist. I don't remember her name. Nor the social worker, who was talking to me for the second time.

“Look, Hellen…” the social worker began to speak, after having greeted me. “Your mamá's situation seems to be worse now than it was the last time you were here.”

“What do you mean?” I felt my body begin to tremble. I was afraid of what she was going to say.

“She will have to stay here in the hospital.” the psychologist answered. “Do you have somewhere to go? Do you have someone to stay with?”

“You can stay with us if you want, Hellen.” Mrs. Mendonza said, before I could answer.

“I'd like to stay with my mamá.” Everyone looked at me, and from the looks on their faces, they seemed to think that I didn't understand what was going on. “Here in the hospital.” I added, so that they would understand.

“Look, Hellen…”

“Doesn't my mamá have the right to a companion?” interrupted the psychologist. “I have no other relatives nearby. My mamá was born in France, she was an only child, and my abuelos died in a car accident when she was twenty-two. She decided to come to Spain and married my papa, less than a year after she arrived here, according to her. And she says that papá went to work in another country, not knowing that she was pregnant. Mamá has started working since papá traveled.”

The psychologist and the social worker looked at each other, asked me to excuse them, and left for a few minutes. The Mendonza's repeated their offer for me to stay with them while mamá went for treatment, but I repeated that I wanted to stay with mamá, even if it was in the hospital.

“Hellen, do you know your papá's name?” the social worker asked when the two returned.

“Diego Hernandez. It's on my birth certificate.”

“All right. We'll try to find him, okay?” I nod to her. “We'll let you accompany your mamá for a few days. If all goes well, we'll let you stay until we find your papá. Once we find him, you'll have to stay with him.”

“But I don't even know him…”

“Still, you'll have to stay with him.” the psychologist replied. “A hospital is no place for children to be escorted, Hellen. There's a lot of ugly stuff going on in here. Things a child should never have to witness.”

“But if mom were at home and one of these things happened, wouldn't I see it? And if it happened to me, would I be living one of those things that I shouldn't witness?”

“It's okay, Hellen. We will look for your papá, and when we find him, you will have some time to get used to him, okay? You will spend a few hours a day with him until you get used to him, before you move in with him, is that okay?” the psychologist asks, while the social worker hides her laughter.

“But... what if I don't get used to him?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Then we'll have to find another solution.”

“But I've already given the solution. I want to stay with my mamá! I can stay as her escort.”

“Let's see, shall we?”

The days went by, and mamá started the whole treatment again. I found out that she wasn't shaving her head, because her hair stayed on her pillow every night. One day, I took some of her hair from the pillow and put it in my purse without anyone seeing. I promised myself that when I grew up, I would have a doll made from her hair. I didn't even know why it had crossed my mind.

Mamá was totally bald again, and her hair was not growing back when I turned eight... and she had not been released from the hospital, either. But the nurses brought me a cake, with a candle and candies and snacks. They sang Happy Birthday to me, them and the doctors. It was very nice.

That day, mamá was looking better. But it didn't last long. Three or four days later, they put a tube in my mamá's mouth, and explained to me that it was so that she could breathe better, because she had pneumonia. They also said that this was normal, as the chemo she was taking was causing her immunity to weaken.

It took over a month for them to remove the tube from my mamá's mouth. I didn't see it put in, and I didn't see it taken out. During these two procedures, one of the nurses took me to the hospital cafeteria to have a soda, and to talk to me for a while.

“Why are you taking me out of here?”

“So you can get some fresh air and sunshine... and a soda, too.” she smiled at me, and I smiled back at her.

While I was in the hospital, accompanying my mamá, my mamá didn't always eat her food, so I would save it for me and her to eat later, because sometimes I got hungry at times when no one brought food, or a snack.

Several months passed, until the psychologist came to talk to me in my mamá's room.

“Are you alone? Where is the social worker?” I asked.

“I don't need her to come with me, Hellen.” she smiled at me. “Actually, she's the one who needs me to accompany her sometimes.”

“Oh... you came to tell me that you found my father?” I looked at her suspiciously.

“We found your papá months ago, Hellen.”

“And why am I not spending time with him to get used to him?” I frowned at her.

“Because we think your mamá is more comfortable with you here.” I nodded, looking at my mamá, who was sleeping. “Hellen, I have something very serious to talk to you about.” I looked at her at this point. “The tests show that your mamá is not getting any better.”

“You are not going to stop her treatment, are you?”

“No, dear. She will continue to be treated. Do you remember what the social worker told you when your mamá fainted three years ago?”

“That my mamá had a little ball on her head. About the size of a dried pea. That the treatment at that time would work. And the doctor said that I couldn't remove it, that mamá could turn into a vegetable if something went wrong.”

“Well done!” she nods. “We found your papá, shortly after your mamá was admitted here, more than a year ago. But now, we need you to meet him.”

“But why now?”

“Because we don't know when you will have to move in with him.”

“But I don't want to have to move in with him! I don't want to leave Spain! I don't want to leave my mamá!”

“Honey, understand!” she took my hand in hers. My eyes filled with tears. “We don't know how long your mamá will be with us. As long as she is here, you can stay, no matter what. But when she is gone, you will have to go with him.”