Helen and Tiffany came over on Saturday evening. I was on a roll, cleaning out the filth in my room (and it was a LOT!). It smelled like kitten formula, cat piss and punch. So I made myself a TO DO list. I narrowed things down to eleven items. Ten actually, with a bonus. And I gave myself a deadline, Monday. I had achieved two of my set tasks when Helen and Tiffany arrived. 'Hey, that's cool,' I thought. 'Still got Sunday.'

My room was finally presentable enough that I could invite Tiff inside. Most times, I can barely stand it, let alone company. But now I could actually see the tile floor.

So there we were, Tiffany and I, talking about school (her) and rock concerts (me). Then Mom knocks softly on my door and opens it. She's holding the phone. I should've learned by now... that's never a good sign. But I thought maybe it was Maria.

"Era tu papa el que hablo," she said.

"He called?" I was surprised. I hadn't even heard the phone ring.

She went on like I hadn't even spoken. "A que no adivinas que paso..."

I frowned. Her voice was soft and sad. Bad news. And by the look on her face, the subdued light in her brown eyes, I knew it was hurting her. My first thought was: 'G�ero. Oh my God, it's G�ero.'

G�ero is an old man who lives with my dad. Well, his real name is Octavio, but everyone in my dad's neighborhood has aliases. My dad lives downtown, near 'la dieziocho', or 18th Street. The prostitution center of the city. He lives in a three room wooden hut, older, it seems, than time itself. He doesn't use the back room, though. He rents that out to some old pervert named Huizar. Motherfucker can hardly walk, yet he's always checking out my sister's ass. If my mom would let me gouge his eyes out, I would. But he's another story.

Back to where I was, my dad only uses the kitchen and living room, and tiny bathroom. There's hardly any space for him, yet he somehow manages to cram in two more men. G�ero's one of them. It's always different guys as the months go by. Some move out, and new ones move in. But I don't think G�ero is moving out any time soon. He's really old, or at least wasted, 'cause he's in his 70's, and some people don't consider that old. But G�ero's got Parkinson's or something, 'cause he's always shaking, and he's also going blind. But he still drinks about nine beers a day, though. He'd drink more, but my dad gives him limits. Anyhow, he's gotten sick before, and I thought now he'd gotten too sick and was in the hospital, something like that. My mom had sounded sad though, not worried, so it couldn't be that. Maybe he died? Mom WOULD be sad; we're all kinda fond of G�ero.

But instead, the words that came from my mom's mouth were: "Se murio Me�o."

Oh crap! Me�o? But how? When? My mind races. 'This can't be!' I tell myself. 'Me�o was young! How can he be dead? I saw the guy last week!'

If there was anyone that my dad knew that I was fonder of than G�ero, it was Me�o. He was almost like an uncle to me. I felt my eyes burn, but I forced it away. 'Not in front of Tiffany, not in front of Tiffany...'

But Tiff's really good about this stuff. She's only 14, but she's mature beyond her years. I think I've said this before, and it's true. She gave me a minute to compose myself and she turned her back on me to give me privacy in case I needed it (which I did). When I was better I explained to her who Me�o was, 'cause she didn't know him.

"He painted my room..." I told Tiffy as we sat there in silence. "And my closet too."

"Really?"

We stared around us in awe.

Me�o painted houses for a living. And for his addictions too. That's what did him in in the end, I guess. All that hard liquor and cocaine. But he was a good guy. He respected my mom and my sis and me. Even when he was drunk or high. I never saw him even try to sneak a look at my sister's legs, or her ass - even though sometimes Dud would wear tight pants or a showy skirt with a slit up the side. To him, we were always Raul's kids, and that was more than enough reason for him to respect us. Same went for my mom. He never called her anything but "Se�ora". I repected Me�o a whole lot. Of all of those alcoholic dumbfuckers my dad knows, Me�o was the only one who was his true friend. Dud's gonna cry when she finds out, I know.

When we moved to the house we live now a couple of months back, he helped us move all our heavy furniture. And he volunteered to help fix up the house and give it a new coat of paint. All he asked in return were a couple of beers from my dad, though my mom insisted on paying him for everything. I never saw a man blush so much. He was a good guy... I know I've said that already. But he was. He was a good guy.

And now he's dead. Today is his rosary, but because my mom works, we couldn't go. We are going to his funeral tomorrow morning, though. That's gonna be a bitch. My poor dad. I know he's hurtin' more than me. After all, he knew Me�o for longer. About four years. Yesterday I went to go check up on him, see how he was taking things, and he looked pretty bad. Me�o had lived with him and G�ero for a while; in fact, he barely moved out about last month. Dad was all depressed. Said he'd been rumaging through his stuff, trying to find a picture he had of himself with Me�o, Huizar and G�ero. But he couldn't find it.

So today I clipped out Me�o's obituary from the Sunday newspaper and went to one of those make-your-own-picture machines that grocery stores and supermarkets have. I made a pretty decent black-and-white 5"X7" out of the obituary picture and bought a nice enough picture frame with what little money I had left. And there's Me�o with his goofy, crooked grin and messed up hair wearing a T-shirt. I hope Dad likes it when I give it to him tomorrow.