How to Date a Flying Mexican by Daniel A. Olivas

Author:Daniel A. Olivas [Olivas, Daniel A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781647790370
Publisher: University of Nevada Press

BELÉN

BELÉN STUMBLED and fell hard on her knees in the middle of the dirt road. A chicken clucked in front of her, not seeming to care that this fifteen-year-old girl’s dress was ripped in three places and that dried blood mixed with bits of straw and grime covered her thin legs. Belén knew this stupid chicken. It sported a heart-shaped spot on its left wing and had escaped her uncle’s coop three months ago. Tío Normando believed that this unnatural mancha was a bad omen so he didn’t bother looking for the bird. Besides, ever since its disappearance, his other chickens gave more eggs than ever before. Now, Belén discerned that the fugitive chicken had grown skinny, filthy, and ragged, but the heart shape miraculously maintained its rich brown shimmer.

“Get away from me,” said Belén.

The chicken stopped, cocked its head to the left and then to the right, blinked four times at Belén, and then clucked its way to the other side of the road.

“Stupid chicken.”

Belén slowly got to her feet. Her groin hurt but at least the blood had stopped dripping out of her. The sun began to set, filling the sky with brilliant reds and purples. She needed to get home before dark. Belén only had another half mile to go but the pain kept her from moving any faster than a shuffle. Her parents would be angry. But Belén could do nothing to avoid the inevitable screaming from her mother, the slap from her father.

“Stupid chicken,” she muttered again as she hobbled forward.

As Belén got closer to home, the light emanating from the other houses helped to illuminate the way. These structures could not compare with the one her father had built—most were nothing more than wooden shacks with tar-paper roofs—but they made Belén feel safer, as if they stood sentry just for her.

By the time Belén could see the silhouette of her house, the day’s heat had dissipated and a chill began to creep into her bones. She smacked her lips and tried to make saliva but couldn’t. Belén shivered and thought how magnificent a drink of water would taste right then. Something so simple, so perfect. She closed her eyes and imagined the water on her lips and tongue, and then slaking her parched throat. She’d let some dribble down her chin and then she’d swallow a little and then gulp the rest all at once. That was her plan once she got home, if she could stay awake.

Her feet seemed to sink into the dusty road, deeper with each step. Belén heard an owl—hoot-hoot-hoot—and then a woman’s voice—was it her mother?—call her name. She tried to answer but her lips were now sealed dry and tight. And as she fell toward the voice that called her name, Belén believed that she would land safely on her mattress so that she could enjoy a long nap first, saving that cool drink of water for when she awoke.

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