My sister’s wail was not of pain, but rather, of shock and betrayal. After all, in all her six years of life, Ratoncito Pérez (our Venezuelan tooth fairy) had never let her down.
“I’m sure it’s here somewhere,” my mother stated as my father flipped over pillows and looked under the multitude of stuffed animals strewn on the ground.
My sister and I shared a room, and from my bed, if I tried hard enough, I could spot the tender gap where her tooth once stood each time her mouth would open in anticipation of another howl.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where Ratoncito Pérez put your sister’s tooth money?” my mother inquired, slowly turning her head toward me. I opened my eyes wide, summoning my most heartbroken look, and in a sweet voice said, “Me? No, not at all!”
Both my mother and father grew still, assessing my words with silent severity, and I was sure the gig was up. Then my weary parents proclaimed, “Well, we’ll just have to keep looking,” while my sister, still shaking and sobbing, checked under her pillow for the fifth time.
The room became a disaster zone: overturned blankets and dumped toy chests and books removed from the bookcase. At one point, I overheard my mother whisper exasperatedly to my father, “Well, what happened?”
Had they checked my pocket, they would have found the shiny coin I had plucked from under my sister’s pillow an hour before. But my parents valued trust, and more importantly, honesty.
Having come up empty-handed, they assured my sister that Ratoncito Pérez would return, and because there’d been such a mishap, he would most likely leave double the original amount.
My ears perked up as I calculated how much money I could earn if Ratoncito Pérez doubled his deposits each night I’d take the money for myself. But in the hours that followed, guilt (and laziness) began to nibble at me, and I realized I wasn’t cut out for a life of pre-dawn heists. The idea of repeating this chaos just to line my pockets wasn’t worth the trouble. Plus, the thought of dragging myself out of my cozy bed extra early quickly lost its appeal.
Years later, during a family dinner filled with laughter and nostalgia, I confessed my childhood crime. My parents exchanged amused glances while my sister’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “So that’s what happened!” she exclaimed, fondly reminiscing about the extra cash she received as a result. We had a good laugh, and I learned that the real treasure wasn’t the coin I took, but rather, our family, and all the memories we shared.
Happy Reading!
Alona Abbady Martinez
alona@bocaratonobserver.com