Tag: prose

Saturdays alight and we, me especially, lit to the ceiling. There are strategically placed lamps, the angles of the light so sexy that it all becomes a magazine shoot.


Mysterious shadows, people in the mirror across from the circle of small chairs and table. It’s us, laughing raucously at things that are sometimes funny, sometimes sad. Drinking highballs, downing shots, smoking a primo in between. We used to try not to waste it, but waste is relative. No one should be serious on a Saturday.


Pose, sip, pose, laugh, pose.


“Be somebody, baby.” She likes to say that but won’t tell me where she got it. Grin so wide she’ll stretch her face wide open, show the fleshy insides. She’s good at lies and better at truth. She lays it all on her line spun from classy silk and homegrown cotton. Her eyes speak volumes but not nearly as much as her rhetoric.


“I’m glad Europe is feeling the pressure. I feel bad for the Germans.” Glossy red lips, polka dot dress, patent leather shoes, all guiding her eyes where she wants them. It’s magic.


Into the night until someone decides they’re high enough to leave, and the slow trickle begins. First Charlotte, all alone (we think she’s gay), then Sven and his Thai girlfriend, Megan. My baby and I slide into the corner, flanked by Mort (that’s his name!) and Samantha, the very tan English friends of the parents, on our right, Julie and Chi. They convinced her sister to stay in and watch him. He’s three now, and very independent, very alert.  “He’s probably the one watching over her!” they say. How sad, their whole thing. They leave next.


The English stay and we get along, well into three but maybe not until four in the morning. They’re staying across town, we insist. They come back with us because of the beauty of a condo in the city, right there.


Strolling through nearly empty streets, smiling, holding each other. My baby shivers but I have no coat, so an arm does what it can. The English walk close, too, and maybe it was me but the girl looked cute. She looked at me. She’s blonde, perhaps a real one. Before my baby and her short, boyish hair, I liked blondes.


Sundays never begin, not really. First it’s Saturday, then it’s go, go, go, then it’s Sunday all of a sudden, and sun’s out again. Sometimes I see it and half remember it, sometimes it’s there when I wake up in the middle of Sunday and slump into the shower.  Water into burning eyes, washing over alcohol and lipstick stained lips. Swiping a hand down across my face to make sure this is real.


I finish and walk into the kitchen. Silence is golden, not a peep. I look out through the kitchen window and my baby’s on the balcony, in the wicker lawn chair, on the little lawn island that we pay a short, sun burnt man to maintain.


She sees me and calls out. “Hey, baby.  Can you mix me up a mojito?”


I nod and get to work on the lime, sugar, and leaves. Gently pressing down into the glass, a little in, and little out, and I watch her read. I remember this, from a long time ago. Fascination with watching women read was new. It made me want her to see read all the time. My baby, she reads like a pornstar. I pull out the bourbon and treat myself for a job well done.


“Hey. You coming out, baby?”


I knock on the kitchen window and she looks over and smiles, waves her fingers. I pour myself another and stare out, smile until she returns to her book. My baby is frosted hills beneath canary fabric, she’s burning red and, like a strawberry, ripe for the plucking.


Her mojito is ready.


A condo in the city, the place to be on a Sunday. Our friends of our friends crash in the spare room and we lounge, grass so blue it can’t be real. Wind howling through the city canyons on its way to the ocean. Echoes in our heads.

Saturdays alight and we, me especially, lit to the ceiling. There are strategically placed lamps, the angles of the light so sexy that it all becomes a magazine shoot.


Mysterious shadows, people in the mirror across from the circle of small chairs and table. It’s us, laughing raucously at things that are sometimes funny, sometimes sad. Drinking highballs, downing shots, smoking a primo in between. We used to try not to waste it, but waste is relative. No one should be serious on a Saturday.


Pose, sip, pose, laugh, pose.


“Be somebody, baby.” She likes to say that but won’t tell me where she got it. Grin so wide she’ll stretch her face wide open, show the fleshy insides. She’s good at lies and better at truth. She lays it all on her line spun from classy silk and homegrown cotton. Her eyes speak volumes but not nearly as much as her rhetoric.


“I’m glad Europe is feeling the pressure. I feel bad for the Germans.” Glossy red lips, polka dot dress, patent leather shoes, all guiding her eyes where she wants them. It’s magic.


Into the night until someone decides they’re high enough to leave, and the slow trickle begins. First Charlotte, all alone (we think she’s gay), then Sven and his Thai girlfriend, Megan. My baby and I slide into the corner, flanked by Mort (that’s his name!) and Samantha, the very tan English friends of the parents, on our right, Julie and Chi. They convinced her sister to stay in and watch him. He’s three now, and very independent, very alert.  “He’s probably the one watching over her!” they say. How sad, their whole thing. They leave next.


The English stay and we get along, well into three but maybe not until four in the morning. They’re staying across town, we insist. They come back with us because of the beauty of a condo in the city, right there.


Strolling through nearly empty streets, smiling, holding each other. My baby shivers but I have no coat, so an arm does what it can. The English walk close, too, and maybe it was me but the girl looked cute. She looked at me. She’s blonde, perhaps a real one. Before my baby and her short, boyish hair, I liked blondes.


Sundays never begin, not really. First it’s Saturday, then it’s go, go, go, then it’s Sunday all of a sudden, and sun’s out again. Sometimes I see it and half remember it, sometimes it’s there when I wake up in the middle of Sunday and slump into the shower.  Water into burning eyes, washing over alcohol and lipstick stained lips. Swiping a hand down across my face to make sure this is real.


I finish and walk into the kitchen. Silence is golden, not a peep. I look out through the kitchen window and my baby’s on the balcony, in the wicker lawn chair, on the little lawn island that we pay a short, sun burnt man to maintain.


She sees me and calls out. “Hey, baby.  Can you mix me up a mojito?”


I nod and get to work on the lime, sugar, and leaves. Gently pressing down into the glass, a little in, and little out, and I watch her read. I remember this, from a long time ago. Fascination with watching women read was new. It made me want her to see read all the time. My baby, she reads like a pornstar. I pull out the bourbon and treat myself for a job well done.


“Hey. You coming out, baby?”


I knock on the kitchen window and she looks over and smiles, waves her fingers. I pour myself another and stare out, smile until she returns to her book. My baby is frosted hills beneath canary fabric, she’s burning red and, like a strawberry, ripe for the plucking.


Her mojito is ready.


A condo in the city, the place to be on a Sunday. Our friends of our friends crash in the spare room and we lounge, grass so blue it can’t be real. Wind howling through the city canyons on its way to the ocean. Echoes in our heads.

Teódolo asked, “May I ask you a question?”

Melón mumbled something and nodded.

Teódolo stood and opened the blinds, avoiding Melón’s gaze.  There was neither sun nor sign of calm.  The street people beyond the wrought iron gates were trapped in the late afternoon march as they moved past and alongside each other politely and with great efficiency.

“I hope you will forgive me…”  He stepped away from the window and faced Melón hesitantly.  This was not peculiar behavior to Melón who was used to the tragedy of Teódolo’s face.  The crenulations on the surface of his cheeks glistened from sunlight reflected off the surface of the glass table.  “I just want to know if I may have a day off tomorrow.”

Melón spit out the wad of banana leaf he held in his mouth and eyed the old man warily.  “And why do you need that?”

“My truck transmission is sticking, and I need to take a day to fix it.”

“What?  Your truck transmission is bad?  Well, I am sorry, Teódolo.  I am sorry your miserable pile of rust is not working.  You ingrate!  You are already off work on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays!  I pay you to take care of my daughter and that includes tomorrow.  Now come here, now.  Tell me about her day at school, or I’ll beat your ass.”

“Okay, sorry.”  Teódolo rubbed the spot on his nose where the long white hairs grew and wondered about the Brazilian crotch wax before taking a seat on the latticework of the lawnchair and leaning forward, close to Melón’s face.  He tried and failed to hide the frown.

“Well, look.  Lucinda has been around with some guy who comes from Manchester.  His family comes from that African money.  Gold, diamonds, that shit.”

“To hell with his family,” said Melón.  “What else about him?  Is he fucking her?”

“No, no I did not see that.  I am with her like chewing gum, boss.  I never let her out of my sight.”

