MARIA CANDELA
I felt basic, pure, perfect. I wanted to dive into the entrails of the soil, smell it, eat it. I wanted to stay there forever. I remember the last days I spent with my family as if they were a dream or had happened ages ago. The long, dirty avenues of Manhattan, the people walking quickly like busy ants, the munchkin who danced at the subway station, the phantom of the opera and the falling chandelier, the fugacious lights of the cars and limousines passing by. I had joked with my father saying that all those limousines were ours, and walking through Broadway like we owned the place. I took his warm hand, and we danced in the streets with the music of the advertisements, as if those gigantic lights had been turned on just for the two of us. I fixed my eyes on him, trying to memorize every detail of his face: his round, green eyes, his chaotic eyebrows, his silver moustache, and the little blue dot on his right eyelid, which he had since he was twelve when a girl, furious with him for god knows what, had pinched him with a fountain pen. Those days were gone in an instant, and in no time fall came, and I found myself having the last meal with my family in Friendly’s. I remember the blonde waitress who smiled all the time. I thought she was very nice. She brought us gigantic ice creams. I wasn’t able to eat mine because I didn’t want to ruin its shape: it had valleys of vanilla ice cream, rivers of hot chocolate fudge, and raindrops of cherry. I decided instead, to draw with the crayons the nice lady had given me. I looked at my father working laboriously with his spoon around the mountains of chocolate ice cream, and at the blonde, smiling waitress. I felt homeless at Friendly’s. I felt as if I had woken up from a dream and didn’t remember any of it, as if something had been stolen from me. I looked at the stuffed monkey my parents had given me before saying goodbye, and remembered Bill in The Sun Also Rises when he says: “The road to hell is paved with unbought stuffed animals” (78). I felt he was right. I was grateful to have that monkey. I lingered on the sidewalk until my family disappeared in a street covered with tree shadows. I felt the same way I feel when I find myself wondering around the house and forget what
34 | ALBANY ROAD