Everyone thinks dragons are myths. It's almost a fact. The sky is blue, grass is green, and dragons are not real. My abuela doesn't think this. My abuela's 79, verging on 80. She's on Papa's side of the family, and would say proudly, "This Mateo here, he is m-my son." My Papa's name isn't Mateo. She only wears white clothes everyday, and when Mama offers to pick her outfit, God forbid she chooses otherwise. "N-no! No! Evil! Evil!" She would scream. But for as long as I could remember, I would go to her house to deliver the newspaper every Sunday by hand (I didn't have a bike) and she would shout- "You there yet? You coming yet?" -and she would tell me the same story, sitting in her wheelchair, chewing on a stalk of lemongrass so strong you could practically see the scent wavering in the air. She would set it aside. "'An-'an when I was ten, I would take this one path to school every day. But then I-I took a shortcut one morning, y'know? Yeah? Yeah?" Nod. "'An I hear this um rustle, yeah? Above me?" Nod. "'An it's a DRAGON, of all things! Wi-with the wings 'n all that? Shiny as a coin, my word. I thought I had seen the sun, when I laid eyes on it!" "M-hm." "'An it um just looked at me, 'an then it VANISHED! Outa thin air!" A pause. "But when it looked at me, I knew it was gonna die soon. We don't 'av faith, they dah out. Circle 'o life, I guess." Longer pause. Then my alarm would go off, and I would go off too, leaving my sullen abuela sitting in her wheelchair. Thinking. Today is Sunday, and I have to deliver the newspaper. I had asked the person in charge to put her at the end of my route. If I wanted to keep my spot, I would have to be punctual. When I came, she was waiting inside, silent, clutching a broken stalk of lemongrass. When she saw me, she began to wave the lemongrass despite the fact I was in the room with her and did not need to be flagged down. "I'm here, abuela." She told me her story, and she finished, but when I stood to leave- "Do you have faith?" I stopped. "In the dragons?" "Why-" "Do you?" Yes, no. "I don't know." Her shaking hand jerked out and grabbed my arm. "Please." "Have faith for the dragons." It was the last time I ever saw her. I didn't go to school on Monday. I didn't go on Tuesday, either. And on Wednesday, I stood at the curb, waiting for the bus. Thinking. Later, I discovered that the bus was stopped by a garbage truck who's owner was at McDonalds, waiting in line for breakfast. But I didn't know that. I looked around for the bus but spotted a lemongrass plant that stood out like a sore thumb, dirt and shattered pot around it. I walked over to pick it up, and saw a path through the forest. Shortcut. I remember running so hard my lungs burned, and my legs hurt, and they got heavy and I couldn't feel them move. Branches were smacking across my face. Before I knew it, I was at the edge of the treeline and I could see the school in the distance. The buses had come and gone, and I was late. I braced myself for a final sprint, and heard a rustle. Above me. I look up and my mind is blown. It's a dragon, shiny like a coin and glowing like the sun. It's as small as a squirrel, and so amazingly beautifully impossible I forget to breathe. It's gone. Maybe it never was there. But for now, I could run and run and run all the way to class, a stalk of lemongrass clutched in my hand.