“I hope so because if that girl comes in here with a baby, you are the one I am going to beat before I leave you dead in the ocean.”

Teódolo swallowed and nodded obsequiously, his jowls jiggling for attention.  He was nervous because he knew Melón would do far worse than what he threatened.

“Do not worry.  I guard her as if she is my own daughter.”

Melón chuckled and removed a green handkerchief from the front-left pocket of his bowling shirt.  He looked at his reflection in the surface of the table and wiped the banana leaf spittle from the corner of his coarse black stubble.

“You do not give me confidence, Teódolo.  I want you to take care of her as if she was my daughter, not one of the bitches from your neighborhood.”

Teódolo swallowed again and nodded.  “Yes, boss.  With my life.”

Melón knocked on the glass table and shook his head, then stood and walked through the living room to the white door of his bedroom.  He left Teódolo sitting in the lawnchair, wondering if the work was worth the price.

He appeared at the front gate of Melón’s house the next morning as he did every day except the three days at the end of the week when Melón himself would take Lucinda to school and then to the shops to make purchases.  Melón called it the quality time between a father and daughter and Teódolo wondered both how buying a child more of the same things was quality time and if Lucinda’s behavior around her father was the same as her behavior around Teódolo.  She did not seem very mindful of him when he walked several feet behind her in school, and she behaved unsuitably loosely.  She would scream and she would cry, and under no circumstances would she show sympathy or compassion for a man such as Teódolo.  Her time in class was comprised of using her mobile to type and send messages, then turning to talk to either female friends or boys who could catch her attention.  When she walked from class to class, she tried her best to display her chest and rear, far ahead and far behind, respectively, and Teódolo observed that as a result of this behavior, every boy in sight would follow her, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally.  Her female friends would stand beside her and they would discuss the most mundane matters that Teódolo had ever heard.  Only when the school day came to an end would Lucinda allow Teódolo to walk close to her as they returned to the Mercedes in the parking lot.

He waited for several minutes before Lucinda strode out of the house in a fury, her dark hair chasing to catch up to her rapidly bobbing head and school uniform, a long pleated skirt and white blouse, rumpled at all angles.  Her eyes were concealed by large sunglasses and her right hand gripped a large, red leather handbag that Teódolo had never seen before.  She held it so tightly that it began to shake.

“Let’s go!” she screamed, and walked past him into the back seat of the Mercedes.  Teódolo nodded and held the door for her until she threw the purse into the corner of the seat and breathed out in exasperation.

“My father!  He hates that I have a life!”

“Good morning,” said Teódolo.  He rolled her window up as they drove up the tree-lined avenue, passing many other large, typically white, houses, and other large, typically black, cars.  The situation was like that of a diplomatic convoy except the cars did not display any nation’s flag.

Teódolo glanced in the rear-view mirror and noticed Lucinda rummaging in her purse.  “Did you forget something?  Do we need to go back?”

“No, no.  Looking for my make-up.”

“I see.  Very good.”

Lucinda glanced at herself in the same mirror and proceeded to contort her face, stick out her tongue, and pull down her eyelid.

“Very good?  Very good, he says!  I am not good, Teódolo!  My face is hideous!  My father’s constant nagging forced me to leave without applying any make-up at all.  I’m a damn pig, look at me.”  She brought out a plastic case and began her cosmetic routine.

“You are beautiful, Lucinda.  You do not need to worry.”

Lucinda chuckled as she applied the powder to her glistening morning skin.  “You think I am beautiful, do you?”

“I am just saying, you do not need to put yourself down.”

Lucinda grinned and moved to the corner of the back seat.  “What else do you think of me?”

The question unnerved Teódolo and he avoided speaking until he heard her move and stretch the upholstery.  “Never mind.  I did not say anything.”

They turned a corner where several merchants were offering roses, counterfeit DVD discs, and cotton candy mounted along long wooden poles.  Teódolo was driving too quickly for any of them to approach the car and the noise from their sales pitches quickly passed.

“You know why my father chose you?” asked Lucinda while in the throes of applying mascara aboard a moving vehicle.

“No.”

“Because you’re so ugly that I’d never sleep with you.”

“I see.”

Lucinda sighed and turned to look at the side of street.  “You think you’re ugly?”

“I am what I am,” said Teódolo, adding, “I am old.”

“And if I decide to sleep with you one day, what will you do?”

“Do not speak that way, Lucinda.  Please, your father.”

“Yes,” she said.  “A complete idiot.”

Teódolo sighed and contemplated turning the radio on, but such rudeness had the potential to anger Lucinda, and that in turn had the potential to anger Melón.  If Melón was angered severely enough Teódolo would consider leaving the city altogether.

Lucinda was applying lipstick at a stop sign, a rich, carnation red, when she paused and called to Teódolo.  He turned his head to the side just as Lucinda leaned forward and sloppily pressed her lips to his mouth.  The lipstick smeared onto his lips and the stubble around them.

Lucinda smiled and leaned back.  “It looks good on you, don’t remove it.  It’s my favorite color.  They call it Russian to a Party.”

Teódolo grumbled.  After several clumsy wipes some of the waxy red substance found its way into his mouth, and he made a face that amused Lucinda.

“What’s the matter?”

“It tastes awful.”

“It’s not meant to be eaten, stupid.”

“I see.”  He used a handkerchief to remove what his hand had not, and checked himself thoroughly in the mirror.  Such impropriety was dangerous, and his heart rate climbed accordingly until he was certain that no trace of the lipstick remained on his lips or face.

“Why did you want to get out of work today?” asked Lucinda once she had completed applying her make-up and returned everything to her purse.  This prompted another glance from Teódolo into the mirror where he met her smiling eyes.

“Who said that?”

“My father said.  He was ranting about you and your poor, selfish ways.”

“Yes, well, it is true.  I asked for a day to run simple errands when I could simply wait until the weekend.”

Lucinda smirked.  “You’re a bad liar.”

“Excuse me?”

“You told my father that you were going to fix your truck’s transmission.”

Teódolo rubbed his rounded gray chin and coughed again.  “I see. Well, I needed to run errands to pick up parts.”

“I didn’t mean you’re a liar because of what you said.  You make it far too obvious.”  She pulled a tissue from her purse and handed it to Teódolo.  “You sweat and your face becomes shiny.  I’m surprised my father doesn’t notice.”

Teódolo checked himself in the mirror and frowned.

“I see.”

“Just tell me the truth and my father will never hear of this.”

“Hear of what?”

“Lies,” said Lucinda.  “He likes to know that he can trust people to be honest.”

Teódolo considered her statement and then nodded.  “My daughter had cancer of the bones.  She died.  It was on this date, two years ago. I wanted to take roses to her grave.”

“You have a family?”

Teódolo swallowed and scratched his nose, using the gesture to conceal his shimmering eyes.  “I had my daughter.  Araceli.”

Lucinda smiled feebly and moved the hair that had come loose along the side of her face.  “I’m sorry.”

They remained silent for the short remainder of the drive to the secondary school, and Teódolo scrambled to park and open the door for Lucinda so that the topic could be forgotten as quickly as possible.

Lucinda approached Teódolo, her purse hanging from her shoulder and sunglasses in hand.  They stood silent, the students passing them and quickening their pace as the threat of the first bell loomed. Lucinda stepped closer and looked into his brown eyes, overlapped by the folds of his sagging lids and brows.  Teódolo’s pitted cheeks began to glisten once again.

“Lucinda, if there is—”

She reached her hands up, cupping his face with her slender, brown hands, and moved her face to him, pressing her lips fully against his and parting them slightly, allowing wisps of warm breath to escape and flow over his muzzle.  Teódolo remained still, unable to decide on the course of action that would not result in a beating, but was freed from making the choice when she pulled her face away.

“That’s for Araceli.  Don’t eat it this time.”  Lucinda turned and placed her sunglasses over her eyes as she joined the throngs of wandering students, disappearing from view in the span of time that it takes a girl to console an old and ugly man.

Teódolo asked, “May I ask you a question?”

Melón mumbled something and nodded.

Teódolo stood and opened the blinds, avoiding Melón’s gaze.  There was neither sun nor sign of calm.  The street people beyond the wrought iron gates were trapped in the late afternoon march as they moved past and alongside each other politely and with great efficiency.

