Papi and the “toy” gun
trigger warning: DV, rifle mention
The familiar sound of my father’s voice echoed through our small house, “Mija, ven para acá. Come sit with your papi, por favor.”
As a young girl, I always felt a sense of warmth and comfort around my dad. “Okay, Papi!” I piped back, quickly making my way into our timeworn living room, where the TV was tuned to a Spanish channel and flannel-patterned couches adorned the worn carpet.
He was holding something that sparked my curiosity — a toy, unfamiliar, and tantalizingly so. It bore a strange resemblance to the form of a miniature telescope, its surface sleek and brown, reflecting the dim light that streamed in through the half-closed blinds.
I clambered onto his lap, my child-like innocence oblivious to the fact that it was far from a toy. He was cradling a rifle, its scope now an object of fascination for my four-year-old self.
Across the room, I saw Mami, framed within the sights of the scope. “Mami’s so close, yet so far,” I exclaimed with a thrill only a child could muster.
My mother’s voice cut through the air, a hushed plea woven into a single phrase. “Jessica, por favor ven para ca. Please, come here.” But I resisted, choosing the allure of the scope…
