MOTHER opens the window.

MOTHER, who sits beside me, her breasts bare in the moonlight that invades our small apartment, opens the window. Father watches intently as the figures on the television screen fight one another. Close the damn window, he says. Mother obliges.

MOTHER, who wears a red dress and heels, opens the window. She kisses me on the cheek and waves the nanny goodbye. I do not notice she is gone.

FATHER opens the window, and with it memories of his past come rushing in through the air and into his drunken spirit. Mother places a blanket over him when he falls onto the sofa. He wakes when everyone else is asleep. Father opens the window of my bedroom and kisses me goodnight. I dream of monsters and pineapple pies.

FATHER opens the window of the hospital room. I sit plumply on a wooden chair with my arms crossed and a frown on my face. Mother holds a baby in her arms. Father cries happily.

I open the window of our now shared bedroom and consider throwing him out. He’s little and red and has mushy skin. I peer out the window. I look back at him. Mother walks in. I kiss him on the forehead instead.

FATHER opens the window as I play the piano. He says he is proud of me. Mario Córdoba, my piano instructor, closes the window so they can all hear me play. He’s magnificent, Mario says. They all clap behind me.

MOTHER opens the window. Father closes the window. Mother opens the window and brakes it. Something is thrown onto the busy street. Father hits mother. The air is water. My brother wets his pants. That night, I hide behind the refrigerator.

BROTHER opens the window of our bedroom and says he wishes he could fly. I think of a story we read at school about a flying pig who is happy. I tell him to get down and go to sleep. He asks me if I wish I could fly. I don’t answer.

MOTHER opens the window. She cries onto a beige handkerchief that had once been white. She tells us to pack our day bags.

FATHER opens the window to an empty apartment and a letter on the kitchen counter. He opens a bottle and swears at the air. There is no one around to hear him cry.

MOTHER’S mother, a kind woman I had never seen before, opens the window of our new home. I play on the small piano and look out at the ocean. Brother plays cards with mother and they laugh at grandmother’s jokes. When someone opens the window, I can feel a light breeze come in.

GRANDMOTHER, cursing the heat of summer, opens the window. Brother, looking up at my pimply face, closes the window as I read the letter to father out loud. We still love you, I read. I don’t know if that’s true but, still, we send it out that night.

GRANDMOTHER opens the window and sits us down on the bed. She tells us how babies are made but we already know.

FRANKY opens the window of his basement and we laugh. Through the smoke of our cigarettes, I can see Lola watching me.

LOLA opens the window of her room so I can sneak in. We have to be quiet, she says. I think of the flying pig.

BROTHER opens the window. We cannot breathe. Mother cries onto brother’s shoulder. My face is numb with pain. Grandmother is gone.

MOTHER opens the window of my dorm room. Brother throws my pillows on the ground and tells me I will fail my classes and be back home in no time.

ANSEL, my roommate, opens the window and sticks his head out to vomit. We laugh at the empty bottles and learn to regret yesterdays. I open the window. Lucia closes the window. Beatriz opens the window. Emma closes the window.

PROFESSOR REYES opens the window of his office and hands me a letter. That night, I open the window of the green room. I feel my heart opening itself up inside my chest. I see the faces of my brother and mother out in the crowd. I see the face of father too, but only for a moment. My music fills the auditorium and I once again think of the flying pig.

SOFÍA, naked and beautiful, opens the window. I think I like you, she says. Me too, I say.

MOTHER opens the window and sits back at the dining room table. Sofía and mother burst into laughter. Brother eats without a breath. When he finishes he announces that he will not attend university. A glass falls on the floor. Sofía tries to calm mother down. Brother asks me if he is a disappointment. Never, I say.

SOFÍA opens the window as my music floods our small campus apartment. She writes poems on her notebook and talks to me about traveling to Japan and Peru and Egypt. My music stops. I drop to the ground.

DOCTOR HENDERSON opens the large window of his office. Sofía holds my hand. He says there is something wrong with me. Words too complicated to understand. I collapse to the ground again that night.

MOTHER opens the window of the hospital room. Even though the cold air makes me feel worse, I know it calms her. Brother holds my hand. Sofía cries. Everything will be ok, mother says. The pain is everywhere now, refusing to leave. I feel the soft breeze hit one side of my face. I do not feel cold anymore. I want to hold their hands one more time. I smile and close my eyes, instead. That night, I dream a vivid dream.

I open a window.

– Marcelo Graña