“I hope you will forgive me…”  He stepped away from the window and faced Melón hesitantly.  This was not peculiar behavior to Melón who was used to the tragedy of Teódolo’s face.  The crenulations on the surface of his cheeks glistened from sunlight reflected off the surface of the glass table.  “I just want to know if I may have a day off tomorrow.”

Melón spit out the wad of banana leaf he held in his mouth and eyed the old man warily.  “And why do you need that?”

“My truck transmission is sticking, and I need to take a day to fix it.”

“What?  Your truck transmission is bad?  Well, I am sorry, Teódolo.  I am sorry your miserable pile of rust is not working.  You ingrate!  You are already off work on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays!  I pay you to take care of my daughter and that includes tomorrow.  Now come here, now.  Tell me about her day at school, or I’ll beat your ass.”

“Okay, sorry.”  Teódolo rubbed the spot on his nose where the long white hairs grew and wondered about the Brazilian crotch wax before taking a seat on the latticework of the lawnchair and leaning forward, close to Melón’s face.  He tried and failed to hide the frown.

“Well, look.  Lucinda has been around with some guy who comes from Manchester.  His family comes from that African money.  Gold, diamonds, that shit.”

“To hell with his family,” said Melón.  “What else about him?  Is he fucking her?”

“No, no I did not see that.  I am with her like chewing gum, boss.  I never let her out of my sight.”

“I hope so because if that girl comes in here with a baby, you are the one I am going to beat before I leave you dead in the ocean.”

Teódolo swallowed and nodded obsequiously, his jowls jiggling for attention.  He was nervous because he knew Melón would do far worse than what he threatened.

“Do not worry.  I guard her as if she is my own daughter.”

Melón chuckled and removed a green handkerchief from the front-left pocket of his bowling shirt.  He looked at his reflection in the surface of the table and wiped the banana leaf spittle from the corner of his coarse black stubble.

“You do not give me confidence, Teódolo.  I want you to take care of her as if she was my daughter, not one of the bitches from your neighborhood.”

Teódolo swallowed again and nodded.  “Yes, boss.  With my life.”

Melón knocked on the glass table and shook his head, then stood and walked through the living room to the white door of his bedroom.  He left Teódolo sitting in the lawnchair, wondering if the work was worth the price.

He appeared at the front gate of Melón’s house the next morning as he did every day except the three days at the end of the week when Melón himself would take Lucinda to school and then to the shops to make purchases.  Melón called it the quality time between a father and daughter and Teódolo wondered both how buying a child more of the same things was quality time and if Lucinda’s behavior around her father was the same as her behavior around Teódolo.  She did not seem very mindful of him when he walked several feet behind her in school, and she behaved unsuitably loosely.  She would scream and she would cry, and under no circumstances would she show sympathy or compassion for a man such as Teódolo.  Her time in class was comprised of using her mobile to type and send messages, then turning to talk to either female friends or boys who could catch her attention.  When she walked from class to class, she tried her best to display her chest and rear, far ahead and far behind, respectively, and Teódolo observed that as a result of this behavior, every boy in sight would follow her, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally.  Her female friends would stand beside her and they would discuss the most mundane matters that Teódolo had ever heard.  Only when the school day came to an end would Lucinda allow Teódolo to walk close to her as they returned to the Mercedes in the parking lot.

He waited for several minutes before Lucinda strode out of the house in a fury, her dark hair chasing to catch up to her rapidly bobbing head and school uniform, a long pleated skirt and white blouse, rumpled at all angles.  Her eyes were concealed by large sunglasses and her right hand gripped a large, red leather handbag that Teódolo had never seen before.  She held it so tightly that it began to shake.

“Let’s go!” she screamed, and walked past him into the back seat of the Mercedes.  Teódolo nodded and held the door for her until she threw the purse into the corner of the seat and breathed out in exasperation.

“My father!  He hates that I have a life!”

“Good morning,” said Teódolo.  He rolled her window up as they drove up the tree-lined avenue, passing many other large, typically white, houses, and other large, typically black, cars.  The situation was like that of a diplomatic convoy except the cars did not display any nation’s flag.

Teódolo glanced in the rear-view mirror and noticed Lucinda rummaging in her purse.  “Did you forget something?  Do we need to go back?”

“No, no.  Looking for my make-up.”

“I see.  Very good.”

Lucinda glanced at herself in the same mirror and proceeded to contort her face, stick out her tongue, and pull down her eyelid.

“Very good?  Very good, he says!  I am not good, Teódolo!  My face is hideous!  My father’s constant nagging forced me to leave without applying any make-up at all.  I’m a damn pig, look at me.”  She brought out a plastic case and began her cosmetic routine.

“You are beautiful, Lucinda.  You do not need to worry.”

Lucinda chuckled as she applied the powder to her glistening morning skin.  “You think I am beautiful, do you?”

“I am just saying, you do not need to put yourself down.”

Lucinda grinned and moved to the corner of the back seat.  “What else do you think of me?”

The question unnerved Teódolo and he avoided speaking until he heard her move and stretch the upholstery.  “Never mind.  I did not say anything.”

They turned a corner where several merchants were offering roses, counterfeit DVD discs, and cotton candy mounted along long wooden poles.  Teódolo was driving too quickly for any of them to approach the car and the noise from their sales pitches quickly passed.

“You know why my father chose you?” asked Lucinda while in the throes of applying mascara aboard a moving vehicle.

“No.”

“Because you’re so ugly that I’d never sleep with you.”

“I see.”

Lucinda sighed and turned to look at the side of street.  “You think you’re ugly?”

“I am what I am,” said Teódolo, adding, “I am old.”

“And if I decide to sleep with you one day, what will you do?”

“Do not speak that way, Lucinda.  Please, your father.”

“Yes,” she said.  “A complete idiot.”

Teódolo sighed and contemplated turning the radio on, but such rudeness had the potential to anger Lucinda, and that in turn had the potential to anger Melón.  If Melón was angered severely enough Teódolo would consider leaving the city altogether.

Lucinda was applying lipstick at a stop sign, a rich, carnation red, when she paused and called to Teódolo.  He turned his head to the side just as Lucinda leaned forward and sloppily pressed her lips to his mouth.  The lipstick smeared onto his lips and the stubble around them.

Lucinda smiled and leaned back.  “It looks good on you, don’t remove it.  It’s my favorite color.  They call it Russian to a Party.”

Teódolo grumbled.  After several clumsy wipes some of the waxy red substance found its way into his mouth, and he made a face that amused Lucinda.

“What’s the matter?”

“It tastes awful.”

“It’s not meant to be eaten, stupid.”

“I see.”  He used a handkerchief to remove what his hand had not, and checked himself thoroughly in the mirror.  Such impropriety was dangerous, and his heart rate climbed accordingly until he was certain that no trace of the lipstick remained on his lips or face.

“Why did you want to get out of work today?” asked Lucinda once she had completed applying her make-up and returned everything to her purse.  This prompted another glance from Teódolo into the mirror where he met her smiling eyes.

“Who said that?”

“My father said.  He was ranting about you and your poor, selfish ways.”

“Yes, well, it is true.  I asked for a day to run simple errands when I could simply wait until the weekend.”

Lucinda smirked.  “You’re a bad liar.”

“Excuse me?”

“You told my father that you were going to fix your truck’s transmission.”

Teódolo rubbed his rounded gray chin and coughed again.  “I see. Well, I needed to run errands to pick up parts.”

“I didn’t mean you’re a liar because of what you said.  You make it far too obvious.”  She pulled a tissue from her purse and handed it to Teódolo.  “You sweat and your face becomes shiny.  I’m surprised my father doesn’t notice.”

Teódolo checked himself in the mirror and frowned.

“I see.”

“Just tell me the truth and my father will never hear of this.”

“Hear of what?”

“Lies,” said Lucinda.  “He likes to know that he can trust people to be honest.”

Teódolo considered her statement and then nodded.  “My daughter had cancer of the bones.  She died.  It was on this date, two years ago. I wanted to take roses to her grave.”

“You have a family?”

Teódolo swallowed and scratched his nose, using the gesture to conceal his shimmering eyes.  “I had my daughter.  Araceli.”

