Marco couldn’t believe it was only Tuesday as he walked out of the steakhouse where he worked as a busboy. He dragged his feet at a sluggish pace past the restaurants on 46th Street. He couldn’t wait for the weekend to arrive. All he wanted to do was relax with Gina. Although Marco’s head was down, the cigarette smoke slowly drifting up his nose indicated that he was getting close to the nightclub on the corner and therefore, close to the subway station. Once he made it down the stairs to the D Train, he swiped his metro card three times before reading “insufficient funds”. He hadn’t even gotten one tip that night. “Great,” he said aloud as he hopped over the bar. A woman behind him clicked her tongue in disgust, but Marco pretended not to hear it and kept moving.

Within an hour, Marco was in Sunset Park and quickly strode by the barred windows and steel doors of stark apartments. He fumbled through his pockets and finally grasped the thick key that he was looking for. He let himself into the dimly lit lobby of his apartment and checked his mailbox, finding nothing but bills. His cable had been shut off last week and with more bills to pay, it looked like he’d have to go the month without TV, not that he had time for it anyway.

The next morning, Marco’s first sight was the stack of bills that he couldn’t afford to pay. He sighed and took his bike from the corner of his studio apartment and rode six miles to work at the café. He got there before 6, but even at that hour, New Yorkers had to eat. About half of the bright red booths that lined the windows were full of people. The Spanish and English chitchat created a loud droning sound like that of a high school cafeteria. Marco looked around for Jose who, of course, wasn’t there yet. He walked over to Maria who was behind the long counter trying to figure out how to work the new lotto machine. “Buenos dias, Maria! Any deliveries yet?”

“There was one earlier, but it was way before delivery hour began. Other than that no and thank God because now you could help me figure this damn thing out!” Marco laughed out loud. Maria was like a second mother to him. He and her son, Jose, had been best friends since they were children in Mexico. When Marco moved to New York, about three years after Jose and Maria did, they gave him a place to stay and a job. Together, Marco and Maria figured out the lotto machine, just as the phone’s nonstop ringing began.

Marco took about four deliveries at a time because it was as much as the small basket on his bike could carry. The hot August sun beating down on the back of his neck reminded him of his childhood when he rode around on his bike for fun. Around lunchtime, the amount of deliveries was sliced in half. The second half of the day went by incredibly slowly. Once it was done, he was so happy to get out of there that he forgot to grab lunch before leaving. He got home to find his cabinets empty. He’d have to wait until he got to the restaurant to eat.

Later that night, beads of sweat trickled down Marco’s back as he removed dirty dishes from an outdoor table that sat twelve. The sight of rich, white customers was making him unusually angry. He made his way through the large dining room that led to the kitchen. He held the big blue bin full of dishes on his shoulder and almost knocked over a waitress. “Coño,” he whispered, as he scooted by her.

“What is it?” asked Felipe, the cook who had snuck up behind him. Felipe was twenty years older than Marco, but their common Mexican heritage gave Marco reason to confide in him. He turned to face the fat, bald man and explained his stress and his unpaid bills.

“Mi hijo, why you stressin’ it? Ask Gina to help you out. You know she will.”

As Marco began to explain that it was his job to take care of Gina, one of the quiet busboys, whose name Marco did not know, chimed in, “I could get you a job, but it won’t pay much. My Tío needs extra workers for weekends at his landscaping place.” Marco readily accepted the job and the busboy told him he could start this weekend.

“Can’t wait to hear what Gina has to say about that,” Felipe chuckled. They both knew Gina’s reaction would be frightful. She always complained that Marco worked too much. Now, a weekend job would take up the only time Marco had to spend with her.

The next day, Marco woke up to the obnoxious screaming coming from the apartment next door, not a rare occurrence. Soon it would be Gina’s tantrum to which he’d have to listen. He could hear her already, “Really Marco? Another fucking job? Like two isn’t enough? I’d probably see you more if you moved! Why can’t you just get ONE real job?”

