Blood Red by Gabriela Ponce
Author:Gabriela Ponce
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Restless Books
18
IN WHAT COULD BE a never-ending script, I repeat the phrase I deserve this. Iâm a telenovela. Watching soaps was, in addition to my sentimental education, the origin of my fear of airplanes and my fondness for someone breathing on my neck. Sitting on the lap of my older cousin, who was also watching the telenovela, Iâd suck on a heaping spoonful of Nutella up until the first commercial break when the spoon was left bare. The rest of the soap lasted an hour with commercials, but really it was thirty minutes of pure drama. Iâd lick the empty spoon, its hollow just as tasty as the Nutella, and the pleasure would grow while on my older cousinâs lap because I could feel his breath on my neck. Sitting on his legs, or on my uncleâs, or on my grandmotherâs, any of them breathing on my neck, me no longer licking the spoon but biting it, the woman on the screen about to come in through the door, to discover whatâs going on inside, the broadcaster interrupted: there has been a plane crash, the president has died. Then, the images of the machine, the broken remains, me not understanding who the president was but seeing everyone cry, everything interrupted. My ballerina tutu with holes, for the first time the shiver from the holes in the fabric. How can you love someone without the slap, thereâs no love without the slap, he betrays her, she slaps him, please, donât change the story. (That night, the night I finished packing up his things, like so many nights, I dreamed about him, about his double tattoo and his unnerved chest waiting for me, me saying please, hit me while I got naked, and he, crying, and me saying I waited so long for you, this was all a big misunderstanding; then Iâd slip on the wet dirt of the cave, heâd place his muddy foot on my heart, his little muddy foot pressing on the inflamed organ made visible in my chest, then my collarbone, and finally, my neck: heâd look at me and with a loving smack, heâd hit me in the face and then on the ass and heâd fuck me and Iâd feel my skin getting hotter, a heat that made me sweat and get wet all over while I watched a plane writing out do you want me to read you a story in the sky. His semen raining down on my breasts, my pelvis, entering my vagina. I was a river that didnât stop his semen, white liquid inflating my body with all those words that are excess and that included: maybe a child could save us. Finally, again, weâd be together, my sore, red butt and one of my nipples with a drop of blood that upon looking at myself, disassociated, splitting in two, Iâd try to lean down and suck, but the effort would awaken me: he wasnât there. It was true, he wasnât there anymore,
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African American | Contemporary |
Divorce | Domestic Life |
Friendship | Mothers & Children |
Single Women | Sisters |
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