The sound of the three engines filled before the cars. First a low and soft murmur, as if the breath were going through the throat. Luego, the impossible sequence. One white Rolls-Royce, one black, another white, lined up one behind the other on the stone surface, much cleaned up in that neighborhood of ancient red stone buildings and bare trees. Shiomara Reyes, with the brown tooth missing from the blue and the light, I found with the cucharón in the air. The vapor of the amarillo rose was submerged and touched on the beak like a warm memory.
Parpadeo thinking that it was something that had been recorded, something, something from people that didn’t belong to everyone. But the coaches were folded, the doors were opened calmly and three people were dressed as if the entire city was hubris only so that they were walking at that moment. Two men and one woman, straight posture, impeccable shoes, a sight that would not be lost in the escapes or in the winds. Look at the metal carrot with the large pieces, roasted chicken, vegetables, roast, tortillas and so on.
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I had no money in your step. It had weight, as if every meter was a decision. Siomara lifted her hands to her mouth until she knew. For a second the street seemed to turn into a tunnel. The noise was heard from the mouths, the noise that entered through the butt of the flowered blouse, the cuchillo forgotten at the side of the bands. I felt my heart beating in the garganta and with it an ancient question that entered every day to be able to work.
What’s wrong? The three were removed a few steps away. The man from the izquierda, dark brown, short beard, broke out a smile that seemed to ask for his signatures and didn’t forget him. The middle one, deep blue, discreetly bowed, drew saliva. The woman, grey, with light hair, the expression of someone who learned not to look at others, raised her hand to her chest. Siomara tried to say, “Good days!”, but only went up in the air. The man in the brown suit had the first time and his voice, crossing the distance, made something break inside her.
“Todavía made the color of the same way. I felt that the piernas flaqueaban. This sentence was not of an unknown. This sentence had a direction, had a smell, had the texture of an ancient winter. The cold of the street disappeared and in its place wine more bitter, Rudier, tougher, where the steps of the world always seemed to be wondering to see who was in the soil years ago, Siomara had been brought to New York with a curse that seemed big only because it was all she had.
His English was short, broken, full of tears. He knew everything perfectly: working and cooking. In Mexico I learned early that comida wasn’t just sustenance, it was language, it was abrigo, it was a way of deciding to see yourself without words. He started washing dishes in a cafe near the subway, his hands sore, the color of the detergent stuck to his skin. For the night he shared a quarter with two other women in a cramped apartment in Sunset Park. The building’s dude rented when he wanted, and no one quenched his thirst in a loud voice.
To learn more in person was a luxury. After a year, when I’d earned enough to buy a used cart and pay for a cheap food hygiene course, I thought life had finally reached its proper size. I earned a license, without humiliations, lines, or papers that I didn’t understand everything. The first day with the cart was like opening a door to breathe. I mounted the sinks, adjusted the tapas, and turned on the grill. The smell of chicken seasoned with lemon and chili rose like a harbinger of hope.
It was on that first day that I saw the three. They were near the wall of a building, embraced as if they were one body, trying to survive. Three children, identical in their gaze and different in the shape of the container on their breasts. One of them, the tallest, had a thin scar above his head. The middle finger kept his mind wandering, as if he didn’t want the world to perceive his weakness. The smallest, with an old throat, was more afraid than the others, but he tried not to show it.
Siomara got the hambre before getting the rota rota. therefore the way in which his eyes followed the cucharón, as his gargantas seemed to draw saliva only by sensing the smell. She dudo. In this neighborhood, people decided they shouldn’t get involved. Decían que era peligroso. We say that if we drop them again once again. There are a lot of things to say to justify your convenience. Siomara looked at the songs, looked at the kids and left for a moment with 12 years old hoping in the patio of her house for a boy who didn’t know if he would come.
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