Skip to main content

Pieces

I stared into his eyes from across the table. They were slightly glazed and his pupils were a dilated. Perhaps they were fine and mine were just fuzzy. It really could have been both this far into the evening. I could feel the weight of my eyelids and the tight dryness in my eyes. The lights seemed so bright overhead. I looked down at the counter top and stared at my hand. It seemed much smaller than usual next to his. He was bigger in the only way he could be. I didn’t know exactly what was going to happen, but I knew that I was waiting. Instead of starting the conversation I feigned ignorance and continued to stare at my hand, to stare at anything but his eyes. The silence was quickly broken.
            “So, are you seeing him? You don’t have to lie,” I could feel the weight of his gaze on me.
We sat waiting for our food. It was late 6:30am. The sun was beginning it's embrace over the mountain.
“I didn’t want you to know, is all. Would it make a difference?” I met his gaze this time. I had too. 
He took a deep drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke into my face. He did this when he wanted to be obnoxious. He was succeeding.
“So, are you going to keep seeing him? Or is that it?” 
I knew what he was asking, and even though my head was screaming “No!” my heart spoke before I could stop it. There was no time to weigh the options.
“Why would I keep seeing him?”
Any decision after a long night of drinking is never a good idea, but it seemed right at the time. He smiled at me and I took a drag off my cigarette. This time I blew the smoke in his face.
He cocked his head sideways and looked at me asking .
“What?” and I reached for his hand. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Para Las Nietas

Cuando se van las abuelitas, se va una parte fundamental. We are pulled from the brown soil. Roots exposed. We falter, droop. How can we continue without the cariño of their warm hands to support us? Nourish us con sus caricias. Cuando se van las abuelitas, se van los almuerzos y cenas que no más ellas hacían. Las comidas that tasted of their love can no longer exist. The tacos crispy and brown, won’t taste the same. The flavor, like a duende, can’t be caught no matter how hard we try to capture it in our own kitchens. Cuando se van las abuelitas, se nos va el lenguaje, porque ellas nos hablaban en español. Nuestros apodos como Güera, Prieta, Niña, Mima, y Mija se desaparecen. We ache to hear the sounds of our names from their lips and grasp for their words. The ones we didn’t know we would miss. Cuando se van las abuelitas se nos va el amor duro. We lose the sharp tongues quick with consejos we didn’t want to hear at the time. Se nos pierden los dichos and the wisdom we...
Post a Comment
Read more

¿Y la Prieta?

My grandma, Ita, called me Prieta. She called me this because my skin is toasted brown. When I was born my mom says I was light skinned, but she knew “que iba ser morena” because the inside of my little baby thighs were already darker than the rest of me. In the sun, I turn a darker brown. I get even more Prieta. It was a term of endearment. My sister, who has a light complexion, was called guera or guerinchi. When I tell people who don’t speak Spanish what Prieta means, dark or the dark one, their eyes open wide and a small gasp escapes. I see the offense they feel for me sprinkled on their faces like the freckles I will never have. When I try to explain, the offense still shadows their eyes. That is the problem with Spanish. Wait, maybe, that is their problem with Spanish. Even when I explain, they are suspicious. Their faces ask, “Is this true?” as if I am setting them up for a joke. But how can I explain the cultural and literal meaning of a word at the same time? ...
3 comments
Read more

Spring Break Lists Fall by the Wayside

This week I'm on spring break. I had many plans. I wanted to work on my book. I wanted to spring clean the house. I wanted to tackle the garage. I wanted to post and sell more things on Craig's List. I wanted, I wanted, I wanted. So, far I've checked my email, emptied my DVR, and slept. This week has been good though, hermit-ish, but good. There's something odd that happens when you allow yourself to just be. I let my brain stop dictating what I was going to do and let my body chose to sit on the couch, to take a nap, to go back to the couch. Usually, I have lists constantly running through my head. Imagine a computer updating, white texts filling up a black screen,  that is my brain adding more tasks to the queue. But, the last few days my brain has frozen and the cursor is just blinking waiting for me to hit enter, to restart. The best part is that this is very rare for me. I think it is very rare for everyone, but I recommend it. Especially at this time of year...
Post a Comment
Read more