Dogs of Summer by Andrea Abreu

Author:Andrea Abreu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Astra Publishing House

JESUS’S LITTLE HEAD

ISORA’S HOUSE HAD TWO STORIES. The top was where they used to live. The bottom was a large room that was turned into a second living space. They only started using the new place after Isora’s mother killed herself. The top floor was covered in a layer of dust that made everything look twice as big. Chela didn’t like us poking around upstairs, she wanted everything to stay the same as when her daughter was found. There were still used panties in one of the drawers of Isora’s mother’s bedroom. Sometimes Isora pulled them out and looked at them and touched them and took them on a walk around the rooms. We’d pretend that the panties were from the El 99 store in town, and I’d say what size are you looking for, and is it a gift, and I’m sorry, miniña, but I’m afraid we haven’t got any wrapping paper. One day when she pulled out the panties, Isora asked me if I wanted to do something. What kind of something, I asked. Something with the panties, she said. It always scared me when she took out her mother’s panties because I knew that if her nan found out she’d crack us both on the heads. Isora said let’s each wear a pair of Ma’s panties. Please? I didn’t think twice. The two of us stood there, naked like a pair of wild beasts, then slipped them on. On her they sort of fit, but on me they fell all the way down to my ankles. She said go on, get on the bed, but I was scared to because I didn’t know if dead folks liked it when you got on their beds, much less while wearing a pair of their panties. But I lay down anyhow and the headboard, which had an engraving of Jesus’s little head on it, bounced against the wall and then bounced again when Isora got on top of me. The weight of her boobs pressed into me, and I got this warm feeling in my lower bits, like when there’s a stew on the boil and water starts spitting out of the cooking pot. We rolled on the bed, this way and that, hugging, like two cats having a scrap in the middle of the night. We’d roll all the way to the right, to the very end of the bed, and then all the way to the left. We hugged the whole time, even though we weren’t the kind of friends who did that kind of thing. Suddenly, we stopped. I was on top. Then, without thinking, I rubbed my panties on hers. And she rubbed her panties against mine. My breath caught in my chest. For a second, I had this thought—that I was her mother and she was the forty-kilo baby who’d torn me in half when I’d given birth to her. All I wanted was to protect her. To take care of her and feed her warm gofio and warm milk from a bottle.

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