For Luis

I can see what never was
        (nor will ever be)
all we could have had
        (we could have had it all)

the sandy-haired kids with mud-caked jeans
hiding among the plantain fields
bare feet slipping on the Toro Negro river stones
lulled to sleep by the coquí

far away from my city lights
you could have given me
morning mist clinging to the mountainside

but there is no quaint rustic lifestyle
for us

those thousands of miles between us
insignificant,
they dissolve into nothing

with every phone call
we dodge bullets
both thinking it
neither speaking it
always on the tips of our tongues
but we bite down on them
        (we bite hard)

You’re hoping I’m miserable
I’m wishing you weren’t happy

Love to Hate

I find my bipolarity very peculiar.

I harp on and on about how I'm tough (i.e., dead inside). Seeing me cry is punishable by death. It's not that I find anything wrong with being emotional, but if I'm emotional, it just makes me feel weak and manipulable.

All it takes is one heartbreak. I forced myself not to suffer over it. In my haste to take shortcuts and recuperate, it was like I had mended my heart with substandard glue.

"You used to be so much kinder," a friend once said to me. "What happened to you?"

I didn't reply. I don't approach the subject. My defenses are bullet-proof when it comes to harsh words, criticism, and mean-spirited gossip. But all it takes is one little question, one tiny observation, about how I've changed: security breach.

"Why are you so full of hatred?"

That did it. Within a single second, I was sobbing. Hating myself for doing it, but unable to stop.

Hatred's a funny thing. You hold on to it long enough, it becomes a part of you- making it all the more difficult to let go of.

It would never work [Novel excerpt]

"It would never work between us."
  I said it as calmly as if I had been commenting on the weather.
  "How do you know?" His tone matched mine: nonchalant.
  I pressed my lips together and wondered how I could answer.

  I would always be afraid.

  You're always off in your world; you slip into locally-owned coffeehouses (making it a point to boycott Starbucks) with your oh-so-bohemian friends and you talk about Latin American authors I've never read, political issues I've never understood, artists I've never appreciated. You meet fascinating people... women... with waist-long manes of tangled hair and symbolic tattoos decorating their silky olive-skinned bodies, waltzing into lectures on gender issues, raving about the most recent addition to Fine Arts Cafe's billboard.

  I would read the first drafts of your novels, red pen in hand, crucifying your grammar like you were just another one of my students ("Por cada tres acentos que dejes, te quito un punto"), scribbling comments in the margins, recording my questions and reactions, thrilled you even give a damn about them.

  After returning your feedback-laden manuscripts, I'd pick up my pen again and try, try to scrawl out some half-decent prose that attempts to capture the ever-elusive crude honesty of human nature, but more often than not, my words live briefly, with little intensity, meeting their demise as I crumpled them up and shoot them into the wastebasket: score two points.

  It wouldn't work because it hurts my pride to admire you so much, I didn't want to say. A quiet moon revolving around you, basking in borrowed light.

  I forced a small smile. "I'd always be thinking about somebody else."

Forever Hold Your Peace [Novel excerpt]

"If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together–" It was clear in the minister's voice that he did not really expect any objection- "let them speak now or forever hold their peace."
  There were just a few seconds of silence. Just a few. But those seconds stretched into eternities for me.
  Leo turned his head, only slightly, and met my gaze.
  He looked frightened. Wait. Was I imagining it? Was it what I wanted to see?
  I tried to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat. My eyes stung.
  His eyes remained locked on mine. I frowned quizzically.
  And then, realization. Oh, God- he wants me to say something! My heart was pounding painfully.
  The minister was clearing his throat. I was going to lose my chance!
  I opened my mouth. My breath caught. No, wait, I've got it all wrong! He didn't want me to speak! The tears were almost brimming over now.
  Please, don't, his eyes begged.
  "Marriage is the union of husband and wife in heart, body and mind..."
  I hung my head in defeat and closed my eyes, sending two tears sliding down my nose.

* * *

Ooookay. That's it, I thought to myself. If I have to watch the happy couple one... more... minute... I'm going to kill myself.
  I downed the rest of my champagne in one gulp, gathered my things, and got up from the table.
  "Oh no you don't!" Leo came out of nowhere and grabbed me by the wrist. "You've been trying to escape all evening," he grinned. "Dance with me - just one dance - and I'll let you go."
  I looked up at him, my face a painful mix of frustration and endearment.
  "Damn it," I muttered. "When have I ever said no to you?"