The only time Marco and Gina saw each other was on weekends. Marco had to break it to her that this weekend he’d be unable to see her. He dreaded the phone call and wished he could just tell her in person, but even if he was able to manage a couple of free hours, she probably couldn’t. Before calling Gina, Marco reached into his night stand and took out his Abuela’s wedding ring. She had given it to him on her deathbed with instructions, “Whenever you need luck hold onto the ring. One day, give it to the girl you love and when you need luck, hold onto her hand.”

As Marco moved the ring from one hand to the other, his thoughts were interrupted by the phone. It was Gina. She sounded rushed and asked if he was free the next day. “Eh, my shift at the café ends at 3. Why?” It was not often that Gina wanted to see him in the middle of a week. “Anything bad?”

“No, not at all, I just miss you, but I gotta go to work. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

Marco hung up the phone and placed the ring back in the drawer. “Talk about luck.” He could tell her in person after all! His Abuela was still always there for him.

The next day, Marco told Jose about the new job and explained that he’d have to tell Gina. He begged Jose to cover for him so that he could skip out a little early. Jose and Marco were complete opposites. Jose had greasy, slicked back hair and wore a big fake diamond stud in his ear. He had a musky smell of fake cologne which he most likely purchased in China Town. He was constantly late or not there at all and Marco couldn’t count the amount of times he covered for him. Jose agreed to help Marco out. “Oh and one more thing,” Marco smiled, “I need your Metro Card.”

Marco stood in the subway’s tunnel for less than five minutes before he felt a gust of wind and the ground vibrated. He propped his bike up onto his shoulder and carried it into the least packed car. As the train got closer uptown, Marco’s palms began to sweat. He tried to calm himself down and reached into his pocket. He crazily removed tissues and keys, searching for his Abuela’s ring. He had left it at home; this was not going to go well. It immediately hit him that Gina didn’t just miss him. What’d she need to see him for? He pondered aloud. “What if she’s pregnant? I can’t afford a baby. What if she found someone else? No! Maybe she really just misses me. But what if it is something bad? How do I tell her about this job after she gives me bad news?” A teenage girl dressed in a plaid skirt and navy sweater with the letters “SJS” stitched in the corner, shot him a dirty look. She whispered something to the young, black man whose hand was on her lap, but Marco was too preoccupied to care.

Marco exited the subway on the Upper East Side and rode his bike a block to Gina’s apartment. He chained the bike to a meter outside and greeted the doorman with a smile as he walked through the spotless glass doors. The air conditioning was beyond refreshing until Marco realized that he smelled like a mixture of sweat and deodorant. He suddenly wished that he had Jose’s disgusting cologne. The sight of himself in the mirror-walled lobby stopped him in his tracks. He had bags under his eyes, and his hair was a mess. He got into the elevator, attempting to fix his hair that desperately needed to be cut. Before the elevator even made it to Gina’s floor, Marco got a whiff of chorizo and homemade tortillas. Gina was making the queso flameado that he had taught her to make a couple of years ago. He couldn’t believe she remembered the recipe.

The second Marco saw Gina, he completely forgot about everything — the ring, his hair, his stench. Even in jeans she looked great. Her red sweater and white apron, with what looked like tomato juice on it, complemented her reddish brown curls and pale complexion. Marco couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “Shut up!” She giggled in her raspy voice and slapped his arm before bringing her plump lips to his face. Even with the overpowering smell of the food, he caught a hint of her lavender-vanilla perfume.

“Giving cooking another try, I see,” he smiled as they walked past the gorgeous hand-carved mantel in her living room. This was Marco’s favorite room in the apartment. Atop the mantel were pictures of Gina with her Italian family, a few pictures of Gina and Marco, and, in the middle, was her college graduation photo. Unlit, scented candles were scattered around the pictures. The walls were a light, greenish-aqua color, but everything else was white. She had a white, marble coffee table bordered by two white, leather sofas, and a white carpet without a stain on it. Marco followed Gina to her huge kitchen, which was messier than he’d ever seen it. The door to the stainless steel refrigerator was wide open. Dishes were piled up in the sink, and the counter was full of leftover ingredients.

