Alejandro and Miguel’s morning

La Mañana de Alexander y Micheal.

I kept hearing the same shrill voice ringing in my ears. “Alejo” it screamed. “Alejo”. It was insistent. It wouldn’t stop. “Alejo” it kept yelling. “Párate, Alejo”. It was so loud but it would take a lot more than that to rouse me. I had a long night. Not even the neighbors would rouse me. This neighbor however, I had never heard before. It was clearly a deep voice of a man. His voice was husky and almost hoarse but still boomed over my room. “Alejo, si no te paras te tiro por esa ventana”. Alejo, if you don’t get up I’ll throw you out of that window. I felt bad for Alejo. I felt worse for me. Maybe the man’s voice wouldn’t wake me up, but the migraine I got every time he yelled did. I don’t remember what happened last night. All I know was that it must have been a good time. “ALEJO” the man screeched. I almost forgot about him.

I opened a heavy-lidded eye and was immediately taken aback. The room I was in wasn’t mine. Except that it was. “ALEJO” the voice bellowed. I looked around and all my things were there. My guitar, my clothes scattered around as usual. The sketches on my desk, my black worn out desk. It was all there. It was my room. Except it wasn’t. The door wasn’t in its usual side. The room was painted orange instead of green. My bed was in the middle of the room as opposed to the edge of it. I used to have a carpet. Now it’s just a floor made out of clay. If I remember correctly, my floor used to be made out of wood. The paintings on the wall weren’t mine but the signature was indistinct. They were mine but I definitely didn’t make them. My paintings were different, they were different colors, different styles and yet the ones on my wall had my signature on it.

I got up and instantaneously felt a large a pang in my head that made me sit back down. I ran my hands through my face. I got up again but this time slowly. The migraine only got worse. “ALEJO, Párate que vas a llegar tarde” the man boomed. Alejo, get up, you’re going to be late. My head turned towards where the sound was coming from. It was coming from my closed door. I heard banging on my door. “ALEJO” This time the voice was deafening. My head was in so much pain. I heard the banging on my door again followed by the man’s voice “ALEJO, VAMOS”. Alejo, let’s go. The migraine in my head wasn’t going away and the noise wasn’t helping. Suddenly I realized something. This entire time the man was speaking Spanish. The man was speaking Spanish and I was understanding every word he was saying. I was sure Spanish wasn’t a language I knew.

I noticed my college medic uniform was on the chair as always. I looked at my clock. It was 10:00am and I had already had missed my first class. If I was to make it to my second class, I had to leave now. I put on my uniform and went to the horizontal mirror near my bed. Unlike the rest of my room I thought my uniform looked the same. I looked closer and noticed two major differences. On the breast pocket, there was a flag but it wasn’t American, it was Mexican and on top of it was a name tag but it didn’t say Alexander, it said Alejandro. Without being able to process what I was seeing, the door swung open. The man I’ve been hearing this whole time barged into my room, like he usually does when I’m late. It was my brother, Michael. He was yelling. He was only slightly younger than I was but he always acted like he was older. Mikey was wearing the same uniform I was. I looked at his name tag and it said Miguel. Something was wrong. Something had changed. Scratch that. Everything had changed. Mikey had stepped in front of me and pushed me onto the floor.

“Hermano, no puedo seguir detras tuyo. Todos los fines de semana es lo mismo contigo. Sales a beber y no regresas el domingo hasta la. Hazte responsable de tu vida Alejandro. Párate que vas a llegar tarde. Eres un desastre” Mikey was screaming at me in Spanish.

Mikey grabbed my arm and hoisted me up. I looked at him in abject horror. He must have noticed because his voice softened substantially.

“¿Estas bien, Hermano?” He asked.

Are you okay was what he asked. That’s funny. No, I wasn’t okay. I honestly didn’t know how to respond to my Spanish speaking brother.

“Wey, ¿Que te pasa?”

I was understanding him. How was I understanding him?

“Alejo, Respóndeme”

I was starting to feel lighted headed and I felt like the entire world was coming down on me. I felt drops of sweat falling down my face. I started shaking uncontrollably.

¿Que me está pasando? I whispered almost inaudibly.

Mickey looked at me like I was going insane. I must have looked like It because that’s exactly what was happening. Me understanding Spanish was one thing. Me speaking it was another. It was impossible. I didn’t know it before and now I was fluent. My face was drenched in sweat and the waking got even worse. There was a pit in my stomach that got bigger every second that passed. I was getting dizzy to the point where I almost lost my balance.

¿Miguel, Que me esta pasando? I screamed into my brother’s face.

My knees were buckling and the only thing keeping me up was Mikey. My body felt like a weight and my head felt like it would blow at any second. I couldn’t take it anymore. I saw my brothers face grow pale. That was the last thing I saw because I had passed out.

No me acuerdo de nada.