Barefoot Dogs by Antonio Ruiz-Camacho

Author:Antonio Ruiz-Camacho
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Scribner
Published: 2015-03-10T03:00:00+00:00

BETTER LATITUDE

It didn’t rain that Thursday afternoon, but the air tumbled over the city, old and musty, as if rolling out of a drawer that had been closed a long time. It was Laureano’s last week of school. I picked him up late because I’d had to take care of a last-minute walk-in at the office, and treated him to McDonald’s. You know your son; you know how much he loves that shit, and I know, I know it’s bad for him, but I wished for us to be in a festive mood. I didn’t want to go home right away. I needed my sore mind and his relentless energy to rest somewhere else.

I drove to the McDonald’s on Barranca del Muerto, the huge one overlooking Periférico that has an enormous playground out front—I’m sure you don’t know which one I’m talking about, for you’d never set foot in such a place anyway; you said that American fast food was tacky, that only wannabes and the poor craved it. Laureano didn’t eat one single Chicken McNugget. He gulped down his fries and orange juice as fast as he could and darted to the playground, as if they were giving away lollipops there. He spent a lifetime in the ball pit, leaping and jumping and splashing furiously, surrounded by kids who looked younger than he was. They regarded him with caution and kept their distance, for he seemed too adamant about the whole business of having fun, as if it were a dead-serious matter. I remained at the table where we’d eaten, writing your name on the burger wrapper, an orphan french fry as a pen and ketchup as ink, watching Laureano through a large window below a sign that read

WELCOME TO PLAYPLACE

He looked like a frantic dolphin trying new tricks in the open sea, riding the waves of a multicolor storm. I tried to stay present, watch him go mad, but my mind was stuck with you.

Four weeks had passed since I’d last seen you, since the three of us had eaten dinner together. It was a Wednesday. You stayed over, we slept together but didn’t make love—I had my period. The next morning you sat next to Laureano at the kitchen table and watched him scarf down a bowl of cornflakes with cold milk while you drank black coffee and complained that you felt exhausted. You said you were reaching that age when one always feels tired no matter how much one sleeps. I felt like I’d reached that age some time ago but didn’t say anything. What was the point of discussing inevitable miseries with you so early in the morning, minutes from your departure? Laureano got ready for school and when you both were in the car I asked if we should wait for you that night. You asked what day it was. I said it. You considered it. You said you were not sure you’d be back in time for dinner, but that you’d come back for sure.

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