Great Writers--L
Sister Lou Ella Hickman, I.W.B.S. is a former teacher and librarian whose writings have appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies.
i have been thinking about aliens and music
i know this may sound strange . . .
(then again, maybe not)
recently
i have been thinking about aliens and music . . .
if there are aliens i wondered
what would their music be like—
how gifted light years beyond us
i also wondered if aliens are among us
what would one of them hear
while sitting in a museum before the painting starry night . . .
would its swirl of blue wind
pulsing moon and stars
evoke tears and a cosmic sigh
Sister Lou Ella Hickman, I.W.B.S. is a former teacher and librarian whose writings have appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies.
cold fire
winter also burns black
under its white indifference
a bitter furnace waits
winter solstice
this night lingers longest with its goodbye . . .
in the darkness
ancient like the stars
light returns
brief and shy at first
then lingers each day longer
a lover who learns to linger
with a kiss
on the life of elizabeth bishop
private
as pain
as a poem
is private
she wore her fine clothes
and her words for daily armor
words that became light
in a dark room
she was private as the sea is private
hiding the dead and speaking in waves
of silences and roars
her art kept her safe
balancing her tight rope tight lipped living
her love was private
hidden in letters to a world
she longed to live in
a poem . . .
water
over
stones
you write
rowing words into poems
like a boat on water
the page wakens
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adoption
it really isn’t my tree
i drive by it all year
until
spring
then it’s my tree
even after its bare bone winter
something seems to seep through
suddenly
there it is
pink frothed
my tree
Lizz Fraga Cosgrove has a BA in English from UT Austin. Her adventures this lifetime include being a teacher, a paralegal, an event decorator, a writer, a wife, a mother, a caregiver but most importantly a Light Seeker.
Late
I’m running late again…
My morning writing, that attempted to become my afternoon writing,
has manifested itself into my evening writing.
I don’t ever desire to be late…
I don’t ever take pride in being late…
But I do take ownership of the relationship I have with Late.
Late and I are very familiar, comfortable companions – sometimes I follow her around, sometimes she follows me - but no matter who is trailing whom, we always seem to be no more than an arm’s length from one another.
Sometimes Late is my enemy – on my wedding day she showed up, uninvited, in the form of me trying to get myself, the bride, and my four young daughters, the bridesmaids, dressed and to the ceremony on time.
Sometimes Late is my best friend – the day of my mother’s funeral she showed up as a mourning dove who had somehow made her way into my home, into my mother’s bedroom and perched herself on the headboard of my mother’s bed – the bed in which she took her last breath…
She forced me to forget about the schedule to be met that day and allowed me to stare into her eyes and remember how much my mother loved feeding the birds in our yard – those days when time didn’t matter and Late was always welcome.
Somehow when you know the time is limited…
when you know each day is a gift…
when you pray for every hour to feel like an eternity…
You also pray for Death to be best friends with Late.
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Lucas Jasso graduated from McAllen High School in 1969. He enlisted in the U.S. Army and served in Viet Nam, earning Army Commendation medals and an Expeditionary Forces medal. He currently serves as a Master Trustee for the Texas Association of School Boards—and he writes.
Crabby
My granny brought clothes when I was a young tot. My mother bought clothes for me until I got married, and then my wife bought my clothes. That practice, by the three females in my life, made me develop anxiety. Returning from the Viet Nam War, the anxiety grew worse. In crowded places, I become hostile and intolerable. It’s impossible to walk down crowded aisles where people brush against you. I become hotter than a stricken match.
One day, I had no choice but to buy provisions. Once inside the grocery store, I proceeded to the cereal aisle because I was out of my favorite delight for breakfast. A female in a motorized store cart blocked my path. Not wanting to go through the trouble of excusing myself and barely being able to maneuver around her anyway, I walked around to the opposite end.
Would you believe she had moved and stopped right in the path of my favorite cereal? She was busy gossiping with another squawking female. She noticed my flustered face, but she wouldn’t move. I am not insensitive. However, there are inconsiderate people who will not use their common sense and decency to understand they are blocking the aisle.
When I walked to a different aisle, a young girl with purple hair asked, "May I help you find something?” I looked at her and said, "I'm interested in buying a coffin." She didn't quite know how to respond, staring with that wild amazed look.
I still have youthful mental agility. When people see me in a raincoat, they ask, "Oh, is it raining outside?" I say, "No, it is raining inside."
When my neighbor says, “Climb down off of that tree,” I say, “I think climbing refers to going up, not coming down.”
How about visiting a car dealership? “’Would you like to buy a car?” the salesman asks. “No, I want to polish it.” Employment applications ask who to call in an emergency. I write, "An ambulance."
What is your reaction when losing your car keys? Do you look under the bed, sofa, pant pockets in laundry, in the automobile, in the freezer, and all over? After an exhausting hunting trip, you notice the jingle jangle in your pants pocket. Ugh!
Eventually you will reach a point when you stop lying about your age and start bragging about it. In high school I couldn’t wait to turn twenty-one and be of drinking age. I did not get to enjoy it because I was drafted into the Army. Some people try to turn back their "odometers." Not me. I want people to know why I look this way. I've traveled a long way and a lot of the roads were not paved.
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Lizbette Ocasio-Russe is a Puerto Rican author and Assistant Professor of English at Texas A&M University, Corpus Christi. More about Lizbette at the end of this section.
The Girl in the Back of Your Selfie
Perfect makeup, manicured nails, hair done.
CLICK
“Got it, this one’s for the gram.” The thought of your latest thot drooling, snarling, smacking his werewolf lips at your gym pic makes you smirk.
What he won’t see but maybe you will,
is me.
The girl in the background of your selfie,
who was once young but is still young,
despite the cheeks not as plump but more defined.