Lucinda smiled feebly and moved the hair that had come loose along the side of her face.  “I’m sorry.”

They remained silent for the short remainder of the drive to the secondary school, and Teódolo scrambled to park and open the door for Lucinda so that the topic could be forgotten as quickly as possible.

Lucinda approached Teódolo, her purse hanging from her shoulder and sunglasses in hand.  They stood silent, the students passing them and quickening their pace as the threat of the first bell loomed. Lucinda stepped closer and looked into his brown eyes, overlapped by the folds of his sagging lids and brows.  Teódolo’s pitted cheeks began to glisten once again.

“Lucinda, if there is—”

She reached her hands up, cupping his face with her slender, brown hands, and moved her face to him, pressing her lips fully against his and parting them slightly, allowing wisps of warm breath to escape and flow over his muzzle.  Teódolo remained still, unable to decide on the course of action that would not result in a beating, but was freed from making the choice when she pulled her face away.

“That’s for Araceli.  Don’t eat it this time.”  Lucinda turned and placed her sunglasses over her eyes as she joined the throngs of wandering students, disappearing from view in the span of time that it takes a girl to console an old and ugly man.

The march came together on a Saturday afternoon in September when Azure, Emily, and Devon were sitting on the old orange love seat under the porch in Devon’s step-father’s backyard.  The day was going to peak at one hundred one degrees but they did not know this when they were sitting on the old orange love seat at five in the afternoon passing a joint amongst each other and eating Lucky Charms straight out of the box.  They were not particularly keen to discussion before smoking so when Emily and Azure arrived earlier that afternoon they mumbled mild greetings and waited for Devon’s mother to drive to work so they could blaze and hang out.  Devon’s mother always re-stocked the chips and cereals and rarely asked Devon how she could eat so much in the course of a week.  Devon’s step-father would usually be working in his home office but was away on business for several weeks in Texas where he was at a conference discussing the future of calculators.

Emily stood up and walked to the edge of the porch when the business of getting high and eating was concluded so that she could lean against the corner post and look out through the porch and into the house. She lifted her black sneaker and placed it against the post as she looked at the other two girls.

“So, what’s it?” she asked.

Devon sat cross-legged on the love seat and rubbed her bleary eyes to help her focus on Emily whose bottle curves and long, dark hair gave her the air of a silhouette on a trucker’s mud flaps.  Devon was far less rounded but was happy to retain boyish proportions and her signature short bob if it meant she could avoid attentions.

She turned back to the box in her lap and closed it up.  “Well, I dunno. Walk to Cucineria?”

“No,” said Azure.  “That place is balls.”

Emily chuckled and looked at the house.  “Look at where we live. Everything here is balls.  Desert and dry hills and not a single interesting person—present company possibly included—within twenty miles.  God, what a hole.  Even this place is about as interesting as watching grass grow.”  She gestured toward the love seat and the rest of the house.  “And we don’t even have grass around here.”

“Well, fuck you, Em”  Devon threw the box of Lucky Charms at Emily who managed to grip the top flap before it hit her.

“Jeez, don’t get so upset.  I’m just saying, there’s nothing to do here besides the sitting or watching TV inside.”

“Too hot inside for that,” said Azure.

“Right, so here we are.  Getting high and sitting around doing nothing.”

“If you hate it here so much why don’t we go to your place?” said Devon.

“Because my mom is there all day, and Azure’s dad doesn’t have a job so he’s around all day doing who knows what, and here we are.  We could leave, if you like?”

Devon shook her head and stretched out, placing her head on Azure’s shoulder and braiding a handful of her shoulder-length blonde hair. She began chuckling and looked toward Emily.

“Don’t be a bitch.  I’m just saying if this is the only place you can hang out then don’t complain.”

“Whatever.”

Emily walked to the arm of the love seat and picked up the joint and lighter to take another hit while Azure rested her head back against the wall of the garage and Devon remained stretched out with her head against Azure’s arm.  They sat and listened to the insects out in the brush behind the house and the faint hiss of Emily inhaling.  She returned the lighter and joint to the ash tray on the couch arm and began pacing along the along the edge of the porch farthest from the love seat.

“You ever seen a sunset?” asked Devon.

Emily stopped her pacing and looked toward the hill that started at the base of the property.

“We live in the desert.  No clouds ever.  What the fuck do you think?”

“I don’t mean the sun coming down over the hills.  I mean, like, asunset.  I want to see a sunset.  You know I’ve lived here since the end of elementary school and I’ve never seen a sunset?  Like, one of those movie sunsets where the sun burns up the sky and sets down behind a flat horizon.”

“So what the fuck, you want us moving the hills?”

“Yea, Em.  I want you to move the hills.”

Emily looked at Devon and paused.

“This shit isn’t that good.  Way to go with the sarcasm.”

“I mean it, though.  I want to see one.  We should go on a hike or something so we can see a sunset that isn’t behind some mound shaped like a pile of crap.”

Azure grinned and began laughing which caused Devon to also start laughing.  The pair laughed for about a minute while Emily smugly looked on and smiled though she did not laugh.  She retained her composure and returned to her post.

“Like a big pile of dog crap, you know?” said Devon.  “Just like it!”

When the laughter died Azure rubbed her eyes and looked back at Emily.  “It’s definitely gonna be hot today.”  She then stood and looked out at the hill behind the house.  “The land over by the highway is flat. It’s on the other side of these hills, right Dev?”

“Yea, yea.  We could probably see a good sunset if we hike up there.”

“What?  You heard Azure,” said Emily.  “It’s too hot to do anything outside, especially hiking.”

“Not hiking hiking.  We’ll just walk up and watch the sun set over the highway or whatever.”

“And?” asked Emily.

“And what?”

“And we just walk all the way up the hill and watch a sun set and then walk all the way back down here to where we started?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s, like, a whole two or three hours of being not only bored but also sweaty, dusty, and tired.  Whoop dee fucking doo.”

“Got anything better?”

Emily smacked her lips and walked toward the house.  “I’m going to get some water.  Come up with something that’s actually, I don’t know, fun, and maybe I’ll hang out.”

Devon rolled her eyes and turned to Azure.  “Is your dad at your house today?  Maybe we can watch movies at your place.”

Azure shook her head.  “He’s there.  He hasn’t gone anywhere for months.  Mom keeps saying that if he doesn’t start looking for work nearby he’ll have to move us to a new city.”

“Really?”

Azure nodded.

“That’s just… I mean, really lame.”

“I know.”

Azure glanced at Devon and smiled reassuringly, then stood and looked at the love seat, eyeing it from different angles.  She moved the hair out of her face and tied back the loose strands with a scrunchie that she produced from the pocket of her shorts.

“We’ll take the couch,” said Azure.

“What?”

Azure went to the side of the love seat that Devon was on and picked it up with little effort.  “See?  It hardly weighs much.  It’s probably plastic or something.”

“Cheap, in other words.”

Azure smiled and picked up the side of the love seat again as high as she could, then dropped it.

“Easy to carry.”

“Ouch.  Fuck you, even.”  Devon then stood and picked up the other end of the love seat to test its weight.  It took less effort than she thought it would and she dropped it hard when the weight of it came down on her hands.

“No wonder mom wanted this piece of shit out here.”  She glanced at the hill behind the property and then back at Azure.

“You think we can?”

“Sure.”

“It’s gonna suck having to bring it back down.”

“Said yourself it’s a piece of shit.  I don’t think anyone will mind if we leave it up there.”

“Maybe.”

Emily appeared then with a glass of lemonade that Devon’s mother had left in the refrigerator.  She saw Azure and Devon standing on either end of the couch and frowned.

“What?”

Azure walked over to her and took the glass from her hand.  She took several sips and then returned the glass to Emily before heading toward the house.

“Well, what the fuck?  You going to tell me what you two were doing?”

“We’re hiking.  We’ll need a thermos or something for the lemonade.” She paused then and said, “Dev?”

“In the bottom-left cabinet.”

Emily continued toward the porch as Azure walked away and looked at Devon.

“We’re also taking the couch,” said Devon.

Emily furrowed her brows then simply closed her eyes and lifted the glass of lemonade to her head.

“Christ, I need new friends.”

“You wanted something to do.”