Gina popped open a bottle of wine, “I figured for a celebration, I’d give it another go!”

“Oh yeah, what are we celebrating?” He thought back to his ridiculous freak-out on the train and laughed at himself in his head. It wasn’t bad after all!

“You are looking at the newest bond trader for Cantor Fitzgerald!” Before Marco could run over to hug her, she continued, “Let’s eat! There’s more.”

“More?” Marco carried the food to the dining room. The knot returned to his stomach. He put a hearty amount on his plate and gave Gina a look that said, “Come on… tell me!”

“Be patient!” Gina squeezed her earlobe so hard that it matched her naturally red cheeks. She stared at her food and swirled cheese around her fork. “I want you to move in with me.”

“Oh,” was all Marco could think to say. Gina turned her face like she always did when she didn’t want someone to see her disappointment. Marco knew he had crushed her and his mind snapped back to reality. “Gina, I can’t afford to live here. You know that…” He swallowed hard and slipped in, “…even with my new job.”

“Your what?!”

Marco told her about the new job and explained that it would only be for a little while. She asked why he needed another job so he was forced to explain the bills. His face burned as he told Gina about how he was a failure.

“That’s an even better reason to move in here. I know you want to pay your share, but you work your ass off. That’s enough for me.”

“Gina, your rent’s triple mine. I can’t afford it and I don’t want you paying for me to live. It’s my job to be there for you.” Gina stopped eating and her cheeks flushed a darker red.

“So work 10 dead end jobs? Because you think I need taking care of?! You’ll make it really far doing that! You make no fucking sense. I’m trying to help. Why can’t you go after what you came here for? Sometimes you have to swallow your pride and think about what’s best for yourself, what’s best for both of us. You haven’t applied for any jobs as a cook. You know you can’t succeed unless you try.”

Gina kept yelling, but Marco did not hear a word she said after that. His mind raced back to the day his grandmother died. Right after she had given him the ring, she had given him one last piece of advice. In Spanish she explained to Marco that one failure was not enough to give up on his dreams. Her last words to him had been “no puedes tener éxito si no lo intentas (you can’t succeed unless you try).” These words had given him enough strength to come to America.

Marco rarely raised his voice to Gina, but the similarity between Gina’s advice and his Abuela’s hit home. He began screaming in Spanish and then in English. “I can’t get a fucking cooking job for more than five dollars an hour. You think I’m gonna do my dream job for that? I’d rather get spit in my face.” He took a deep breath and his voice softened a little, “Gina, why don’t you understand? The only skill I have is in the kitchen.”

“Marco, you’re more than just skilled in the kitchen. You’re a master. Something’s gotta change. I don’t deserve to be the one you take your misery out on. I do nothing but help, but you’re too proud to even let me. I can’t do this for much longer. You won’t even tell me what you want. Just leave, Marco. Seriously, just go. Don’t call me until you figure shit out.”

Marco left without a word. Gina was just like his Abuela and they were both wrong. He had tried! Did Gina forget all about what attracted her to him in the first place? Five years beforehand, Marco had met Gina at Jose’s friend’s party. He had gotten so drunk that he told her, a stranger at the time, all about the restaurant he started in Mexico. She had been beyond impressed even when he told her the restaurant had been a bust. He had put all his work and emotion into it for disappointment and learned his lesson. He wouldn’t try that again.

Marco got no sleep that night and the next morning, he arrived at the café an hour late. The second he walked in, Jose questioned him. Marco told him about the fight and how Gina wanted him to move in with her, but he left out the part about cooking. Marco had never told Jose about his dreams to open another restaurant. He wasn’t going to fail and embarrass himself again.

