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Anniversaries are difficult with trauma. The best thing ever could happen, but if your dad died a year ago to the date? Or, even worse, if you died exactly a year ago? It’s no longer the best thing ever.
So Manolo was having a tough time.
“Mi amor,” she said, noticing Manolo, “are you okay?”
He looked up. Let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “María.”
“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to…” She started walking towards him, comforting hand outstretched.
He leaned into her touch, head resting on her shoulder like it was designed to be there. “I have no choice.”
This time, it was María’s turn to sigh. “Manolo…”
He shrugged himself off of her, careful to leave their hands intertwined.
“It’s only been a year… everyone will understand if you don’t want to fight.”
“All the more reason I need to.” Her eyes were so beautiful, Manolo thought. He’d do anything to see them again, even die. He had died to see them again. He looked up.
“Manolo?” she said again, sounding almost worried. Maybe she was. He wasn’t sure.
“I’m okay.” It would be okay.
“I’m worried about you,” she began. “You haven’t been yourself since you agreed to-”
Manolo’s throat felt tight all of the sudden, as if there wasn’t enough air in the room. He needed to sit down. Why couldn’t he move?
María looked up suddenly, past Manolo. “Hola, cariño. How was training?”
He sat down.
“The new recruits look… promising.” That was Joaquín’s voice. He was back from coaching soldiers. So it was evening. When did it get to be evening? “Buenas noches, Manolo.”
Oh. Someone kissed him on the cheek. Probably his husband. “I’m going to bed.”
“Are you alright?”
“Fine.”
“How was your day?”
“Joaquín…” That was María.
“Buenas noches, amor.”
Manolo stood up, eyes downward, and made his way to their bed. He honestly wasn’t sure how he made it there; it was as if his legs carried him without thinking.
By the time he awoke, it had to be the middle of the night, but his spouses were nowhere to be seen. There was some light in the sala, and Joaquín and María were speaking in hushed voices. Manolo rolled over and pulled the blankets up. They’d come to bed soon.
“He’s not ready, cielo,” María said. “You know that.”
“But it could give him some closure! He needs to go.”
Manolo could practically feel the glare María was likely giving their husband. “What if he panics? Have you thought about that?”
“Amor…”
“You’ve been training soldiers! You haven’t seen him freeze… I can barely look at him; he just shuts down when anyone mentions his father.”
Manolo could feel a lump forming in his throat… should he go and get some water? No, not while they’re in the sala, talking about him.
Somebody sighed. Probably Joaquín. “I just want him to heal.”
He smiled. Such a good husband… On another day, he might be upset that they were talking about what’s good for him behind his back, but today, he was too tired. It’s nice that they care at all. Going back to bed sounded like a good idea about now… Getting water could wait.
“You know what? It’s been a long day, and you have to train in the morning.”
“You’re right. I’m going to read a little before bed, okay? Buenas noches, María.”
“Good night, my love.”
Manolo sunk back onto the pillows as María’s silhouette appeared in the doorway. He closed his eyes.
“Oh God, Manolo, have you been awake this whole time?”
Manolo felt the bed shift next to him. “No,” he mumbled.
“Honey, I’m so sorry…” She was touching his face by now, and her knee was pressing against his stomach through the blanket, her cold fingertips tracing along his jaw. He didn’t mean to flinch; it was just the cold. He swore.
“‘s fine.” He didn’t want to think about the bullfight, not this late at night.
“It’s really not.” Her weight shifted again. “Joaquín? He’s awake.”
There was a sigh from the sala. “Shit.” The sofa groaned. “I’m coming.”
“Can we do this in the morning? Please?”
“Manolo, you know we’ll support you, whether or not you choose to fight,” said Joaquín, shuffling across the bed to sit up next to his husband. “If you’re not ready, everybody will understa-”
“I’m going to bed now. Buenas noches, amores.”
“Honey, please, let’s talk!”
Manolo blew out the candle and sunk back onto the bed. He just wanted to sleep.
Fortunately, neither María nor Joaquín argued any further; they just crawled under the covers, María in the middle with her husbands on either side, and they lied in uncomfortable silence until sleep reached them.
The next time Manolo woke, only Joaquín was absent, having left before sunrise to start training. María, ever the heavy sleeper, was snoring softly next to Manolo, so he quietly slipped out of bed and to the patio to start making breakfast.
Thoughts of the quickly-approaching bullfight crept into his head, but he pushed them away. One day at a timeーthat was how he had to take things. Dia de Los Muertos isn’t for another three days, and he’ll tackle that day, that day. Right now, finding where María put the corn husks for tamales was more important.
“Good morning, honey. Are you hungry?”
María took the tamale Manolo offered her wordlessly and started unwrapping the corn husk. He did the same, taking a seat at the table.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, then María finally spoke up. “Are we going to talk about last night?”
“I’m going to do it.”
She took a deep breath, as if biding her time before responding. “Then I’ll support you.”
They finished the rest of their meal in silence, after which Manolo started washing dishes. María went back inside to get dressed.
“You look beautiful.” He set down a dried plate.
She smiled. It made her more beautiful. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m okay. I love you.”
“Te amó, Manolo.”
Even thought the last two weeks had been a blur, the hours before the bullfight crawled by. He stood up, brushed off his traje de luces, paced, and sat back down. He double- and triple-checked that his swords were sharp enough, that his shoes weren’t too tight… everything.
“Honey, are you okay?”
“Fine.” He wasn’t, really; his shoes were clicking on the ground at a mile a minute, and his hands were quivering.
“I just…” He took a breath, steadying himself. “Is this what my dad felt like, every time he was waiting for the picadores to finish?”
