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I cried during the ceremony to honor the dead the next morning. I cried for all the tziganes we had lost, but I cried more for Ramon. I couldn’t believe he was gone. To my right, my mother held my hand tight. She couldn’t disguise the tears filling her eyes, even if she refused to cry. Dolan, though, let the tears come like a silent waterfall. He stood on my left, with Theron and Sheila beside him.
Our enclave had lost almost a third of its tziganes. Everyone in the main square attending the ceremony had lost a loved one, if not two or three. It had been a tragedy we couldn’t fix.
But I was damn sure going to try to prevent it from happening ever again.
Once the ceremony was done, my mother didn’t let go of my hand. After we greeted the other tziganes, saying sorry every two seconds
