more mangos please

Didn’t I tell you about it that one time? I could’ve sworn I did. Two summers ago when you held my hand and gave me the sunflowers that you had bought from a street vendor down Coral Way. Remember? I wanted to let you know that we weren’t perfect either but that every family has something that connects them together. You do remember the mangos… don’t you? I told you how papi used to give my brother and I black trash bags to take out to the backyard and fill up to the brim. It was always kind of nasty, stepping on the rotten fruit, green-orange ooze seeping in through our thin soled shoes, making us slip and fall atop more rotting deliciousness. We would return from the infested battlefield with sweat pouring down our faces, covered in muck and swatting away the vicious fruit flies that were mercilessly trying to nab a piece of our carefully collected prizes.
I told you about el recojedor de mangos right? The mango collector? Papi invented it one year when we got sick of having our soft mangos mating so forcefully with the hard ground. Two broomsticks sophistically taped together (black electrical tape mind you), with a basket and a hook on one end was all it took so that he could snatch the mangos right off the tree before they splattered. It was surprising how well it worked and how long the damn thing lasted.
I remember people from all over the neighborhood knocking on our door asking for mangos. Mami or papi would bring out the mango collector and hand it to them. ¡Disfrutenlo! Enjoy it! Others would just sneak into our backyard and take some. One year mami prepared dozens of baskets full of the delicious treats to give away to our family and friends. We went all over Miami delivering them. And the reactions? Unforgettable.

Mangos

My goodness, remember when we used to go to the beach together? We’d round up the gang and find an empty cabaña. The padlock on number 52 was perpetually broken so we’d sit there with cheapo Publix sandwiches, lots of oranges and maybe even a watermelon or two. Every once in a while someone would bring a little beer and a hammock and we’d have it made. I never thought to bring mangos. Maybe it’s because they usually weren’t in season during the school year and that’s when we could get everyone together to head out. Maybe I just wanted the mangos to be the precious jewels that I only shared with my family. Whatever it was, you never got to experience eating a mango out in the open sea, the light sea salt bringing out the intense sweetness. You never got to throw a mango peel out to the ocean and watch the waves devour it greedily, not wanting to give it back to you.

I don’t think we knew each other well when Katrina happened. Eramos bebes, babies, in high school and we had just started boot camp for the school’s Coast Guard Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps. We were out of school for a whole week. I was so upset the day after Katrina passed by, walking out to the backyard and seeing one of our strong, prized mango trees splintered in half. Our cacti had collapsed completely on top of our outside deck. A freaking mess.

Then I saw the news and I heard the stories, the horrors about what had happened in New Orleans. Suddenly, clearing up the wreckage that Katrina had caused in our backyards didn’t seem like such a burden. A week later and Wilma hit, a cute little storm compared to what Katrina had been. Our school flooded that time (maybe it wasn’t such a hot idea to have a school on the bay, especially in a state where hurricanes frequent). She gave us two weeks of no readin' writin' and 'rithmetic which, after clearing up the wreckage, were spent sleeping outside in the God given 65 degree weather. Mami would bring out the mangos she had salvaged from the backyard and we’d eat as many as we could, knowing that we wouldn’t be able to preserve them until the electricity came back on and who the hell knew when that would be.

Why the fuck are you one of us tonight?

You wanted to. You wanted to change to leave to be more than you were and see the stars above your head, the grass beneath your what? Your feet, and see how different you can be when you’re not you but when you’re me. And you told me you had promised the promise that defeats the purpose of living, of being without what you were without and I can’t tell you how many times since then I’ve tried to barter and get back what you lost while you were being so egotistical that you wanted nothing to do with what and who and where your tall grass bloomed. Why now the deceit and the need to explore, this is why you’re not you and I’m not me and this is why we are not meant to be two bodies in this sea we call life. This is why you must leave and drive yourself to insanity and drive drive drive off the edge into a bleeding world of missed connections and starving humans and walking fish and why are you here and not there and why did you choose to die and not live and why are you here and not where you were meant to be?

Price

Let them down, the tresses you’re so proud of that give you joy that give you escape that give you meaning. Let them down and see what I can do and see how I believe I can destroy as easily as you believe you can build up. Where has your life escaped to? Has it run off with your hopes and dreams to climb the mountains of light on the other side of the pages you turn, or is it sitting like a caged animal upon a pile of cheapened worries and burdens that you heap and heap on your skull? Let them down and we will see your hollowed, pitiful ways moving through your days with the illusion that Evil looms a foot from your nightstand never understanding that he has taken over your mind day to day night to night as you shiver in between the silk sheets that fear has bought for you at the price of freedom. What a barter you have made that you can no longer bear to look outside.

Hand in Hand

We left the forest together,
that's how I remember it.
We carried on our backs sweet beads of sweat,
the promise of a better yesterday because today hadn't happened.
We left the forest together,
following trails of broken glass that fell from earth
shattering against the sky,
our feet bleeding like they never have.
We left the forest together,
the grass too prickly for our naked, worn out soles
sugar encrusted mint leaves shredding out bare legs,
gingerbread missiles flying down upon our heads.
We left the forest together
and forgot to look behind us,
and forgot to run for cover
as they chased us with arms wide open,
suckers stuck between their blackened teeth
offering circles with broken crosses.
We left the forest together,
or at least tried to.

Sleeping Beauty

There was beauty.

Flowing waves of long black hair

And deep pools for eyes.

Skin, soft, the color of white marble, had been flawless.

Lips, moist, the color of strawberries, had never been touched.

There was ignorance, vanity and pride.

And then there was jealousy.

Yellow eyes amidst green decaying skin stared day and night at that beauty. A few crooked teeth smiled wickedly as a malevolent plan unfolded.

Plot.

The impossible task. A coat like the starry night, black like the ebony keys on her piano, with stars made of diamonds. Enough to turn any spinner blind.

And so the beauty starts, believing she can finish this task.

After all, she's perfect in every way.

Perfect pianist,

perfect seamstress,

perfect painter...

But she frets day in and day out as she realizes what a heavy task it is…

Worry lines begin to appear.

She pricks her fingers again and again on that spinning wheel

soft hands turn calloused and rough.

She bites her lips in worry

they bleed, heal and scab over.

Her eyes change color, from deep black, to dark gray, to light gray... to milky white.

And jealousy succeeds.

And beauty slaves away until another more beautiful and more vain than she takes her place.

In the end, no one lives happily ever after.