“My friend, Gina es muy rica. You’re an idiot. Tell her I’ll move in with her.” He laughed. This was the exact response Marco expected. If he moved in with Gina everyone would think it was because she was rich. Marco did not want to argue with Jose about it. Three bags were lined up on the edge of the counter. He saw that the handwritten receipts stapled to them had addresses. He grabbed the bags and left without another word.

That night, Felipe asked Marco about how Gina took the news. Marco decided to tell Felipe everything, including the part about cooking. Felipe explained to Marco that Gina does not base success on money, “Mi hijo, all you gotta do is show her you’re thinking differently. You gotta go after your dreams. She’s right. Besides, the two of you are practically married already. If you love to cook and want to cook accept her help.”

“Felipe, as a Mexican, I’ll make nothing. I’ll risk everything. No offense, but you don’t make much.” Felipe was one of Marco’s best friends, but the last thing he wanted to do was turn out like Felipe.

“Cooking is art. It’s more than a job. I want you to fill in for me on Monday nights. Just try it out. Do it for the same amount as you make now. You will see. It isn’t about money.”

Days went by without a word from Gina. Marco stood in his apartment and paced back and forth from the bicycle in the corner of the bedroom to the end of the narrow kitchen. Their fights never lasted this long. He replayed the argument in his head. “She didn’t say anything bad about me. She just wants to help because she’s moving on without me. She just got a promotion and I’m still bussing tables. Jose’s right. I’m fucking stupid. Why’s she even with me? She deserves better, but I can’t move in with her. What kind of loser gives their girl less than minimum wage to chip in for a home that costs ten times more? That’s a joke.”

On Saturday, Marco began the landscaping job. He took the D train all the way down to Bedford Park, where three other Mexicans picked him up. They drove about twenty-five minutes north to Scarsdale, a residential neighborhood full of enormous houses. The air up there was cleaner, but it gave Marco an eerie feeling. He liked the greasy aroma of hotdogs and sausages on the city streets. It wasn’t until he saw residential neighborhoods that he realized how much he enjoyed the city life, the chaotic mess of people running around, the click-clack of heels on the pavement, the bright yellow cabs mixed in with the traffic on every block, and even the gangs of teens hanging out on the street corners in Brooklyn. Maybe, it wasn’t so much that he loved the city as it was that he hated Westchester. He had been there only once before and that was to meet Gina’s father, an incredibly rich, short, fat Italian man who did not care for Marco at all. The thought gave him chills.

Finally, the four of them pulled up to a house made of stone. The windows had small diamond shapes of stained glass within brown frames. Marco was assigned the tough job of removing all the weeds from the backyard. By the time the day was up, the job still wasn’t finished. The next day they went back to the same house and got the job done.

When Monday rolled around the corner, Marco still had not heard from Gina. His anger turned to sadness and eventually to disappointment. When the time came to fill in for Felipe, Marco was surprised to be nervous. It had been years since he cooked for paying customers. At first, he prepared each dish exactly how Felipe had told him to, down to the radish and carrot garnishes. However, not long into the night, someone ordered grilled pork chops. Marco couldn’t stand pork except for when he made it with his signature dry rub. He decided to give it a go and thought aloud, “What’s the worst that could happen? I get fired from a job that’s not mine?” Soon after, one of the waiters entered the kitchen and told Marco that a customer wanted to personally thank the chef. Marco followed the waiter through the large dining room into one of the smaller, more vintage dining areas. The walls were lined with old books and the table cloths were forest green. The waiter led him to a table of four women. They all praised him for the excellent food, especially the pork. “My friend Lynda here made us all take a bite of her pork chops. They were amazing! The best meal I’ve ever had here by far!” Marco wholeheartedly thanked them for such compliments. His adrenaline rushed from the feeling of pride that came with every dish he sent out. He had forgotten what that felt like. That night, good thoughts kept him from sleep.