“Whatever.”

Azure returned with two thermoses, one full of water and one full of lemonade.  She tucked them into the spaces behind the seat cushions and then proceeded to one end of the love seat while Devon stood at the other end.  Devon placed the remainder of the joint and the lighter in the Altoids tin where she kept the papers and weed she’d purchased from her friend Russell and together they lifted the love seat and began moving to the back of the property where the brush became thicker and the land began to rise upward along the hill’s incline. They paused when they were just outside the porch to look at Emily, who had taken her place against the corner post.

“You coming, Em?” asked Devon.

“It’s a fucking love seat.”

“What?”

Devon placed her glass on the window sill of the garage and walked toward the other two girls.

“This isn’t a couch, it’s a love seat.  So how’re three people supposed to lift this?  It only has two ends.”

“We’ll take turns,” said Azure.

Emily traced the walk up the hill with her eyes and said, “Fine.”

They began the walk toward the hill that happened to be next to the property owned by Devon’s step-father.  It was a dry, dusty mound similar to the many around it, all of which surrounded the Western edge of the town in the middle of the northern Arizona desert.  Azure and Devon did not know the area, but Emily, who was born and raised in and around Flagstaff, knew it well.  She had never been close to the friends she made before Azure and Devon because she hated the desert and the buildings and the people who liked that place.  She was sure they did not really like to be there but pretended they did, and even then they were still rude and angry all the time.  It was a cage with no bars or walls to speak of.  Emily saw these things as she walked alongside Azure and Devon, who were doing fairly well with the love seat and had not yet broken a sweat.  She asked them if they wanted her to lift the middle or something.

Devon shook her head and licked her lips.  “Nah.  This is cake.”

Azure concurred, and they continued walking.  After ten minutes the way became steeper and more shrubs appeared along the ground which scraped at Azure’s exposed legs.  They also began to sweat.  The droplets rolled down the sides of their faces and both girls agreed to stop for a moment to catch their breath and get a drink.

“Time to switch,” said Azure.

“Already?” said Emily, and the other two girls nodded.  Emily frowned and looked first at Azure, then Devon.

“Who gets to walk?”

“Dev,” said Azure.

Devon smiled and stepped aside so that Emily could lift the lower end of the love seat.  She, like the others, found it lighter than anticipated, and she lifted it as high as she could to test her strength.  She looked at Devon who nodded in agreement, and they continued up the hill.

“Look at Ms. She-Hulk over here.  You could probably drag this thing all the way up by yourself, huh?”

“Maybe,” said Azure, and she half-heartedly grinned.  “If I did, though, what would you be doing?”

“I don’t know.  Clearing the path, I guess.  Making sure we’re not surprised by a snake or something.  Clear the shrubs.”

“Look at Ms. Livingstone over here.”

“Who?”

“Nobody.”

They remained silent again for a time, listening to the dirt beneath their soles crunch and grind, and sometimes crumble away down the hill.  Emily felt uneasy and decided to break the silence.

“You know, we’re pretty pathetic.”

“How… so,” said Azure, between deep breaths.

“If we were smart we’d have boyfriends for stuff like this.”

“Not worth it,” said Devon, and they all laughed, loudly and without restraint.

Devon then asked, “How’s Nassim been?” toward Emily.  “I haven’t seen him since he graduated.”

Emily’s face became serious, nearly fearsome.  “Fuck him,” she said. “I don’t give a shit about him.”

“Why?”

Emily remained quiet except for a slight groan as she stepped over a small outcropping and was forced to lift the love seat above it.

“He’s a liar,” said Azure.

Devon nodded.  “So?  All boys are liars.”

“Not Nassim,” said Emily.  “He’s nineteen.  He’s ‘a real man now’.”

“Men are just old boys,” said Azure.

They all nodded and stopped talking about Nassim.  Devon looked on Azure worryingly and was prepared to step in to take her place when the ground began to even out.  They stopped to drink and mop the sweat from their foreheads and brows.  Azure looked up toward the flat peak and said she could manage all the way to the top as long as she was guaranteed a seat cushion.  Emily had no problem with the arrangement and Devon grudgingly agreed before they continued for another eight minutes where they finally reached the highest point. They set the love seat down and Azure immediately dug out the water thermos and drank from it, while Devon and Emily eyed the remaining seat.

“All you,” said Devon, and Emily happily took the place beside Azure. They leaned against each other and drank from the thermos until it was emptied while Devon took out the Altoids can and offered it to both Azure and Emily, who waved it away.  She set the tin down on the dirt and then sprawled out across the back of the love seat, her face beside Azure’s where she could smell the dust and sweat from the long march and her feet dangling off the edge near Emily.

“You won’t see any sunset from there,” said Azure.

“We have some time, don’t we?”

Azure looked at the low sun in the Western horizon and said, “I suppose.”

They sat quietly for a moment, and looked toward the sun though never directly at it.  The highway stretched from South-to-North, left-to-right, before them, along with the brown mountains and hills that made up that part of the country, their world.  The late September sun would soon set down below the crags of the horizon.

“Do you really think men are just old boys?” asked Emily.

“Of course,” said Azure.

Emily leaned back and crossed her legs as they lay stretched out before her.

“So I guess women are just old girls?”

Azure nodded and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead.

“Can’t be anything else.”

The march came together on a Saturday afternoon in September when Azure, Emily, and Devon were sitting on the old orange love seat under the porch in Devon’s step-father’s backyard.  The day was going to peak at one hundred one degrees but they did not know this when they were sitting on the old orange love seat at five in the afternoon passing a joint amongst each other and eating Lucky Charms straight out of the box.  They were not particularly keen to discussion before smoking so when Emily and Azure arrived earlier that afternoon they mumbled mild greetings and waited for Devon’s mother to drive to work so they could blaze and hang out.  Devon’s mother always re-stocked the chips and cereals and rarely asked Devon how she could eat so much in the course of a week.  Devon’s step-father would usually be working in his home office but was away on business for several weeks in Texas where he was at a conference discussing the future of calculators.

Emily stood up and walked to the edge of the porch when the business of getting high and eating was concluded so that she could lean against the corner post and look out through the porch and into the house. She lifted her black sneaker and placed it against the post as she looked at the other two girls.

“So, what’s it?” she asked.

Devon sat cross-legged on the love seat and rubbed her bleary eyes to help her focus on Emily whose bottle curves and long, dark hair gave her the air of a silhouette on a trucker’s mud flaps.  Devon was far less rounded but was happy to retain boyish proportions and her signature short bob if it meant she could avoid attentions.

She turned back to the box in her lap and closed it up.  “Well, I dunno. Walk to Cucineria?”

“No,” said Azure.  “That place is balls.”

Emily chuckled and looked at the house.  “Look at where we live. Everything here is balls.  Desert and dry hills and not a single interesting person—present company possibly included—within twenty miles.  God, what a hole.  Even this place is about as interesting as watching grass grow.”  She gestured toward the love seat and the rest of the house.  “And we don’t even have grass around here.”

“Well, fuck you, Em”  Devon threw the box of Lucky Charms at Emily who managed to grip the top flap before it hit her.

“Jeez, don’t get so upset.  I’m just saying, there’s nothing to do here besides the sitting or watching TV inside.”

“Too hot inside for that,” said Azure.

“Right, so here we are.  Getting high and sitting around doing nothing.”

“If you hate it here so much why don’t we go to your place?” said Devon.

“Because my mom is there all day, and Azure’s dad doesn’t have a job so he’s around all day doing who knows what, and here we are.  We could leave, if you like?”

Devon shook her head and stretched out, placing her head on Azure’s shoulder and braiding a handful of her shoulder-length blonde hair. She began chuckling and looked toward Emily.

“Don’t be a bitch.  I’m just saying if this is the only place you can hang out then don’t complain.”

“Whatever.”

Emily walked to the arm of the love seat and picked up the joint and lighter to take another hit while Azure rested her head back against the wall of the garage and Devon remained stretched out with her head against Azure’s arm.  They sat and listened to the insects out in the brush behind the house and the faint hiss of Emily inhaling.  She returned the lighter and joint to the ash tray on the couch arm and began pacing along the along the edge of the porch farthest from the love seat.

“You ever seen a sunset?” asked Devon.

