Heat and sticky skin. Gazing up at the sky, but there are no clouds of relief. So we wait, wait until the sun sets and outside the people move around a little easier. A little less sticky. A lot more cool. At night the cool breeze of the desert gives us some relief. So we can sit on porches and feel the cool breeze kiss our face, our hands, our legs. We can feel the heat that made our day long dissipate, and we can enjoy summer. We can enjoy the kind of summer we remember when we were kids and it meant excitement of what might happen next. Enjoy it even if its just at night, when most things can fall by the wayside, to worry about tomorrow when the sun rises. The act of summer is something sweet, fleeting perhaps, but while it's there you can enjoy it, bask in it, and know that at least for a little while you can let the light feeling from your youth be remembered.
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?
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