It was Saturday night, the boorish April rain pelted the window screen and she danced alone. She played the “Música Urbana” station, a mix of reggaeton, Latin hip-hop and bachata. As the high-pitched guitar from Aventura’s latest cut peeled away her inner-sanctum, she held her arms out and fantasized about the perfect dance partner moving with her body in totally synchronized serpentine motion. She had danced like this before in real life, but tonight she only simulated. Bachata was one of those Latino country music styles that had made its way into the
Tonight she felt emptier than usual. Parched with neglect, she literally saw a mirage of this fantasy
Suddenly, her adorable yet tragic fantasy was interrupted by the land line.
“You ever gonna answer your phone?”
“Sorry, I had the music on loud, I was cleaning and I-“
“Yeah, ok. Did you get that stuff done like I asked you to?”
“No, I didn’t have time today. I’ll get it tomorrow.”
“Crystalo, I asked you to do it today so it would get done TODAY. Not tomorrow, not next week, TODAY. Do you ever listen to anything I ask you to do? No. You just go on and do your own thing as always. Listen, I gotta get back to work, I’ll talk to you later.”
“I’m sorry, I just….well, I love you and I’ll see you when you get home”
“Yeah, love you too. I gotta go.”
She hung up the phone a little shaken, and suddenly her desire to dance and be desired disappeared and she turned off the music, took out a cigarette and smoked it on the back porch. As she pulled the sleeves of her brown hoody over her hands, she thought about how beautiful the moon looked through the mist and carbon monoxide fumes. She had learned how to be numb to this type of thing because if she ever admitted how miserable she was, she would have to pack up and leave.