Page 111 - Demo

1995 Richard BlancoMy brother and I should still be pretendingwe don%u2019t know our parents, embarrassing usas they roll the luggage cart past the front deskloaded with our scruffy suitcases, two-dozenloaves of Cuban bread, brown bags bulgingwith enough mangos to last the entire week,our espresso pot, the pressure cooker%u2014anda pork roast reeking garlic through the lobby.All because we can%u2019t afford to eat out, not evenon vacation? Only two hours from our homein Miami, but far enough away to be thrilledby whiter sands on the west coast of Florida,where I should still be for the first time watchingthe sun set instead of rise over the ocean.There should be nothing here I don%u2019t remember . . .My mother should still be in the kitchenetteof The Gulf Motel, her daisy sandals from Kmartstill squeaking across the linoleum, still gorgeousin her teal swimsuit and amber earringsstirring a pot of arroz con pollo, adding sprinklesof onion powder and dollops of tomato sauce.My father should still be in a terrycloth jacketsmoking, clinking a glass of amber whiskeyin the sunset at The Gulf Motel, watching usdive into the pool, two sons he%u2019ll never seegrow into men who will be proud of him.There should be nothing here I don%u2019t remember . . .My brother and I should still be playing Parcheesi,my father should still be alive, slow dancingwith my mother on the sliding-glass balconyof The Gulf Motel. No music, only the waveskeeping time, a song only their minds hearten thousand nights back to their life in Cuba.My mother%u2019s face should still be resting againsthis bare chest like the moon resting on the sea,the stars should still be turning around them.There should be nothing here I don%u2019t remember . . .510152025303540Copyright %u00a9 Bedford, Freeman & Worth Publishers. Distributed by Bedford, Freeman & Worth Publishers. For review purposes only. Not for redistribution.