* * *

He held out his arm and I linked it with mine. He escorted me out to the garden. Strings of soft white lights adorned the neatly trimmed hedges and bedecked the topiaries. We sat on a cold marble bench. "It's so pretty," I breathed, my face upturned to the soft twinkling lights. He was looking at the ground.
  "Thank you for coming," he said gently.
  I smiled. "Thank you for inviting me. I was surprised you did."
  His pained expression made my smile falter.
  "Of course I would want you at my wedding," he tried to grin. "You're one of my best friends."
  I bit my lip. Nodded. Looked at the ground too. "You should've seen the look on your face. You were terrified that I would ruin your wedding!"
  "What are you talking about?"
  I tried to laugh. Failed. I forced my voice to remain steady, to not break. "I can see it now-" I made a frame with my thumbs and forefingers and looked at him through it. " 'Yes, Father, I have a reason! I'm in love with the groom! ' "
  I dropped my hands when I saw the hurt in his eyes.
  "I would never do a thing like that," I tried to say soberly, but I knew that for him? I would.
  "A little part of me wanted you to," he said it so softly that it took me a moment to realize I had actually heard it.
  What could I say to that?
  Leo quickly dissipated the heavy atmosphere by slapping his knees, standing up, and amicably offering me his hand.
  I looked at him. He looked so beautiful just then, against the backdrop of a sparsely-starred sky, his familiar features softened by the white glow of the garden lanterns.
  I took his hand. He pulled me to my feet, then to him. He secured my body to his own, his hand firm on the small of my back.
  My eyes widened in confusion. He was too close. I could smell the starch on his shirt and the bland rose in his breast pocket.
  Why did he have to torture me this way? It was all I could do to keep from jumping him, and then he went and did something like this.
  There was a sense of farewell in his embrace. We couldn't see each other anymore. He knew it. I knew it.
  "Take care of yourself," he murmured. "Because I can't take care of you anymore."
  "I don't need to be taken care of," I grumbled, playing with his necktie.
  I felt him loosening his hold on me and, almost in a blind panic, in the desperation to not have this moment end, I leapt forward and pressed my lips firmly against his.
  For a split second I panicked. Don't push me away, I begged in my mind. It would break what was left to break of my heart.
  But he kissed back. Sort of. It was a soft kiss. Chaste.
  I took a step back, running my tongue across my lips as if gathering the remnants of his taste.
  Unabashed, I stated: "I'm not going to apologize."
  With equal serenity, he said, "There's nothing to apologize for."
  I took a deep breath. "I'll... let you get back to your wife." I gave him the best smile I could muster.
  "I'll do that," he nodded, forcing a smile too. "You take care," he said again.
  "Will do," I stood up as proudly as I could. I looked at him straight in the eye. "Be happy, Leo."
  "I hope to be."
  I forced myself to wave good-bye as I left the garden. Left him. One foot in front of the other, I told myself. Just focus on that for now.
  I thought of nothing except of the noise my stilettos made on the stone walkway. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Reality, Indistinct

  Shawty had them apple bottom jeans, jeans, boots with the fur, with the f-

  Becca jerked her head up, irritated. The overplayed ringtone on her cell phone seemed to be blaring much louder than usual as it pierced the late-night quiet. She slipped her finger between the pages of her paperback to mark where she’d left off and glanced at her phone to see who’d called at this ungodly hour and interrupted her reading.
  It was Neil. Her irritation blazed anew.
  She hit the ‘ignore’ button and fell back against her pillows, frowning. Neil had the bad habit to call after midnight and bombard her with indecent proposals. At first Becca found his attraction to her flattering, albeit unrequited, but time had worn her patience thin. She wanted someone who wanted more than a one-night stand.
  She took a deep breath and opened her novel again. In a few seconds she was fully engrossed, as if the phone call had never disturbed her. The dark, lyrical prose seemed to put her into a trance, and her eyes raced across the page hungrily.
  Many chapters and hours later, she tore herself away from the book- not because it was almost dawn and her eyes stung with exhaustion, but because she was afraid of finishing too quickly.

-

  She slipped into her cubicle a few hours later, wearing almost no make-up, her hair disheveled. While her computer started up, she managed to pull the tangles into a half-decent French braid and she was putting on some lipstick when Neil poked his head over the wall.
  “Good morning, Becky,” he grinned. “You look like hell.”
  She glared at him, but didn’t respond.
  “Rough night? I tried calling you.”
  “I was sleeping.”
  “You don’t look like you got much sleep, though. Is there something you’re not telling me?” His smirk was sardonic and cruel.
  Becca replied with an un-ladylike hand gesture.
  “Wo-ho! Did somebody switch to decaf this morning?” he laughed.
  “Leave me alone, you idiot.” She swiveled her chair to face the computer screen.
  “Suit yourself. By the way, I e-mailed you a little list of companies and their contact info- you’re making cold calls today.”
  Becca groaned, but Neil ignored her and withdrew his head. Becca didn’t hate her job as a junior account executive, but the worst part was definitely making cold calls- she would make the calls to potential customers, but her soliciting, more often than not, was (for the most part) politely declined.
  She had started dialing the first number when she heard Neil inviting his other cubicle neighbor to the break room for a cup of coffee. She peeked into the hall and saw their retreating backs. She quickly wheeled her chair back to her desk, reached into her purse, and pulled out her book.
  Within minutes, she had once again lost all sense of time and space.

