The radio said that Silvia would be a category one hurricane. Hours before her arrival I developed a grade-one buzzing in my ears, much more troubling than a common tinnitus. I feared that Silvia’s song would knock the rhythm of the heart out of synch, the little dynamo would go crazy, initiating a loud whirring that would make dogs growl and whine, sending all of nature into a spin, for once subduing the daily uproar of the streets.
The rain came down that day in angry, ruthless sheets, turning the hillsides to mud, pushing the workers’ shanties down toward the beach, toward the fancy hotels where they labored serving the tourists who now huddled at the bar, little umbrellas poking their noses, as they sipped tequila and waited out the storm. But we […]
I am young when I meet him. I don’t think I am (no one does at eighteen), but I am. At that age, I think I’m queen of the world. Level-headed, responsible, mature to a fault. Careful. Reserved. In the grand span of life, he’s young too, but not as young as me. At twenty-four, […]
If the boy continues to ruminate, he’ll have dark thoughts. No one to stop him. Not even the girl he is always thinking about, the one who plays with toads, talks to them, and squints hard when he talks to her, when they meet near the village square.