Upstairs, I knock on the door only once before going in.
This time, there’s not a ghost in my father’s bed, there’s a skeleton.
A skeleton that doesn’t even try to smile when I come in.
It’s sitting stock-straight, with a hollow face seeming to sag under the weight of those giant black eyes.
“You know why I called for you,” it says.
I stare at it, at this skeleton who somehow has my father’s resonant melodious voice.
“No,” I say, “I don’t.”
I refuse to believe it. Believe that this creature is Papa.
I hadn’t been sure he had called me here at all. Part of me had figured this was a ploy by Carlos to get me out of the room.
“Well I did,” he says, letting out a song of a laugh that ends in coughs.
He coughs and coughs and coughs, until I lean over, say, “Papa are you alright?”
He h
