I could never really remember when I first met Mijares, Mijares the love of my life, Mijares the very beautiful tragic downfall to what could've been, but what I will say is this, I will never regret it and if I could do it all again I would.
It was a cold, dark, and humid October in the ass crack of South Texas, and I was miserable. The highlight of my year was only having three anxiety attacks, so I can't complain. Mijares and I were in the same English class with Mrs. Cantu and shared almost everything other than miseries. We were the same yet we differed in every way, shape, and form imaginable. He loved sports and I loved books; he drank Tecate and I doused my pain in coffee; he loved Chente and I Dickinson. Our classroom was a three by four-grid of tiny little vessels with a little skeleton supported by a flimsy little plastic chair. He sat in the front ready to answer all of Ms. Cantu's rhetorical questions and I sat in the back ready to ignore anything and anyone. Every day was the same, every motion was repeated, every burst of agony and cry for help suppressed. Second period was the highlight of my very being. I had Mijares and so in essence, I had everything.
As the day dragged on, my misery continued and my endless desire to die got stronger. My third period was absolute shit because I'm pretty sure my whole class including my teacher hate me. Forth period isn't any better because what idiot likes math? Finally, the bell rings for lunch and I sprint my way to the cafeteria to see my beloved.