As the week went by, Marco began looking forward to working at the restaurant. Whenever Felipe wasn’t looking, he added all sorts of spices and flavors to meals. Of course, he wouldn’t tell Gina that, so she could go on for an hour about how she was right again. Plus, she would say it didn’t prove anything until he quit the other jobs, which he couldn’t afford to do.

That weekend, Marco and the guys pulled up in front of another huge house in Westchester. Marco’s mood was much better than the previous weekend. The driver told Marco to work on cleaning out the gutters. The earthy scent, along with the song that the birds were chirping relaxed him. Under a layer of leaves, Marco found a thin wire with bulbs attached. “Christmas lights? In September? White people are loco!” Marco whispered. He climbed down the ladder, walked up to the open front door, and rang the doorbell.

He heard a man’s voice from the back of the house, “Who is it?”

“Marco, I’m one of your landscapers. I just have a question.” Marco responded.

“Okay, come on back. I’m just cooking, can’t leave the stove.”

Marco followed the mouthwatering smell of roasting chicken through the long, narrow hallway until he reached the kitchen. He watched from the doorway as the tall white man carefully removed a lemon from the chicken’s cavity and added some of the juice to the pan’s juices. Marco felt like a K9; he was able to smell the fennel, the scallops, the lemon, and the chicken, separately. He and his Abuela had made a similar dish when he was a child; however, there was one major difference — no apples! “It’s a beautiful bird,” said Marco. The man flinched a little. He quickly turned around to look at Marco.

“Scared me!” he exclaimed, with his hand on his heart, “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, eh, I was cleaning the gutters and noticed some lights…”

“My wife loves the lights for the holidays. Guess who the lucky one to put them up is. You could leave ’em,” he smiled putting out his hand, “By the way, Marco, I’m Dennis. I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself.”

Marco was surprised that Dennis remembered his name. He shook his hand, “Nice to meet you. Before I get back to work, can I make a suggestion?” Marco couldn’t believe that he had actually said it out loud, “If you chop up a few apples and add them with some apple juice to that, it’ll make all the difference.” Dennis explained that the dish has been in his family for years and was great the way it was. Marco looked defeated as he turned and walked away.

When the job was finished, Marco was sent to collect the money. This time Dennis came to the door, “Marco, I added the apples! For some reason, your face told me I should. I usually don’t trust advice, but boy were you right! Have you ever considered cooking instead of cleaning gutters?”

Marco was in shock. He thought his proposal had been thrown in the garbage the second it reached Dennis’ ears. “Thank you so much my friend. That means more than you know. I used to own a restaurant in Mexico, but it tanked. When I got here, I kept cooking, but just for fun.”

“Well, if you decide you ever want to cook for more than fun, you could be very successful. Here…” Dennis handed Marco a folded piece of paper. “It’s my brother’s number. He owns three restaurants in the city and two in L.A. Call him if you’re interested in a job.” Marco stuffed the paper into his pocket and felt the ring. He had forgotten that he left it in those pants the night he had filled in for Felipe. That explained his sudden luck.

The second Marco got home he called Chris, Dennis’ brother, but the call went to voicemail. He didn’t leave a message due to his accent. Although Dennis was far from a racist man, Marco didn’t know about his brother. What if he didn’t want a Mexican working in his restaurant? About a half hour later, the phone rang; it was Chris. Marco explained that he was looking for a job as a cook. Chris sounded beyond annoyed as he explained that he wasn’t currently hiring. As Marco thanked him for his time, Chris cut him off, “How’d you get my personal number?” Marco began to explain that he had no idea it was a personal number and that Dennis gave it to him. Chris cut him off again. “Dennis? My brother? Why didn’t you say so? Let’s meet for an interview next Monday? Uh, that’s the 10th.”

