No Longer Comatose

The first time I saw her was definitely from across the dance floor.

Every year on Día De Los Muertos, the city ignites with celebrations all over the place. On the first day, the spirits of the deceased youth are reunited with their families, and most are out to celebrate lives well-lived, even if short. Bars such as the Hourglass are often open even after the first few streaks of dawn are painted onto the night sky.

The Hourglass is definitely one of — if not, the most— lively spot in the city on this particular Day of the Dead. Men wearing fancy hats and women with flowers braided elaborately into their hair dance in and out of sight, some blending in like a cloud at midnight and others standing out like a sore thumb.

Lively music blares from stereos, mixing with the laughter and conversations from those whom have ones to celebrate. The ones with nobody to miss, typically the ones rejected from their own families, stand in a corner with friends or random strangers —or both— and a glass of alcohol; they're only here for the drinks, anyway.

I order another drink from the rushed bartenders —a glass of Calimocho —red wine mixed with Coca Cola. Taking a sip of the dark liquid and smudging my intricate sugar skull makeup, I set my gaze back onto the dance floor.

That was when I saw her.

At first, she's nothing more than a blur of red and orange. She dances in and out of my vision like a shadow, disappearing into the crowd one second and jumping out of the blue the next. Although playful in her steps, she has just enough mystery in her smile to keep me hooked. There was no other way to put it; she was beautiful. 

I don't realize how long I've been staring until we make eye contact and she heads in my direction. And maybe I had a little too much to drink, but I swear that I see a speck of lust in her chocolate eyes.

"¿Te invito a tomar algo, señora?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Please, do," she giggles. I call the bartender over again, asking for a Rebujito for each of us, as I just finished my previous drink. I'm again amazed by how quickly we're served; the business is rather fast for such a busy place.

"Would you like to take this outside?" The girl asks. I nod, leaving a wad of cash on my barstool and leaving with her.

The Hourglass is located in the heart of the city, where it's usually liveliest, especially on this night. I let the girl pick out where we're headed, as I'm not particularly picky— especially with such attractive company. Minutes later, we arrive at the cemetery.

It's certainly an odd choice of location on her part, but I let her guide me to a particular grave sprinkled with marigold petals. Carved into the headstone is the name Emilia Cavellero.

"This is my mother," she states. "She died in a car crash nine months ago. This is her first Day of the Dead on the other side."

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. Why is she telling a complete stranger this? 

We stand there in silence for a while. She's the one to break it.

"¿Te gustaría bailar?"

I nod hesitantly, and take her hands in my own. She takes the lead in a slow waltz, humming a little tune under her breath, twirling and moving so gracefully compared to my tipsy steps.

"I realize we haven't properly introduced ourselves," she laughs as she spins again. "I'm Camila."

"What a pretty name," I murmur as I lean in to her. "Fitting, for such a pretty face."

She closes the space between us in a quick, although intense, kiss. That kiss is what wakes me up, like a pinch after a long dream. An end to my sleepwalking is spreading through my body, I can feel it in my bones. It could be just the alcohol speaking, but this girl is my future. I'm no longer comatose, and now I can live my life.

"María," I smile. "My name is María."