-

  “Is it any good?”
  Becca wrenched her head up from the book. When her eyes met Neil’s, they widened in horror, then whipped to the clock on the wall.
  An hour and a half had gone by, and she had absolutely nothing to show for it.
  “Uh, yeah,” Becca tried to sound off-handed as she put the book away. “I got tired of making phone call after phone call, so I was taking a little break.”
  “Huh,” Neil lifted his eyebrows, and Becca hoped against hope that he’d buy it. “What’s it about?”
  “The book?” Becca stared at him, puzzled.
  He nodded patiently. Becca felt her cheeks growing warm as she looked away. Why couldn’t she have been reading something impressive, like… something by someone with a complicated Russian name?
  “It’s about… vampires.” She almost muttered that last word.
  “Vampires?” Neil repeated, and she waved her hands, motioning for him to lower his voice.
  “Yes, I know how it sounds,” Becca ventured. “But it’s really good. It’s a love story, actually. Between a vampire and a human. I like the conflict of their different mortalities. It’s very passionate… almost erotic.” She blushed anew.
  She couldn’t read Neil’s expression, but before she could start to worry, he shook his head slightly and said, “Get back to work, Beck.”

-

  “Let me take you out to dinner,” he said. One look at her face and he hastily added, “As a friend.”
  Becca deliberated. She didn’t think she could handle one more night of instant ramen- it was all she could manage to prepare in her haste to return to her book.
  “You promise you won’t even ask me to go back to your place afterwards?”
  He sighed. “I promise.”
  “Then I accept your invitation.”

-

  “Bad news, Becky.”
  Becca had just slung her purse across her shoulder and scooped up her book when Neil appeared at her cubicle, grim-faced.
  “What’s wrong?”
  “We won’t be able to go to that dinner I promised- one of the companies hated the pitch, and now I have to re-do the whole campaign.”
  Becca was crest-fallen, but relieved it hadn’t been something for her to really worry about.
  “Don’t think you’re getting off easy- you’re the junior exec on this account, so you’re staying, too.”
  “What? But-“ Becca’s mind raced, trying to find an excuse that would exempt her from spending the night at the office, but she really didn’t have anything better to do… except finish her book.
  “Maybe this will sweeten the deal?” Neil smiled mischievously, holding up a bottle of red wine.
  Becca put down her things again. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

-

  “So… have you finished the book yet?”
  “Not yet- I can’t put it down, but a part of me is dreading reaching the end.”
  Neil shook his head, took a swig of wine. “I have never read a single word I wasn’t forced to, whether in school or at work. I have no idea how you do it.”
  “It’s hard to explain… this love is so pure, so consuming- it’s like they can’t live without the other… every second they’re apart is painful for them, yet every second together is an exquisite torture. I can’t help but wish I could feel that way about someone, someday.”
  “That sounds a bit… unrealistic.”
  “Why does it have to be unrealistic?” Becca frowned.
  “You want to dream about a vampire lover… dark, mysterious, passionate and deadly? Good luck with that.”
  “Don’t be a jerk. I’m not delusional, I just think it’d be nice to be wanted that much, to be wanted so much it hurts.”
  “I want you that much,” Neil said darkly.
  “Please, Neil. What you want from me, you can get from any other girl. It’s insulting.”
  “I guess I’m a sucker for the girls who play hard to get. I’m curious.”
  “I’m not playing hard to get on purpose,” Becca chuckled. “And you’re hardly a dark, handsome, mysterious lover.”
  “Right. So you turn me down because I don’t lust after you, because I don’t lose sleep over you, and because I can live without you?”
  “Something like that, yeah,” Becca laughed.
  “Snap out of it!” he yelled, his eyes narrowed furiously. Becca stopped laughing. “You of all people should know better! You work at an ad agency, for crying out loud! Do you have any idea why this garbage sells so well?”
  He stopped yelling for a moment, but she knew she shouldn’t interrupt. He was on a roll. And sure enough…
  “When something’s too good to be true, it usually is, Becky! All the drama, the climaxes, those falling actions and resolutions- that’s the kind of shit you find in novels, not in real life!” He spat those last words with such venom, such vehemence, that Becca could do little more than to gape back at him, wide-eyed and mute.
  “When you finally stop trying to make your life fit into a structured plot, let me know.” He turned to leave, then spotted the novel on the corner of her desk. With a sharp intake of breath, he grabbed it angrily and threw it at her.
  The book whizzed by her head and crashed into the wall behind her. She knew it hadn’t been his intention to hit her, but she knew that even if it had hit her square in the face, it wouldn’t have hurt half as much as the truth in his words.