The day of the interview came around more quickly than Marco had anticipated. He dressed in a pair of black Dickies and a blue button down shirt. Even though the restaurant was only forty-five minutes away by bus, he left his house two hours before he needed to be there. He stood outside of the restaurant, staring in through the window. It looked much nicer than the steakhouse where he worked. The tables were set with white table cloths and each place setting had a fancy rose colored napkin folded into a shape. Even the stools placed around the bar in the corner were more elegant than most. They looked lavish, yet comfortable, with fluffy, black leather cushions and silver legs.

When Marco finally entered the restaurant, he was instantly able to point out Chris. He looked exactly like Dennis, tall with a long, oval face and an oddly small nose. Marco’s palms felt like he had soaked them in vegetable oil that he couldn’t get off no matter how many times he rubbed them on his pants. He breathed in and out slowly as he walked toward Chris. They introduced themselves and Chris immediately explained how his interviews worked. “This will be based on your food and your ability to work with other cooks. I spoke to Dennis and he thinks I should consider hiring you as a head chef.” Chris directed Marco to the kitchen which was stocked full of food and gave him instructions. “Make me a three course dinner. One course fish and one beef. Do it as if I were a customer.” He introduced Marco to two other cooks that would be helping him.

Once Marco began cooking, his nerves relaxed and he even started to have fun. He made an appetizer of garlic stuffed clams that tasted amazing. The texture was almost like mashed potatoes; however the seafood flavor was still there. Next, he made a rare prime rib with gravy and asparagus. Finally, he made his signature New York apple-pie cheesecake. He used hot pretzels as the crust because the salty outside and warm inside scared the taste buds before the sweetness hit them. Marco tasted everything before sending it out to Chris. All of the food was excellent and Marco was confident that he would get the job.

Chris reentered the kitchen about ten minutes after Marco finished cooking. He gave no feedback on the food and told Marco he could leave. Marco felt like he got punched in the gut. He shook Chris’ hand and thanked him. As he walked out the doors of the restaurant, he wondered over and over again what went wrong. It couldn’t have been the food; the food was great. The timing was perfect too. He began to believe he was right the whole time. Nobody wanted a Mexican in their restaurant. He walked to the bus stop, already thanking God that he did not tell anyone about the interview. At least he saved himself the embarrassment.

When he got home, the stairs leading to his apartment reeked of weed and rotten towels, only reminding him of the fact that he’d probably be stuck living in this hell-hole forever. His first sight upon entering the room was the gold band on his counter, next to the bills that he still had yet to pay. He cursed himself for not bringing the ring. He sat home that night missing Gina more than ever, when the phone rang. Without even a hello, Chris said, “You start in two weeks kiddo.” Marco felt like his brain was going to jump out of his head. He ran back and forth, squatted in the corner and jumped as high as he could. He didn’t even need the ring after all! He was talented enough on his own!

He sprinted back toward the kitchen and picked the phone back up to call Gina. He thought back to the day before their fight when she had been calling him about her new job. Marco decided he would tell her in person like she had for him. Unfortunately, Marco was not as mysterious, “Babe, the greatest thing happened to me, but I can’t tell you yet. All I could say is you’re gonna be happy.” Gina begged him to tell her, but he refused and they set up a date for the next night. They continued to talk for an hour and Marco listened to Gina’s stories about her new job. As Gina finished a story, her husky voice turned to silence. She quietly sniffled, but Marco heard it.

“Gina, why are you crying? Are you ok?”

Gina was not upset at all. “I just haven’t felt like myself lately. This is the first time since our fight that I’ve told a story or even smiled. I missed you so much, baby. Hearing your voice is the greatest gift in the world.” As they continued talking, Gina begged multiple times to hear the good news, but Marco would not give it up. He stayed on the phone talking to Gina until she fell asleep. When he hung up the phone, he realized that he was actually happy.