María took his hand. “Anxiety is normal. It’ll be okay.”
“Maybe this is a bad idea. Joaquín didn’t want me to anyways; he’s my husband… What kind of spouse am I if I don’t listen to him?”
“You’re married, not sharing a brain. It’ll be okay.”
“I love him, though. I shouldn’t be doing this; I shouldn’t have fought with him. I need to tell them to stop the fight-” His breath had quickened and his vision was getting fuzzy around the edges. Oh, god…
“It will be okay.” She had said it twice before, and yet he wasn’t sure he could believe her. He hoped it’d be okay, at the very least. But he had never been on this side of the arena, always in the stands to watch his dad fight instead of fighting himself. His dad was dead now, though, and he was the last Sánchez man. Who comforted his dad before fights? Maybe Mamá in the beginning… Maybe he just never got nervous. That made sense.
The tent flap was making noise. He looked over.
“Manolo?” said a picadorーCarlosーstepping inside. “It’s time.”
Manolo nodded and stood up, suddenly dizzy. Somebody’s hand brushed his. It was María, handing him his swords. They were beautifulーalmost as pretty as Maríaーwith delicate swirls carved into the blades. Did they belong to his dad? He couldn’t remember. Probably. His dad had special swords for the fight on Dia de Los Muertos… which was today. He was taking his dad’s place, since Papá was… dead. Oh.
“You got this.” That was his wife’s voice. He loved her so, so much.
“Gracias, María.” He hoped she couldn’t hear the quiver in his voice as he started towards the tent’s exit. The crowd was envigorated, cheering almost loud enough to drown out the pounding of his heart. The bull was bleeding badly, but he didn’t immediately move towards Manolo. Good. He had more time to look through the stands, to try to find Joaquín. The stadium was so crowded, though, and so loud . Maybe Joaquín wasn’t there… He really hoped that wasn’t the case.
Even though his panic about the bullfight had settled over his chest weeks ago, muscle memory didn’t kick in until the bull was actually charging towards him.
He looked the bull dead in the eyes and flicked the cape. “Andele, toro!”
It was barreling towards him. The bull would hit him any second now. He needed to step to the side soon, but it was like his feet were frozen. A foot to the left and another cape flip, that’s all it’d take. He could hear the hooves of the bull thundering, and they were getting louder, but it sounded as if everything was underwater. Why was that? Why couldn’t he move ?
Something hurt. Was it his stomach? It was hard to tell, because he kinda felt like his limbs weren’t attached to his body. He pressed his fingers to his stomach and screamed.
Oh.
He was on the ground. He was on the ground and his hands were bloody and his stomach hurt . What happened? The sun was really bright, but someone leaned over him and blocked it out. María. She was saying something, he knew, because her lips were moving, but he couldn’t tell what.
“-nolo, cielo… Can you hear me?”
“María.”
“Yes, it’s me, honey. Joaquín’s coming, Manolo; we’re going to get you a doctor. You have to stay awake for me, though, okay?”
“Sí, claro.”
“Oh, god, there’s a lot of blood. I’m going to put my hand on it, okay?” What was it? He didn’t know.
María stacked her palms and pressed them onto his stomach. That was it. Was he screaming? Who could tell.
“It’s going to be okay, amor. You’re going to be okay.” He didn’t know who she was consoling, but it didn’t matter.
At some point, he felt himself being lifted up and pressed to someone’s chest.
“Don’t worry, Manolo. I’ve got you. We’re going to get you help.” That was Joaquín. He could relax, then. Nothing bad could happen in his husband’s arms. “María, please run ahead and tell the doctor we’re on our way… He’s falling asleep.”
“I don’t want to leave himー”
“I’m right behind you!” They were running now, and there were people yelling. It didn’t matter. He was too tired to care. “Hurry!”
Being carried through town really hurt, no matter how gentle Joaquín was trying to be. His stomach was practically on fire, but it felt sticky when he went to touch it, so he didn’t.
“We’re almost there, mi amor. You just have to hold on for a little longer.”
“Manolo, you said?” said an unfamiliar voice.
“Yes.” María . “He was in the ring and just... froze.”
“Ay... Not good.” The voice sighed. “Bring him in.”
Manolo was being put on a table, he thought. It was cold, probably because his skin was touching the table. When did his traje come off? It was really handsome, his spouses said, and it’d be a shame to ruin it. Or lose it.
None of that mattered, though, because somebody pressed on his stomach like he had tried to do earlier. He screamed.
“Babe, you have to stay still.” Maybe Joaquín was the one squeezing his hand, then. His hands were so rough and calloused from training, especially compared to how soft María’s were.
“Manolo, this may hurt a bit. I need to stitch the wound.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Senorita, would you please hold him down?”
María put a hand on his bare shoulder. Her hands were just as soft as the last time he felt them, in the tent before the fight. That time, she didn’t look quite so scared. She was still beautiful, though.
The voice pinched his stomach, prompting more screaming just before everything went black.
He blinked once, twice. Light was streaming in through a window, and he could feel a blanket over his legs. He exhaled. Ouch.
“Manolo?”
He smiled. “María.”
“Oh, you’re finally awake. I was worried.” She looked over and gently nudged Joaquin, who had fallen asleep holding his hand.
“Huh? What? Is he okay?” He looked over. “Manolo! Mi amor!”
Another smile was in order. “Hi.”
“I, uh, I’m really glad you’re awake, Manolo. I didn’t know what I was going to do if I lost you.” Joaquín smiled. He had a gorgeous smile.
“I love you.” He looked over to María. “I love both of you.”
It was going to be okay.
It was going to be okay.