Emily stopped her pacing and looked toward the hill that started at the base of the property.

“We live in the desert.  No clouds ever.  What the fuck do you think?”

“I don’t mean the sun coming down over the hills.  I mean, like, asunset.  I want to see a sunset.  You know I’ve lived here since the end of elementary school and I’ve never seen a sunset?  Like, one of those movie sunsets where the sun burns up the sky and sets down behind a flat horizon.”

“So what the fuck, you want us moving the hills?”

“Yea, Em.  I want you to move the hills.”

Emily looked at Devon and paused.

“This shit isn’t that good.  Way to go with the sarcasm.”

“I mean it, though.  I want to see one.  We should go on a hike or something so we can see a sunset that isn’t behind some mound shaped like a pile of crap.”

Azure grinned and began laughing which caused Devon to also start laughing.  The pair laughed for about a minute while Emily smugly looked on and smiled though she did not laugh.  She retained her composure and returned to her post.

“Like a big pile of dog crap, you know?” said Devon.  “Just like it!”

When the laughter died Azure rubbed her eyes and looked back at Emily.  “It’s definitely gonna be hot today.”  She then stood and looked out at the hill behind the house.  “The land over by the highway is flat. It’s on the other side of these hills, right Dev?”

“Yea, yea.  We could probably see a good sunset if we hike up there.”

“What?  You heard Azure,” said Emily.  “It’s too hot to do anything outside, especially hiking.”

“Not hiking hiking.  We’ll just walk up and watch the sun set over the highway or whatever.”

“And?” asked Emily.

“And what?”

“And we just walk all the way up the hill and watch a sun set and then walk all the way back down here to where we started?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s, like, a whole two or three hours of being not only bored but also sweaty, dusty, and tired.  Whoop dee fucking doo.”

“Got anything better?”

Emily smacked her lips and walked toward the house.  “I’m going to get some water.  Come up with something that’s actually, I don’t know, fun, and maybe I’ll hang out.”

Devon rolled her eyes and turned to Azure.  “Is your dad at your house today?  Maybe we can watch movies at your place.”

Azure shook her head.  “He’s there.  He hasn’t gone anywhere for months.  Mom keeps saying that if he doesn’t start looking for work nearby he’ll have to move us to a new city.”

“Really?”

Azure nodded.

“That’s just… I mean, really lame.”

“I know.”

Azure glanced at Devon and smiled reassuringly, then stood and looked at the love seat, eyeing it from different angles.  She moved the hair out of her face and tied back the loose strands with a scrunchie that she produced from the pocket of her shorts.

“We’ll take the couch,” said Azure.

“What?”

Azure went to the side of the love seat that Devon was on and picked it up with little effort.  “See?  It hardly weighs much.  It’s probably plastic or something.”

“Cheap, in other words.”

Azure smiled and picked up the side of the love seat again as high as she could, then dropped it.

“Easy to carry.”

“Ouch.  Fuck you, even.”  Devon then stood and picked up the other end of the love seat to test its weight.  It took less effort than she thought it would and she dropped it hard when the weight of it came down on her hands.

“No wonder mom wanted this piece of shit out here.”  She glanced at the hill behind the property and then back at Azure.

“You think we can?”

“Sure.”

“It’s gonna suck having to bring it back down.”

“Said yourself it’s a piece of shit.  I don’t think anyone will mind if we leave it up there.”

“Maybe.”

Emily appeared then with a glass of lemonade that Devon’s mother had left in the refrigerator.  She saw Azure and Devon standing on either end of the couch and frowned.

“What?”

Azure walked over to her and took the glass from her hand.  She took several sips and then returned the glass to Emily before heading toward the house.

“Well, what the fuck?  You going to tell me what you two were doing?”

“We’re hiking.  We’ll need a thermos or something for the lemonade.” She paused then and said, “Dev?”

“In the bottom-left cabinet.”

Emily continued toward the porch as Azure walked away and looked at Devon.

“We’re also taking the couch,” said Devon.

Emily furrowed her brows then simply closed her eyes and lifted the glass of lemonade to her head.

“Christ, I need new friends.”

“You wanted something to do.”

“Whatever.”

Azure returned with two thermoses, one full of water and one full of lemonade.  She tucked them into the spaces behind the seat cushions and then proceeded to one end of the love seat while Devon stood at the other end.  Devon placed the remainder of the joint and the lighter in the Altoids tin where she kept the papers and weed she’d purchased from her friend Russell and together they lifted the love seat and began moving to the back of the property where the brush became thicker and the land began to rise upward along the hill’s incline. They paused when they were just outside the porch to look at Emily, who had taken her place against the corner post.

“You coming, Em?” asked Devon.

“It’s a fucking love seat.”

“What?”

Devon placed her glass on the window sill of the garage and walked toward the other two girls.

“This isn’t a couch, it’s a love seat.  So how’re three people supposed to lift this?  It only has two ends.”

“We’ll take turns,” said Azure.

Emily traced the walk up the hill with her eyes and said, “Fine.”

They began the walk toward the hill that happened to be next to the property owned by Devon’s step-father.  It was a dry, dusty mound similar to the many around it, all of which surrounded the Western edge of the town in the middle of the northern Arizona desert.  Azure and Devon did not know the area, but Emily, who was born and raised in and around Flagstaff, knew it well.  She had never been close to the friends she made before Azure and Devon because she hated the desert and the buildings and the people who liked that place.  She was sure they did not really like to be there but pretended they did, and even then they were still rude and angry all the time.  It was a cage with no bars or walls to speak of.  Emily saw these things as she walked alongside Azure and Devon, who were doing fairly well with the love seat and had not yet broken a sweat.  She asked them if they wanted her to lift the middle or something.

Devon shook her head and licked her lips.  “Nah.  This is cake.”

Azure concurred, and they continued walking.  After ten minutes the way became steeper and more shrubs appeared along the ground which scraped at Azure’s exposed legs.  They also began to sweat.  The droplets rolled down the sides of their faces and both girls agreed to stop for a moment to catch their breath and get a drink.

“Time to switch,” said Azure.

“Already?” said Emily, and the other two girls nodded.  Emily frowned and looked first at Azure, then Devon.

“Who gets to walk?”

“Dev,” said Azure.

Devon smiled and stepped aside so that Emily could lift the lower end of the love seat.  She, like the others, found it lighter than anticipated, and she lifted it as high as she could to test her strength.  She looked at Devon who nodded in agreement, and they continued up the hill.

“Look at Ms. She-Hulk over here.  You could probably drag this thing all the way up by yourself, huh?”

“Maybe,” said Azure, and she half-heartedly grinned.  “If I did, though, what would you be doing?”

“I don’t know.  Clearing the path, I guess.  Making sure we’re not surprised by a snake or something.  Clear the shrubs.”

“Look at Ms. Livingstone over here.”

“Who?”

“Nobody.”

They remained silent again for a time, listening to the dirt beneath their soles crunch and grind, and sometimes crumble away down the hill.  Emily felt uneasy and decided to break the silence.

“You know, we’re pretty pathetic.”

“How… so,” said Azure, between deep breaths.

“If we were smart we’d have boyfriends for stuff like this.”

“Not worth it,” said Devon, and they all laughed, loudly and without restraint.

Devon then asked, “How’s Nassim been?” toward Emily.  “I haven’t seen him since he graduated.”

Emily’s face became serious, nearly fearsome.  “Fuck him,” she said. “I don’t give a shit about him.”

“Why?”

Emily remained quiet except for a slight groan as she stepped over a small outcropping and was forced to lift the love seat above it.

“He’s a liar,” said Azure.

Devon nodded.  “So?  All boys are liars.”

“Not Nassim,” said Emily.  “He’s nineteen.  He’s ‘a real man now’.”

“Men are just old boys,” said Azure.

They all nodded and stopped talking about Nassim.  Devon looked on Azure worryingly and was prepared to step in to take her place when the ground began to even out.  They stopped to drink and mop the sweat from their foreheads and brows.  Azure looked up toward the flat peak and said she could manage all the way to the top as long as she was guaranteed a seat cushion.  Emily had no problem with the arrangement and Devon grudgingly agreed before they continued for another eight minutes where they finally reached the highest point. They set the love seat down and Azure immediately dug out the water thermos and drank from it, while Devon and Emily eyed the remaining seat.

