spanish dream

Posted on Monday, June 11, 2012

He wondered if she’d come to bed anytime soon.  It was midnight and they had to wake early the next day.

“Just a minute,” she said again.  She stared deep into the screen.  The dark room only beamed a small ball of light where she sat.

“Did you know we are in an orange state right now?” she said.

“What does that mean?”

“That means we aren’t supposed to be outside walking, like we’ve been doing,” she said.

“Come to bed.”

“No.  I’m serious.  Pollution is linked to lung cancer.  I told you.  You won’t believe what I’m finding on this site.”

“You hate the computer. Come to bed,” he said.

He knew, once she was onto something, there was no stopping her.  That trait was carried on from her mother.  She was just like her mother.  It usually bothered her –

To be compared to such stubbornness, frankness and occasionally overwhelming judgment. But tonight, all she wanted was her mother.  She wanted to call her and tell her all her worries about the smog, her opinions and friends’ excess use of facebook, women’s rights and lack of awareness of a natural or home birth, about the importance of breast feeding, her strong belief in community gardens, her dislike for grocery chains and restaurant franchise’s; how she’d found an old photo of her while packing last night and how she’d gazed into the face of her mother as if she’d already died.  She wanted to tell her all these things, but instead, she sat alone and read, clicking and saving the pages that proved her argument of pollution’s affects on health.  She thought again of the image from earlier that day as she drove to the gym.  She knew beyond the overpass, a set of high mountains rested, but they were not visible.  She knew the sky was a clear blue, but a brown veil deceived her eyes.

“I can’t live like this,” she muttered to herself.  She quietly walked into the bedroom and saw her husband asleep.  Hovered over him, she kissed the corners of his eyes where they’d formed ridges from hard work and years of laughter.  She turned off the light and, as if in a trance, melted away, back into the dark room with the beaming light.  The shadows of the moving boxes looked like skyscrapers, piled high around her and closing in.

“I can’t,” she wept and fell to the floor.  The movers would be coming in two weeks, but even those fourteen days were too long.  In fourteen days, she’d get on a plane with her husband, they’d cross over browned landscape, scurrying ant-like cars traveling to and from work and soon pass choppy seas – The same seas Spaniards has crossed before entering the New World, the world of richness and hope, of new discoveries and fulfilled dreams, the world to which she desperately wanted to escape.  She was backwards to others – returning to the Old World of slower ways and softened soil, of longtime friends and cobblestone streets.

“Wait for me,” she screamed.  She lifted her head from the floor, not sure how long she’d dreamed, but the morning light and choir of birds prompted her that she was now only thirteen days away.


behind the scenes

This was a writing prompt in which I had 15 minutes to come up with an unedited piece of writing.


feature image provided by Zachary Malone

There comes a time when one realizes the cage was unlocked all along. Learn More

Copyright © 2012-2016 Rowdy Prisoners. All Rights Reserved.