Amigo

"Why're you asking me? You were supposed to be watching him while I was here with the girls."

Lesley kept giving me that evil glare she does whenever I'd screw up real bad. We were searching for our son, Leonel, who had somehow run off into the streets. This was only the first day of Día de los Muertos, and here in this city, it gets pretty crowded—making the hunt even more stressful. I started feeling embarrassed from the number of looks we were getting as we were unintentionally shouting in some people's faces. It made no sense why Leon would just run away like that; he doesn't usually commit that kind of behavior.

Ten entire minutes had already gone through, but the intuition only clicked to me now. "Hey, so we checked everywhere, right? But you know a place we haven't checked yet?"

My wife squinted her eyes condescendingly while she panted for air. I stood on the tip of my toes, looked over everyone's heads to find the right location, and told her to reserve a spot and stay with the girls while I searched for Leon. She hesitated at first and then complied. I had no time to waste, though, and sprinted at the exact spot I knew my son had to be at.

Lo and behold, Leonel was calmly eating his melted ice cream directly next to a bull statue—marked in the eye of the city. I had to pause for a minute before reeling myself in there.

"Hey, buddy, how did you come all the way up in here?"

"I asked where the bulls were, and nobody knew, but this old guy with a cigar walked all the way over here with me!"

My heart stopped like any parent's would after hearing your child explain a stranger being involved in a situation such as this one. I looked at the clay bull statue and gave a good tap on its weathered-up body. I then glanced at little Leon enjoying the remainder of his ice cream cone that had melted onto his hands, reaching his elbows.

"C'mon, Leonel. I'll get you cleaned up."

He refused to leave this area which caused me to raise my voice. That obviously didn't work and only gave me extra stares from strangers, probably judging my parenting skills. Leon was good at this kind of stuff, especially in the open public, so I decided to use my practical technique of giving him a timer.

"Okay, you only have three minutes to continue staying here."

Leon whined, as I knew he would, and insisted on more time. I spared him an extra seven just to prevent any more outbursts. He hopped up towards the bull out of an attempt to ride it, and initially, I refused but understood he just wanted to have fun. Innocence—I always thought that was a beautiful thing to treasure.

"Papá," Leon excitedly shouted. "one day I want to be a matador!"

My eyes widened as soon as I heard that phrase. I have been aware of his current interest in bulls, and I figured him finding out about bullfighting was pretty inevitable. I continued to smile so I wouldn't let him feel down on his ambitions. With Leonel crazily flopping on the bull, I sat down and asked him a question.

"Do you know what a matador does, mi hijo?"

He sat up and blinked for a long while. "They use a red cloth!"

"A muleta? And why do you think they do that?"

"Because bulls don't like the color red?"

I chuckled and stared at my son, who was now lost in profound thought. I petted the statue's neck as though it were a real bull and gently reassured my son.

"Bruno is very special to me, actually, and he was placed right in the middle of the city for everyone to see him."

"But why, papá?"

"Well, we celebrate Día de los Muertos over here, and this is to honor his death. He was the last bull ever to be used before they stopped the tradition."

I looked up only to notice my son's saddened expression and swiped the strands of hair that were covering his face. "Do I have to explain to you why they stopped?"

Leon shook his head with so much force that it caused him to slowly slip off the seven-foot statue. Luckily, my dad instincts immediately kicked in, and I managed to fling out my arms at precisely the right spot at the right time. We both stared at each other with stunned expressions for a silly good minute before giggling in unison. Afterward, I held Leon back upright onto the bull and accidentally touched one of his sticky hands in the process.

"You know, your mother and I were very worried that we had lost you." I glared at his face to make sure he was listening. "Anything could have happened to you. Especially that man you told me about." Only was it this time that Leonel had actually paid me any eye contact.

"Hey, but that man was very nice to me! He even told me all about the things he used to do with the bulls, and then he led me to go see Amigo."

"Who's Amigo, Leon?"

Leonel happily pointed at the bull underneath him. I was in absolute disbelief, though. Only very few people knew his real name—the people that owned and worked with Amigo. They were like family to me. It was our idea to build a statue in homage to not only Amigo, himself, but to the shameful history of bullfighting. It had some rough edges here and there and may not have looked exactly like Amigo, but somehow they still managed to capture the pain hidden in his eyes. Still to this day, I never agreed on the horrific things those poor, innocent bulls had to go through—all for revenue. My morals were too high to continue being a part of it long before it finally got banned in this place.

"Papá?"

I realized that I had zoned out for a moment only just now.

"Papá, tell me all about him!"

I smiled in a way that I haven't done for a long while. Now, this was the thing I've been waiting for. I shuffled Leon's hair and carried him down the bull.

"I'm sorry, bud, but your ten minutes are up." Before he had time to whine, I finished, "So I'll talk all about Amigo later."

And like what my good pal with the cigar told me years ago, "Let's never forget him."