Before heading to work the next day, Marco slipped his Abuela’s ring into his pocket. He would need it for his date with Gina. At the café, he was assigned a delivery to 1 World Trade Center. That’s where Gina worked! He instantly checked the address, the 94th floor. It wasn’t Gina. She worked 10 floors up. Marco unchained his bike from the meter and tied the bag of food to his handle bar. The smell of toasted bagels and bacon ran up his nose. As he rode, he spoke to himself. “Should I tell her now? No, I should wait until dinner. But no! This must be a sign! Coño! I don’t know what to do!”

Marco took the packed elevator up to the 94th floor and dropped off the food. He headed back toward the elevator, and heard the steady tapping of a woman walking in heels behind him. He was still debating whether to go up or down, when suddenly he heard an unsettling crash above him. The floor vibrated and sort of shifted as if standing on a bus making a turn. The woman clacking of heels behind him went from steady to more of a stumble as she caught her balance on the wall. What felt like a horrible earthquake was followed by a man’s terrorizing shriek, as smoke and flames poured from everywhere. Without even thinking, Marco ran toward the stairs. They were much hotter than the hallway and flooded with people hurrying down them. Marco was the only one running up. What the fuck was going on? Someone yelled, “A bomb went off like ten floors up!” Marco increased his speed. Gina was up there! The higher up he went, the hotter it got, but he continued moving.

Marco made it to Gina’s floor where people scurried in every direction. As he rushed around looking for Gina’s office, he asked every single person he saw if they knew her. Everyone was in a panic and most were willing to help. A young woman pointed Marco in the direction of Gina’s office. He darted down the hall and swung the door open. Two men occupied the office. The taller man was having a nervous breakdown in the corner. He called 911. “There’s a fire,” he screamed into the phone. Marco interrogated them about Gina’s whereabouts and the short man stepped forward, “We ran outta coffee. She’s new so we sent her to get it about twenty minutes ago. She said she knew of a little café not too far. She even offered to work through her lunch in case she took a while to get it. I don’t think she’s back yet. I guess it’s her lucky day!” Tears of relief fell from Marco’s face. With the mention of luck, he subconsciously remembered the ring and silently thanked his Abuela. Gina was fine!

The man on the phone began cursing and yelling. “I have a family. What the fuck do you mean everything will be fine, we’re suffocating.” He paused for a second and sat on the floor. “If you have the best goddamn fire departments here, why aren’t we being saved?” The other man went into a coughing fit. Marco could see the fear in both men’s eyes. “I… I have asthma,” the man managed to get out through his coughs.

Black smoke was filling the room very quickly. Suddenly, part of the ceiling along with a filing cabinet collapsed directly on top of the man on the phone. The short man started to shake violently and threw up. “I can’t breathe. We have to find a way out.” The man’s sobbing and crying was causing him to lose breath. Marco had never seen a grown man cry and had never known fear until this moment. The man tried to run out of the office, but the filing cabinet blocked the only exit. He wasted all his energy trying to move the heavy furniture and screamed at Marco to help him. Marco knew better than to follow. He was forced to the opposite wall toward the window and could not even see through the smoke anymore. The man’s screams ceased and Marco called to him, but got no answer.

Marco crouched down in the corner of the office and couldn’t help but ask himself, “Why me?” Marco yelled at himself. “That whole time I was lucky to be alive. I was lucky to make it to America and I didn’t make anything of it. I could have done things. If it weren’t for Gina and our fight I wouldn’t have even tried.” He sat and sobbed until he couldn’t breathe. He was dizzy and the smoke was choking him.

He was losing his breath and getting dizzier every second. He suddenly remembered the ring was in his pocket. He stood up and for a second and he knew he would make it out. All he needed was his Abuela’s luck. He punched through the window and stuck his head out for air. The one gulp of fresh air was enough to give him some strength, but the sight took his breath away. Thousands of colorful dots gathered around the building. There must have been hundreds of huge red fire trucks and NYPD cars with their blue and red lights flashing. For a second, Marco thought debris was falling from the building, but in a flash realized people were jumping. He took a final gulp of air and turned back into the building.

