His First Chuparrosa

His First Chuparrosa

Michael Sedano

The 4-year old stared often at the feathers and painted flower framed behind glass on the wall. Ruby red and glowing bright green feathers took the shape of a bird hovering at a flower nearly as colorful as the bird, if it was a bird. The boy had seen a flower but never a bird like that.

Two boys were sent outside to play. Concha was sent outside to watch the boys.

Concha watched the boys play aimlessly in the dirt alongside the weathered brown siding of the hand-built casita where the boys' grandmother lived. The older boy found a bit of cracked garden hose and flung it. The littler boy heard the sound of the hose whiz past his ear. When he turned to follow its path he saw it.

The green feathers magically had come alive. The bird flitted from flower to flower, and, for a moment, hovered in front of a red blossom.

"Que linda," Concha called from the shade.

The bigger boy saw the bird too. Are little boys murderers? Irresponsible little shits? 

The older boy flung the chunk of hard rubber through the air, hard straight and true. The hummingbird stopped floating and the rubber weapon and the dead jewel fell to the Redlands dirt. 

Concha screamed in agony. The smaller boy heard her pain and understood immediately something awful had taken place. The older boy stood over the pile of green and brown feathers staring stupidly at what he'd accomplished. Concha gave him a look of pity and picked up the carcass.

In a few seconds, Concha returned from inside carrying a hefty black book. The woman opened the Bible to some random page in the middle, laid down the dead bird and closed the book around it to dry. Concha told the small boy about la chuparrosa's magic and how she would keep the dried body for luck.

It wasn't lucky for the hummingbird. The boy didn't understand that part. He knew about lucky rabbit's feet, but didn't understand that part, either.