Tonight, after a long, hard semester, I would like to post a striking story that a friend of a former student sent me. Enjoy!
Spanish Fly
It’s another day of blue sky, another walk, another errand. I was crossing sideways to the other side of the gravel road when a deep shout came from a vintage mustang, pleading me to stop. The baritone voice sounded familiar, something I heard long, long ago but I could not make it out. I strolled over cautiously, slowly and then he said his name. My heart nearly stopped.
In another time, things were simple. I was younger; I showed off my million dollar tanned legs in denim minis. I shook my long blonde hair and pranced around skillfully showing off my assets. Perry, Gloria, Gucci, and Calvin ruled the world. I was laughing at life, shinning like a star. That was when we would never grow old or sick, everything was forever.
When he got out of the car, I remembered all that and I also remembered a gorgeous guy with creamy skin and short jet black hair, jeans accenting his firm hips and a wide bright smile to greet me which made me weak in the knees.
Oh how I wanted to learn Spanish!
Luis was the boy I could never get out of my system. I felt like his smile was only reserved for me. He was smart, sexy, and oh so funny. We would spin conversation hour after hour and it was always REAL. Sitting together, pushing each other’s buttons as little kids do when they like each other, we pretended that everything was perfect. In his bright eyes, I was alive. We were so comfortable, yet uncomfortable. The vibe between us sometimes created a wedge by which was hard to pass.
He once said “My wife might have a problem with that.”
That was the one thing that could never be ignored.
But our attention never died as hard as we tried to not to face it, we just skirted around it the best we could. We would knock shoulders when sitting on the steps, playfully teasing each other and battling to make our points. However, there was one incident when I finally shared how I felt with a poem I wrote. He listened patiently, attentively, as I softly spoke the words of yearning buried so deep. He was touched yet he would not touch me. I told myself it was wrong. At times we may have been frail in knowing what we felt, but we still remained like oaks even if that tension never faded.
Then one day he was playing with my hand, and my heart sounded. He was an unbelievable flirt and noticed my silver ring. He twirled it around and gently tugged at it. He asked if he could have it. He could I resist?? He slid it off my finger and on to his. That was that. I would like to think that made him mine but I knew the truth.
The pages turn, now torn, weathered and yellowed. I wondered what had happened in those lost years we drifted apart, that disappeared through the travels of life’s timeline. All of these images brought us here.
The man that jumped out of his car to meet me at the curb was NOT my Luis. He was unfamiliar. He lacked the bravado of the sensual Spanish senor’ I knew years ago. The one that could Salsa like the flamingos, one that could serenade me with “Maxi Priest” and leave me on the floor and the one whose smile let me know he was thinking the same, even if he never acted on it. All that was left before my tearful eyes was a sketch, the details losing their sharp lines, the gaps lost and the man I once loved was gone.
He asked how I was. I tried to hide my pain with a smile and giggled.
I said “How much time have you got?”
He said “Let me take you to dinner.”
Oh how I wished he said that some twenty years ago. How can time be so cruel? This sweet man who stole my heart back then had disappeared; instead I was standing with a frail figure with sullen eyes and needed to add on twenty pounds. I tried to piece it all together but the pieces were not fitting. Suddenly, he told me. Then I cried inside for all the forfeited years that will never be, the ache of experience he will never have, the fragility of his life hanging precariously by a thread. I pulled him in like I had wanted too so many times in quietness, looming in the heart of my own youth, when I was a vivacious girl who loved being in love.
When time is short, everything intensifies, including the moments you dreamt of. I wanted to hold his hand, be there for him in the final hours. I wanted to look into his deep green eyes that once captured a sparkle of promise. Now they just seemed to find fear despite the smile. And it was in that expression that I knew, knew no words needed to be said, knew I could not change it. He scribbled his number down and asked me to call him, and then he walked back to the car and pulled away from the curb.
I was alone. The furious wind blew my hair into my face. I was grateful because no one would see. Then, I thought of Luis. He had that swagger of confidence as he walked down the halls eyeing the girls. It always got to me. Those eyes knew me in a love shared without shame but never truly realized. He would have gotten a kick out of that. I asked him to teach me the merengue and he laughed loudly like I told him a joke.
He said “My wife would not like that baby.”
But I often imagined what our dance would look like, intertwined like ivy vines with far too much on our minds. The Spanish spell casted upon me, made me high. But that was some hazy far away dream in my head. It is just how I see him, looking at me in the only way he could, exposing the truth. Even now, he still does that, only this time I preferred not to know. I thought about what to say but I lacked any words. Seemed there were no more. And as time marches forward, all I want is to go back, back to when I only saw him.
My Luis still haunts my ever stilled dreams, even on this busy street behind my tears.
I suppose he always will.
Flynn Taylor
Biography of Flynn Taylor
Flynn Taylor has been a writer of both short stories and poetry for over fifteen years. Ever since age 5, she found joy in writing down her thoughts and feelings and sharing them with her family and friends. She is also an artist and likes to draw interesting things.
In her early twenties, she started to explore other means of expressing her feelings in the creative arts and took up sculpture, sun printing, and composing songs on her guitar. She looks at the world with a sense of wonderment and is inspired to capture it in words, art, and photography. She hopes that her excitement and creativity will stir others into finding their own talents and share them with others.
Currently, she is in the process of writing a book that focuses both on the musical experience of fans and her personal biography. Her work will also include an analysis of her favorite music and the importance of fan support to the success of her favorite rock bands. She has asked fans to submit their own stories and appreciation for the band as there have been no other books that address fan support directly in this manner. She feels this is a new area that has never been explored and should be represented in the literary market. Through the publishing of her work, she hopes to inspire other fans to also write their own books based on their own experiences as lovers of music and to honor their favorite bands.
I'll start with some jazz by young Latino musicians. The first is percussionist and vocalist Pedrito Martinez' "Volando Voy": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_rHVYObB18Q&list=PLSxsPaO7J4Fc_CtRLSV4aI2bUXV5GTFII
This version of "La Luna" is live: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5-3Tl8_prs
Here the Alfredo Rodriguez Trio is performing "Ay, Mama Ines": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c8j7XjnGIo4&list=PLkADujZF4XH8neFJsVe6Qcbg5IFR2itzm
This is their "Yemaya": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FgJobCk0qe4&list=PLkADujZF4XH8neFJsVe6Qcbg5IFR2itzm&index=1
I'll finish with pianist David Virelles' "Gnosis" with vocals by Ramon Diaz: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beG8YevmhQc
Enjoy!
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