Prologue
Maria Alejandra
Past- 10 years old
“Papá!” I squealed as I ran, throwing myself into my father’s arms. Wrapping my legs around his torso, I gave him the biggest hug I could muster.
“Te extrañe tanto, princesa.”He nuzzled his head in my neck while giving me a bear hug. I smiled at the gesture.
“I missed you more,” I replied in English. I looked him straight in the eyes with a smile on my face, hoping he wouldn’t ask me the question I have been dreading to hear. I have been struggling with my training. Everything is hurting and my dream of becoming an F1 driver seemed intangible.
“How’s karting going, Alé?” I groan inwardly. There it is. The question I didn’t want to hear. Karting is the first level I need to pass before getting into the big leagues—Formula One. The cars are smaller, and they’ve helped me learn from a young age how to maneuver a vehicle similar to an F1 car. I sometimes feel like this is a pipe dream.
“I don’t know if I want to keep going, it’s hard. Tom has been making my neck exercises harder. Plus, he’s slowly introducing me to G-force.”
Rubbing my neck in discomfort, I tried to avoid looking at the disappointed expression plastered on dad’s face. I pouted as I feel the constant reminder of the physical exertion my trainer had caused. I offer him a small smile hoping to dissipate his look of disapproval, but he frowns even more, making my insides twist. I don’t like it when dad disapproves of my behavior. I just want to make him proud.
“Let me tell you a secret,princesa.” He paused. “Whatever it is you want to do with your life, I will always be here to support and love you. Whether you want to stop this journey and start a new one, I will be there with you every single step of the way. You do understand that, right?”
His stern eyes look down at me while I tried to unpack his words.
“Si, Papá, I know,” I reassure him with my hand on his shoulder, attempting to make him feel better.
“You are my child. My heart. My soul. You will never understand the love I have for you until you are a parent. When you were born, I knew that you had a purpose,” his voice wavers trying to finish his statement.
“Do you remember that day when you pointed at the TV while we were watching that championship race?” I nodded. Remembering it like it was yesterday, he continues, “I just knew by the twinkle in your eyes, that F1 was your purpose. The sport was made for you to change; then you got into a cart. The happiness on your face was above anything else I had ever felt in my entire life.” He paused to look away like he was recalling the past. “Because that happiness—your happiness—is everything to me. I will say this once, and only once. You can quit whenever you want, but I refuse to let you quit when something gets hard. Because once something gets hard, that is when it will turn into something legendary.”
A tear slipped down his face. He looked away trying to shield his emotion. One thing I know about father, he hates to show weakness even towards the ones he loves.
“It’s okay, Papá, I won’t quit.” I hauled him into my arms giving him the biggest hug I could.Well, I tried to, anyway.I wanted my Papá to feel better, he was my world, and in that moment, I would have done anything to make that happen.
“Good. Now, let’s get you competing. I think you’re ready,” he said with a small nod, smiling with sad eyes as a tear fell down his cheek.
“Let’s go talk to your trainer before your session starts. You can tell him how you are feeling.” He kissed the top of my head then lifted me off him and my feet touched the ground shortly after. Taking my small hand in his big one, he guided me through our hacienda.
Everything about the Castillo family is grand, my dad loved it that way. The hacienda was inspired by Spanish architecture, one that only my dad would appreciate due to his travels.
Beige bricks are stacked onto one another creating the structure’s shape. Blossoming green vines overlap on the exterior of our home angling from the rooftops perch, showcasing plush colors filling the dreadful house with life. The gardens sit at the back of the property—filled with every kind of flower imaginable—dominated by a large green maze that I loved to run through as a child.
After walking for a few minutes through the house and out the back door, we made it to the gardens, passing the lilies and daisies. My eyeline is met with the maze, its huge structure towering over me.
We enter the archway, signifying the beginning of the maze; our knowledge of the passageways guides us through swiftly.
We are met with the wall of roses, indicating that we’ve reached the middle. It was made as a memorial for my grandmother, her love for red was unmatched. The wall has vines enclosing the green leaves, each vine the color of muted brown. To the side of each ivy there are red roses placed adjacent to one another. The unique thing about the display is the black rose sitting right in the middle.
On the day of my grandmother’s passing, I asked why the rose was placed there. I was six and utterly heartbroken. I remember that day perfectly as if it was just four years ago. Everyone was dressed in black. It was weirdly sunny out. The sun was blazing on us while we sat in black chairs placed in four rows lined up horizontally. We sat there in Sinaloa, mourning the light of our family.
My grandmother would have wanted it that way, her light shined ever so brightly, even in her death. My father sat right next to me with my mother on the other side, both looking straight ahead.
Mother wore a massive black droopy sun hat covering her face while her long dark brown hair reached her lap. She had a slim figure, with lace covering every inch, including black gloves that were tailored perfectly to her hands. Huge sunglasses covered her bright green eyes that would be glistening with the remnants of the tears that ran down her face. Her small sniffles were heard beside me.
Next to me, my father was sitting there in his black suit. No emotion ran across his face, he just looked straight ahead, lost in his thoughts. This was his way of showing affection towards his mother. I remember putting my hand on top of his, showing him the remorse he was trying to give with his loss of words.
Next thing I knew, I was asking why the rose was placed there. I remember my dad’s words as if it was ingrained in my soul.
He turned back to face me, showing no emotion as he uttered something I would never forget for the rest of my existence.
“No matter how much you love the people in your life, death is inevitable. All the color you see around you is just the road that leads to La Muerte. We all turn into ash and become that one black rose. But all that vibrant color that we spread throughout our lives, just like your Abuela, means more than our inevitable demise. The overflowing passion that we experience in this life means more than anything else. Because when we leave the people we love, when we finally reach the inevitable, we leave that one black rose and all the color that surrounds it. Because the impact that we left behind is the life that we lived.”