Give It To Me. Ana Castillo

Christmas-tree-in-a box and ornaments up from the basement, he did nothing to mark the occasion. Abuela, at her church most of the time, did little more. The tree was for Pepito. Before he came to the house to live, the old woman had already determined the girl had grown out of childhood and had no right to indulge in such notions as Santa Claus or los Reyes Magos who were said to bring children treats, left in their huaraches on the Epiphany. It might have been the old woman’s religion behind the lack of Christmas spirit toward the children, but the granddaughter was of the mind that being a soldier of the Lord just gave her Grandma Scrooge the excuse.

      One day Palma finally heard from Pepito. They hadn’t sent him back to the joint. What law did I break, man? He said defensively when she asked. The detachment she’d felt from the duration of silence was confirmed by the sparse conversation. His call almost seemed like a perfunctory check-in. It was hardly what a woman expected after a consummation that broke the sound barrier.

      Look, Palma, he said (finally, speaking his mind), you’re the most special person in my life, but I’m not in love with you. Right after the whack on the back that knocked her breath out, he added, And you’re not in love with me. We are in love with the notion of being in love. What you and me have is an infatuation.

      It was like being stunned with a Taser. All they had was a foolish crush? She’d come to pine, cry, made her stomach bloat with a psychological pregnancy, prayed like a soldier’s wife “return him safe to me,” in other words did all the things that any sonsa did over any sonso—how did a woman exit gracefully from that?

      Then he eased her out. I gotta get back to the floor. Love you, prima.

      15

      Palma Piedras cut the broccoli out of her diet, and presto, la tummy went flat. Having received an advance from Greene & Gaye for the next project she decided to put it to good use on a new laptop and drove over to the Apple Store.

      A girl with braces and a clipboard and earpiece came up. How may I assist you? She was New Mexican hispana and whiter than most whites. Actually, Palma said, do you have any poets here who could help me? The girl looked as if the customer had just asked her to explain string theory and maybe was about to when another employee stepped over and said, Yeah. You mean Hector. I’ll get him for you.