|Of course I’ll remember the breakfast at Sandborn’s: the jugo mezclado and the tamales verdes. But I will also remember the evening Lucas was hit; it was my neighbor who grilled steaks and broke the news to me after a few beers. He was the only one in town who could tell me who hit that white dog–the paralysed symbol of my ‘chastity’ that bled from the eyes and died in someone else’s arms. I know there is no word in Spanish for ‘pet’, but still.
You had been summoned to Xalapa by your mother. Resembling each other made it easy for us to travel anywhere except to your parents. Hatred is a sin, and yet I feel it towards all the big-boned gringas that seem to shape your destiny.
Until I am free of you no confession will cleanse me.
|© Tasso 2002|