Marco knew the smoke was lighter when crouching so he lay on the prickly carpet and crawled to the door. He still heard some voices outside of the door so he screamed for help. Someone shouted back at him, “Help is a lost cause! People are dying out here and no one can help! I just had to tell my wife and kid goodbye. There’s no cell phone service anymore. We are all doomed, buddy.” His tone was condescending.

“There’s a filing cabinet in front of the door.” Marco panted to catch his breath before continuing. “I just need you to push the door so I can move it. I’ll find us a way out. I promise!”

“Promise?” The man scowled and laughed an evil laugh. “None of us can get out. Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.” Marco continued to plea with the man and started begging, but got no answers. He managed to knock the filing cabinet onto its side and wedge the door open a crack, but smoke began to pour into the office. He slammed it shut immediately.

Marco whined as he crawled back to the window. “There’s no way out. I’m gonna die and I couldn’t even make anyone proud. Abuela was right and so was Gina. I never succeeded cuz I never tried. If I tried earlier, I wouldn’t even be here right now. Where’s my luck now?” I have to make it out. I can’t die with Abuela’s ring.” Marco thought back to last night; he had said he didn’t need the ring after all. “Ay dios mio!” Marco whispered. “I do need the ring. I still need you Abuela!” He stuck his head out the window and got another gulp of air along with another glimpse at the terrorizing sight.

Marco thought about his grandmother and about Gina. He kept his head out the window with his eyes closed. Tears fell from his eyes, but he couldn’t stop them. No one would ever know of his success. He tried and he made it. Gina would never be proud of him. She would never even know. “Abuela, do you know?”

Marco thought to the last piece of advice he had gotten from both his grandmother and Gina. Of course no one would know about his success if he didn’t try to tell them. He knew the black smolder had the power to choke him to death, but he had an idea. “I’ll tell Gina after all.” He made it about half of the 5 feet to the desk before collapsing. He lay on the floor for a second gasping for air, and crawled the rest of the way to the desk. In less than 30 seconds, Marco found what he was looking for, paper and a pen. He began writing.

Gina mi amor im gnna die i was gonna surprise u with my good news and now i cnt i need u to know u were rite the whole time u told me the exact same thing as my abuela did on her deathbed. You cant succeed unless u try! and u were right I was wrong about everything the second I took ur advice opportunity came all I had to do was try i hope u don’t think I died as a nobody u were the only one who had faith in me. U just wanted me to see it now I know u wanted me to have tht faith it started with ur advice i filled in for felipe and my passion to cook returned. If u ever get this please thank Felipe for me too. Today I was proud of myself like ur always proud of urself and it felt great, u wanted me to see what tht felt like nd i cnt thx u enuf I love you so much forever and ever. Oh one last thing. i was gonna propose to u today im gnna put abuelas wedding ring in this letter. She told me to give it to the one I love it brings luck. I love u I love u so much gina never forget me u changed my life.

Marco frantically searched for an envelope, but couldn’t find one. The flailing around was making him dizzier. He reached into his pocket, took out the ring, and folded it into the paper, trying not to let his tears stain the page. On the corner, he wrote Gina’s address with a short note, If anyone finds this, mail here! He slipped the paper into his pocket and trooped back to the window, but did not jump right away. He wanted to jump as far away from the building as possible so that someone would find him. He squinted at the fire truck directly beneath him and decided to aim for it. He propped himself onto the window sill and put his feet out first. His palms were sweating worse than ever. He began sliding further off the window sill. “You can’t succeed unless you try. At least I’m trying to reach Gina one last time,” he whispered as he let his butt slide off the window sill. Before hitting the ground, he had the worst feeling of regret. Why didn’t he try harder to survive for Gina and for himself? His life just began and it was over.