“Alejandro…”
But once he started, he couldn’t stop.
“The seams were coming apart. There was rust on the frame. Some kids were making jokes about it.”
His voice dropped.
“She pretended she didn’t care.”
I knew my son well enough to understand that those four words had probably been what stayed with him.
“She couldn’t move the wheels properly anymore,” he continued. “And her family doesn’t have money for a new one right now.”
“So you sold your guitar?”
He nodded.
I sat on the edge of his bed without meaning to.
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