I'm not gonna lie – the wings have called to me, ever since I crossed the Gates. And flying is just awesome. The feel of clouds surrounding you as you zoom through them is impossible to describe. Awesome, part two, I guess?

But I don't want them. I want my life back. I like my new friends, Lilith and Lucifer. Mi hermana Rosa Angelica would call Lilith a real badass. And she looks damn fine for someone who's, like, a gazillion quadrillion years old.

Lou is not what the Bible makes him out to be. Yes, he's hot – but hot as in smokin', not like hot as in flames shooting out of his butt. He talks – a lot! He reminds me of my teacher, Mr. Hanser. He was always making sure that his students understand what he's talking about. Lou would tell me how things work in heaven (or how they don't) and pause, asking me if I had any questions.

I hope Mr. Hanser's still alive. I didn't see him with the rest of us at the Gates. I didn't see him in Eden, either. Probably because I was busy thinking about everything, you know? But not seeing him would be a good thing, right?

Ever since I met him, Lou's been talking to me. And taking me places. He'd always laugh when someone would pick up my wings and do something strange or weird or funny with them.

Did I just call them my wings? Because I could never have wings. Of my own. Ones that worked.

I don't want them. I don't!

I want my life back, the one that pendejo took from me and all my friends. And Miss Jefferson. What did he want my life for? It's not like he could use it, yeah? Or use me?

Lou is talking about how messed up the world is, and how his dad – how weird must it be to have God as your papa? – doesn't understand people at all. Which makes no sense, because he knows everything, right? Like he knew that bastardo (sorry, mama) was gonna kill me.

Dios mio, what did I do?

We fly over Moscow, and my...I mean, the wings are put on by a young woman, who drops small rainbow flags everywhere. She gets shot down by some pendejo in a military uniform. Everyone who picked up a flag is arrested and taken away.

We fly over Beijing and my...I mean, the wings are shot at and disintegrate before anyone can put them on.

We fly over Sydney, and Manila, Alaska and Salt Lake City. In Mexico City they are put on by a girl who's my age, and as she flies she leaves flowers in her path, grandmothers fall to their feet and begin praying or singing or beating their chest. They look silly, but I think my own abuela would have done the same, and I start crying.

"Lucifer," says Lilith, and she sounds upset, "that's enough."

"It's not nearly enough," he says. His voice is cold. It doesn't sound like him at all.

"Take me back," I ask quietly.

"When we're done," he says, in a tone of voice I remember mi hermana called 'patronizing' when watching this jerk of a cheating husband on a telenovela.

"You are done, Bringer of Light. Come, Esperanza. I'll take you back to Eden," Lilith says. Lou doesn't listen, and I realize that he's using me for some reason of his own.

"She's coming with me, aren't you?" he says. And I give him a line mi hermana shouts at her boyfriend a lot.

"DON'T MESS WITH ME!"

Suddenly my wings are on my back, and I'm...I guess I'm glowing like a white fireball. Lou's backing away from me as if I've singed him or something, Lilith is covering her eyes, and a kindly voice in my head asks, 'Where do you want to go?'

Home, I think. I want to go home.

Our house is small. It seems that way because there's always lots of family, friends, and neighbors around. There's Papa and Mama and my sisters Rosa and Maria and brothers Juan and Gerardo; Tio Henri and Tia Joy with their baby Henri-cito; Abuelas Serena and Christina and Abuelo Pedro. The Johnson kids and the Jiminez twins are always around.

It smells of food, and my sisters' perfumes. There's so much music, and the noise from televisions and video games. The Abuelas are into radio podcasts. They only pretend to listen to them, but they each talk about them as if they do. It's funny when they get their facts mixed up.

Yes. That's a lotta people, in a small house. We fight sometimes, and shout sometimes, and there is always drama. But it passes, because there's also much love. We help each other when we can, and usually it's enough. And when it isn't, friends help.

I'm smart...was smart for my age. I wanted to be a writer, or a reporter, or a doctor, or maybe a senator.

The house is not as noisy. There are vases of flowers everywhere, probably from my funeral. Lots of them are drooping already. I look outside and sure enough, Abuelo Pedro is planting the flowers he thinks might grow if he sticks them in the soil just so, and cares for them. Our house is small, but the garden is big, and it's full of Abuelo's 'memorial' flowers. Nothing sad – a big family has many funerals, okay?

But it's sad today. Just the grandparents, and Mama. I can't look at her, because I know she is crying, and if I see her crying, I'll start. And crying never brings anybody back, does it? I want to hug her so badly. But she's making tortillas. But...but...

I hug her from behind, my hands still unable to go all the way around, because I'm only six, and I feel my wings lift and they wrap around her all the way, all the way that my arms cannot, and we are surrounded in light. Suddenly we're facing each other in a garden, and she says, "I miss you so much, mija!" and I'm telling her how angry I am at God and how stupid the world is and how ridiculous the archangels were, and she puts her hand over my mouth to shut me up.

"I cannot believe you yelled at the archangels!"

"But, Mama.."

"Ah! And you yelled at God! Ah – be quiet! I did NOT raise you to be disrespectful!! And you refused your wings! Are you loco? DO you want to live in Hell for all eternity?"

"Mama, there is no Hell. You get put in the Garden of Eden. It's actually really pret..."

"AH! Blasphemy! You don't know what you're talking about! You are crazy! You are a...a...a figment of my imagination!"

"No, maybe you're a figment of MY imagination!"

"Of course, we are BOTH figments!" she screamed, and then said with funny grin, "We are familia, no? La Familia Figment!"

"Who are you talking to?" shouts Abuela Christina.

"Esperanza Figment, that's who!" and we both break down and giggle uncontrollably.

When we stop, she brushes her tears away, and tries to do the same with mine, but she can't. It hits me then. I am dead, really dead. And unless God thinks I'm worthy of a resurrection, I will never feel my mother's hand on my face again.

"Thank you, mija. And if it's really you, I remind you to respect your elders. Ask them questions, because where you are now, everyone deserves the truth. Apologize – Ah! Don't give me that look! – apologize to them. Ask for their forgiveness. Remember they have jobs to do, and maybe even problems of their own."

The light from my wings is dimming, and she feels her mama fading. "Vaya con Dios, mija." And we're back in the kitchen. I feel almost ready to go back, but as I leave, I touch Abuela Serena's failing ears and feel a tingle.

I touch every droopy flower, and they become refreshed. I walk outside to the garden, and touch Abuelo's knees that hurt him, and every flower he's just stuck in the ground takes root. I can feel it. I see the skin cancer dark on his cheek and brush it away. I feel it leave. Whether it's real or a figment, I feel a lot better.

The voice asks me again where I'd like to go. "I'd like to see Mary."

"No can do," the voice answers.

"Take me back to Eden, then."