“All you,” said Devon, and Emily happily took the place beside Azure. They leaned against each other and drank from the thermos until it was emptied while Devon took out the Altoids can and offered it to both Azure and Emily, who waved it away.  She set the tin down on the dirt and then sprawled out across the back of the love seat, her face beside Azure’s where she could smell the dust and sweat from the long march and her feet dangling off the edge near Emily.

“You won’t see any sunset from there,” said Azure.

“We have some time, don’t we?”

Azure looked at the low sun in the Western horizon and said, “I suppose.”

They sat quietly for a moment, and looked toward the sun though never directly at it.  The highway stretched from South-to-North, left-to-right, before them, along with the brown mountains and hills that made up that part of the country, their world.  The late September sun would soon set down below the crags of the horizon.

“Do you really think men are just old boys?” asked Emily.

“Of course,” said Azure.

Emily leaned back and crossed her legs as they lay stretched out before her.

“So I guess women are just old girls?”

Azure nodded and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead.

“Can’t be anything else.”

We sat together and yet respectfully apart, her hands on her purse, my left arm draped across the back of the booth and my right on the table, close to hers and aching to feel the warmth of her yet hesitant to move forward. It could have taken only one shot, one reach across the table towards her hands to show her what she meant to me, or to put it simply what she had done. She was responsible for the state I was in but she seemed to be trying her best to walk away without actually standing and walking away, just as I was trying my damndest to get closer to her without physically moving. It is what they call a Mexican standoff, where two parties find themselves in a state of equilibrium and neither is able to gain the upper hand over the other. I was no stranger to the experience and I would not allow myself to be defeated, though, strangely enough, I did not want to defeat. It would take some form of cunning to navigate this field.

“Do you have to leave? It’s been… I can’t explain it, I can’t. It’s been years of wondering who she would be, when I would meet her, what she would be wearing, if she would be older, or younger, and what her words would say when I finally found her, the person who I was meant to spend a life with. The woman whose heart would rest on mine and whose lips would reach for me in the dead of night beneath warm blankets. I will not admit that I have found her but I will simply ask that you stay and allow me one more dance.”

I thought I saw her react but her gaze was steadfast and her hands did not shift, nor her resolve waver.

“No,” she told me. A bullet whizzed past my ear. “I can’t stay here,” and a crippling shot in the leg. I was now limping.

She wasn’t smiling and that frown was not unlike a dagger twisted into my ribs, hurtful as it was. I would have mentally accused her of being a bitch and wanting nothing more than to string me along so that she could just walk away and leave me a pitiful sight to all eyes, so pitiful that there would be no ambulatory aid to raise me from this booth; but, I could not come to that conclusion. It seemed she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince me.

“Why?”

“You’ve been… wonderful, but I can’t. I need to leave. I never should’ve even come out, I don’t know. Please…” and she stands! A grenade had been lobbed and I had no choice but to dash for cover and hold on for dear life.

“This can’t be it. We had a great time, didn’t we? This can’t be it.”

“This is it for us. I hope you find the woman you’ve always wondered about, but it isn’t me. Now, let go of my hand,” she told me, but I did not do so immediately. I was filled with thoughts of holding on, and bringing her back to me by force if necessary. They were the thoughts that occasionally although inevitably appear as strategies for success are considered, but I was not one to fight a dirty war, and so I let go, and meekly sat back, raising my lower lip in defeat and watching as she stood, her hips wonderfully shaped in the strapless dress, its pattern barely recognizable beneath the gaudy lights of the club debauchery. The chestnut locks of her shimmering hair fell across her face as she picked up her purse from the table and in that moment I thought I detected hesitation, a thought which quickly dissipated when her face and faint smile came into view.

“Thank you,” she said, and then fired what would be the final bullet. She walked, not toward the main entrance but toward the side door directly across from the booth where she and I had briefly been the greatest of unions. The dance floor seemed to part for her; or, perhaps, the revelers did so on my account, allowing full view of the beauty whose killer form and deadly eyes waged a decisive battle where the enemy fought bravely and died dishonorably at the feet of an adversary far greater and more admirable than the armies of all the nations on this Earth.

We sat together and yet respectfully apart, her hands on her purse, my left arm draped across the back of the booth and my right on the table, close to hers and aching to feel the warmth of her yet hesitant to move forward. It could have taken only one shot, one reach across the table towards her hands to show her what she meant to me, or to put it simply what she had done. She was responsible for the state I was in but she seemed to be trying her best to walk away without actually standing and walking away, just as I was trying my damndest to get closer to her without physically moving. It is what they call a Mexican standoff, where two parties find themselves in a state of equilibrium and neither is able to gain the upper hand over the other. I was no stranger to the experience and I would not allow myself to be defeated, though, strangely enough, I did not want to defeat. It would take some form of cunning to navigate this field.

“Do you have to leave? It’s been… I can’t explain it, I can’t. It’s been years of wondering who she would be, when I would meet her, what she would be wearing, if she would be older, or younger, and what her words would say when I finally found her, the person who I was meant to spend a life with. The woman whose heart would rest on mine and whose lips would reach for me in the dead of night beneath warm blankets. I will not admit that I have found her but I will simply ask that you stay and allow me one more dance.”

I thought I saw her react but her gaze was steadfast and her hands did not shift, nor her resolve waver.

“No,” she told me. A bullet whizzed past my ear. “I can’t stay here,” and a crippling shot in the leg. I was now limping.

She wasn’t smiling and that frown was not unlike a dagger twisted into my ribs, hurtful as it was. I would have mentally accused her of being a bitch and wanting nothing more than to string me along so that she could just walk away and leave me a pitiful sight to all eyes, so pitiful that there would be no ambulatory aid to raise me from this booth; but, I could not come to that conclusion. It seemed she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince me.

“Why?”

“You’ve been… wonderful, but I can’t. I need to leave. I never should’ve even come out, I don’t know. Please…” and she stands! A grenade had been lobbed and I had no choice but to dash for cover and hold on for dear life.

“This can’t be it. We had a great time, didn’t we? This can’t be it.”

“This is it for us. I hope you find the woman you’ve always wondered about, but it isn’t me. Now, let go of my hand,” she told me, but I did not do so immediately. I was filled with thoughts of holding on, and bringing her back to me by force if necessary. They were the thoughts that occasionally although inevitably appear as strategies for success are considered, but I was not one to fight a dirty war, and so I let go, and meekly sat back, raising my lower lip in defeat and watching as she stood, her hips wonderfully shaped in the strapless dress, its pattern barely recognizable beneath the gaudy lights of the club debauchery. The chestnut locks of her shimmering hair fell across her face as she picked up her purse from the table and in that moment I thought I detected hesitation, a thought which quickly dissipated when her face and faint smile came into view.

“Thank you,” she said, and then fired what would be the final bullet. She walked, not toward the main entrance but toward the side door directly across from the booth where she and I had briefly been the greatest of unions. The dance floor seemed to part for her; or, perhaps, the revelers did so on my account, allowing full view of the beauty whose killer form and deadly eyes waged a decisive battle where the enemy fought bravely and died dishonorably at the feet of an adversary far greater and more admirable than the armies of all the nations on this Earth.

People of dark, ashen skin and even darker hair, draped in the remnants of once proudly worn clothing, mull about the heap of garbage on the old ocean barge, removing objects and waste they feel may be useful. The melancholy waves crash against the low sides of the foul smelling ship and splash the heavily salted water across an old black duffle bag. The old crusty cardboard inside once again soaked… the ink that once defaced a jolly fat Italian chef with the ramblings of a mad traveler now a mere smear of blue and black. One short, wiry thin woman sees the duffle bag and hunches down, groaning as her old knees and back resist the adjustment into this most uncomfortable position. The muscles beneath the loose skin of her arms ripple and stretch as she places her hands around the top rim of the duffle bag. She fights the mountain of diapers for the duffle bag and wins when the full length of it emerges. It is faded to the point where one could think this duffle bag is gray and not black, and jagged holes surround it on all sides. A strip of what was once an aluminum can juts out from beneath it, strange liquid dripping from the sharp and silvery tip. The woman is careful not to allow the bottom of the bag to get near her.

