Her weight suddenly heavy on my lap, Alma stares at me. “Nada más?” she asks, as if my glorious moment of pleasure was not enough for her.
That’s it. In the moonlit darkness of her room, shame washes over me. “Lo siento,” I apologize.
“Esta bien.” She rolls onto her side of the bed, but I can tell all is not fine.
Determined to redeem myself, I nestle my nose in the mound of gray between her thighs, and taste her salty sour parts until she trembles. Then I grab my flask and phone off the nightstand, stumble to the bathroom, and lock the door. I plug the basin and blast the tap, ready to wash Alma’s scent off my face. Her neighborly hospitality was only a temporary distraction from my true purpose for traveling from La Republica Dominicana to claim what I left here in Minnesota.
Through blaring fluorescence, the reflection of a useless old man malnourished from a diet of regret, suppression, and yearning, glares at me. He’s sick. And tired of living in the shadows. Fuck! I slap the mirror. It seems to hit back. I slip and fall, knocking my phone and flask to the floor as I fail to catch my balance.
“Mannie! You alright in there?” Alma asks.
I groan. “Go to sleep!”
As water trickles to the floor from the overflowing basin, I pour the remainder of Mama Juana down my throat then drag my naked body to the phone and call Twinkie. She doesn’t answer. I redial. No answer. After three more tries, I prop myself against the tub and text her. My English isn’t perfect, but she’ll know exactly what I mean.
I am done hiding for you my love! HE NEED TO KNOW NOW not after I am home like you ask. I come to take back WHAT IS MINE to enjoy every day I have life to live. Tomorrow will be celebration for many reason. EVERYONE WILL SEE ME!