She pulls the string sealing the opening and leans over to peer inside, pausing only to move strands of graying black hair from her eyes and tuck them neatly behind her left ear. Her brows furrow as she is reminded that her once black hair is as gray as the duffle bag. A second later she is looking inside… nothing too interesting. She removes a diamond shaped shred of cardboard and looks at it, unknowingly cocking her head as she does so. It is a strange collection of symbols that she decides can only be a form of writing, but none that she is familiar with. The woman discards it along with the rest of the trash and thrusts her arm into the bag, shoveling out the contents. Strips of paper and cardboard fall out across the trash heap and as she hurriedly digs they begin to fall past the edge of the barge and into the ocean below. Once she has dug through half the bag she finds another, smaller bag. She remembers the children in the city wear these across their backs to carry school items. The woman removes this bag and sets it beside her before returning to her exploration of the graying black duffle bag. All that remains are a large, soiled green blanket, several more piles of papers and cardboard, and a plastic bag containing several rotted articles of clothing. Even her ragged wardrobe is better than these remains. She removes what remains to ensure she has scavenged what she can and then tosses the old useless duffle bag aside. It falls limp near the edge of the barge, half the bag hanging off the edge and soaked within seconds by the rolling waves.

The woman brings the smaller bag between her legs and finds several items. One is a plastic bag containing several old notebooks, all bound together by a worn red scarf. She rips the old scarf away and skims through the notebooks. The same writing from the old shreds of paper… along with many hastily drawn images. A lonely old tree… a large house surrounded by drooping willows… a round feminine face veiled by long and unbrushed hair… an old metallic oil lamp… a hazy mountain peak visible past the edge of a cliff… a large savage looking dog… all blurry and smeared across the pages they adorn. She sees no use in such frivolous garbage and lobs them out into the ocean, now angry that this seemingly unscathed treasure chest is yielding no worthwhile treasure. The notebooks make no splash and bob up and down with the waves, slowly floating away into the depths of time. The woman resumes her search of the small bag and finds yet another item containing the strange foreign symbols. A thick old book… red cover worn to the point where it is as thin as paper after having once been as thick as wood. She finds herself curious to look at more of this foreign writing in a futile attempt to understand its meaning.

This foreign writing is not smeared, but printed. It remains steadfast on the old yellowed sheets of paper. The woman does notice one smeared line on the first page of the book, a line that for some reason was handwritten while the rest of the book was not. She looks at the smeared line and cocks her head again. She will never know what that line meant. Regaining what little composure a woman of her lowly status can muster she places the book on a diaper beside her and continues searching the bag. Not much remains… several warped pens, rolls of green sheets of paper now melted into each other, more refuse. But as she reaches into a small sidepocket inside the bag she finds something hard, and long. The woman pulls it out and reveals it to be a cracked leather sheath, and as she opens the sheath she reveals its guarded treasure: a knife, with handle made of a strange dark wood and figure of yet another savage dog carved into it. The blade is somewhat dulled yet as brilliant as the day it was received. She smiles at finding such a useful treasure and places it back into the sheath, then into the pocket of her worn dress. She stands up, and looks about for the next discovery. The old red book remains on the filthy diaper for a few minutes while the woman returns from whence she came, until a large swell rocks the barge. The book skids and tumbles along the piles of rubbish and into the ocean, joining the rest of the trash that could not cling to the side of the heap. Floating away… discarded along with the rest of the evidence that, once upon a time, a man lived.

A tiny, miniscule, insignificant portion of an unnoticeable part of the universe giggles with delight and cries in agony, if only for the smallest comprehensible expanse of time, and then resumes the mundanity of existence.

People of dark, ashen skin and even darker hair, draped in the remnants of once proudly worn clothing, mull about the heap of garbage on the old ocean barge, removing objects and waste they feel may be useful. The melancholy waves crash against the low sides of the foul smelling ship and splash the heavily salted water across an old black duffle bag. The old crusty cardboard inside once again soaked… the ink that once defaced a jolly fat Italian chef with the ramblings of a mad traveler now a mere smear of blue and black. One short, wiry thin woman sees the duffle bag and hunches down, groaning as her old knees and back resist the adjustment into this most uncomfortable position. The muscles beneath the loose skin of her arms ripple and stretch as she places her hands around the top rim of the duffle bag. She fights the mountain of diapers for the duffle bag and wins when the full length of it emerges. It is faded to the point where one could think this duffle bag is gray and not black, and jagged holes surround it on all sides. A strip of what was once an aluminum can juts out from beneath it, strange liquid dripping from the sharp and silvery tip. The woman is careful not to allow the bottom of the bag to get near her.

She pulls the string sealing the opening and leans over to peer inside, pausing only to move strands of graying black hair from her eyes and tuck them neatly behind her left ear. Her brows furrow as she is reminded that her once black hair is as gray as the duffle bag. A second later she is looking inside… nothing too interesting. She removes a diamond shaped shred of cardboard and looks at it, unknowingly cocking her head as she does so. It is a strange collection of symbols that she decides can only be a form of writing, but none that she is familiar with. The woman discards it along with the rest of the trash and thrusts her arm into the bag, shoveling out the contents. Strips of paper and cardboard fall out across the trash heap and as she hurriedly digs they begin to fall past the edge of the barge and into the ocean below. Once she has dug through half the bag she finds another, smaller bag. She remembers the children in the city wear these across their backs to carry school items. The woman removes this bag and sets it beside her before returning to her exploration of the graying black duffle bag. All that remains are a large, soiled green blanket, several more piles of papers and cardboard, and a plastic bag containing several rotted articles of clothing. Even her ragged wardrobe is better than these remains. She removes what remains to ensure she has scavenged what she can and then tosses the old useless duffle bag aside. It falls limp near the edge of the barge, half the bag hanging off the edge and soaked within seconds by the rolling waves.

The woman brings the smaller bag between her legs and finds several items. One is a plastic bag containing several old notebooks, all bound together by a worn red scarf. She rips the old scarf away and skims through the notebooks. The same writing from the old shreds of paper… along with many hastily drawn images. A lonely old tree… a large house surrounded by drooping willows… a round feminine face veiled by long and unbrushed hair… an old metallic oil lamp… a hazy mountain peak visible past the edge of a cliff… a large savage looking dog… all blurry and smeared across the pages they adorn. She sees no use in such frivolous garbage and lobs them out into the ocean, now angry that this seemingly unscathed treasure chest is yielding no worthwhile treasure. The notebooks make no splash and bob up and down with the waves, slowly floating away into the depths of time. The woman resumes her search of the small bag and finds yet another item containing the strange foreign symbols. A thick old book… red cover worn to the point where it is as thin as paper after having once been as thick as wood. She finds herself curious to look at more of this foreign writing in a futile attempt to understand its meaning.

This foreign writing is not smeared, but printed. It remains steadfast on the old yellowed sheets of paper. The woman does notice one smeared line on the first page of the book, a line that for some reason was handwritten while the rest of the book was not. She looks at the smeared line and cocks her head again. She will never know what that line meant. Regaining what little composure a woman of her lowly status can muster she places the book on a diaper beside her and continues searching the bag. Not much remains… several warped pens, rolls of green sheets of paper now melted into each other, more refuse. But as she reaches into a small sidepocket inside the bag she finds something hard, and long. The woman pulls it out and reveals it to be a cracked leather sheath, and as she opens the sheath she reveals its guarded treasure: a knife, with handle made of a strange dark wood and figure of yet another savage dog carved into it. The blade is somewhat dulled yet as brilliant as the day it was received. She smiles at finding such a useful treasure and places it back into the sheath, then into the pocket of her worn dress. She stands up, and looks about for the next discovery. The old red book remains on the filthy diaper for a few minutes while the woman returns from whence she came, until a large swell rocks the barge. The book skids and tumbles along the piles of rubbish and into the ocean, joining the rest of the trash that could not cling to the side of the heap. Floating away… discarded along with the rest of the evidence that, once upon a time, a man lived.

A tiny, miniscule, insignificant portion of an unnoticeable part of the universe giggles with delight and cries in agony, if only for the smallest comprehensible expanse of time, and then resumes the mundanity of existence.