Who knew I had cheekbones?
The eyes still bright,
more so in contrast with the dark circles and bags.
I guess now I’m just another bag lady,
carrying the years in my fleshy bags.
The optic bed I wish the years would undo,
And leave
Undone.
But since they refuse,
I’ll remain here,
the bag lady
the girl in the back of your selfie
offering some comfort:
Don’t worry,
I’m sure you got ‘em droolin.’
An excerpt from Loverbar
(Mabel must decide whether to accept a teaching assistantship in the US and leave her girlfriend, Lisandra.)
Slow Service
She reads the words again making sure she didn’t imagine them.
“We’re pleased to offer you a Teaching Assistantship for the 2019-2020 academic year starting September 1, 2019—”
Mabel twirls her ponytail with her left hand while staring at the acceptance letter on the computer screen. When she got accepted into the Public Policy and Administration Doctoral Program in the U.S., she swore she wouldn’t accept unless she got financial assistance. She doesn’t need any more debt.
Mabel waited all day to read the letter when she got the notification. Sitting on her bed in the dead of night, she logged into the university portal with shaking hands. “We’re pleased—” Mabel cried reading the words.
Now, rereading the letter, Mabel wants to cry again. She sighs, shuts off the computer, and walks to the window of her studio apartment. Her mother thought the place too small, but after three years, Mabel still believes the view is worth the lack of space. Waking up and seeing the beach in the distance is priceless. There are also the pelicans she’s grown fond of seeing perched on the tree tops right outside her apartment. She’d miss them.
Mabel’s phone buzzes, it’s a text from Lisandra.
“Hey beautiful, I’ll be visiting you at work today after the protest. Te amo.”
Mabel’s smiles, warmth filling her body. She goes to type a response, but stops, frowns, and puts the phone down. What would Lisandra say? She’d be happy, of course, and urge Mabel to accept the assistantship that will allow her to pursue her doctoral studies free of charge on the U.S. mainland. Out there, her academic career wouldn’t be delayed due to constant power outages and incessant student strikes, but she would have to leave the island, her life, her home. Mabel leans on the windowsill and runs both hands through her curly, brown hair. This has been Mabel’s dream since she was a young undergraduate at the University of Puerto Rico at Rio Piedras. But what about Lisandra? Long distance is a fool’s game, she knew from experience. Her and Norma had a nasty falling out a few years ago.
Norma was older than Mabel; she finished her bachelor’s degree a year before her. The second Norma was out of school, she got an offer to work with her uncle in Pennsylvania, and the salary and benefits she’d receive there are much more impressive than what she could hope to receive on the bankrupt island. Mabel was happy for her, and for a second believed they could make it work, but after a few months of being separated, things started to change. Norma wouldn’t answer the phone because she was ‘busy,’ and eventually, they were down to one unenthusiastic conversation a week. Mabel confronted her about it, desperate to save what they once had, but Norma didn’t seem to think it was worth saving. Norma wanted to focus on her new life. Now, they aren’t even friends on social media. That, however, is Mabel’s doing. It hurt too much to see Norma enjoying herself while Mabel nursed a breakup. She didn’t want her relationship with Lisandra to end up like that.
The wind blows carrying its salty seaside scent into Mabel’s nostrils. She breathes it in and looks at her phone. It’s 11:00 am, if she doesn’t get going, she’ll be late for her shift.
Xavi is already there when she arrives. Although there technically isn’t a manager at JFusion, everyone knows it’s Xavi. That place can’t run without him.
“Buenos días, baby boo.” Xavi smiles, as he polishes glasses behind the bar.
Mabel returns the smile. “What’s up, buttercup?”
They met at one of Lola Love’s drag shows before the protests against the governor, before Hurricane María, before everything went to shit. At least that jerk Navarro is out of office now.
“It’s supposed to get busy later today. A few of the bars on San Sebastián street are throwing parties to celebrate Navarro resigning.”
“Hooray for tips but screw the traffic we’re going to have to deal with.”
Xavi chuckles. “We can always have a drink at Douglas’ until it dies down.”
“You read my mind.”
Mabel puts her apron on and joins Xavi behind the bar.
“What do you need?”
“Can you make sure the miso and salad are ready in the back? I don’t want a repeat of the February Friday Night Fiasco.”
That was easily the worst dinner service they had ever had thanks to Gian Carlos’ lazy ass. Anytime he was on shift, something went wrong.
“I got you,” Mabel says, heading to the kitchen.
Pedro, the head cook, is busy prepping. The smell of sofrito, finely chopped onions, garlic, and pepper, make Mabel’s mouth water. It doesn’t matter that this is a Japanese and Chinese fusion restaurant, Pedro always cooks with sofrito, so Puerto Rican. The owner, Kiko, always gets onto him about it, but never makes him stop. Secretly, Kiko knows that’s why people love the food so much.
“Smells good.”
“Belleza, buenos días,” Pedro says while slicing some onions. “¿Estás ready? I’m told we’re going to get swamped today.”
“You know me, I was born ready.”
Pedro smiles. Despite his three missing teeth, Mabel always sees him around town with a lady on his arm.
“That’s why you’re my favorite. Don’t tell Xavi I said that.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” Mabel walks over to where they keep the soups and salads. They’re good on salads, but they’re running low on miso.
“Need some help with the miso?”
“Si, por favor.”
Mabel grabs the miso paste, vegetable broth, onion, tofu, and mushrooms and gets to work.
“Pedro, if you had the chance to be head chef at a really nice restaurant in the States, would you go?”
“Depende, depends. How much am I making?”
“Much more than you make here.”
“Hmm.” Pedro furrows his thick brow. “I don’t know. I’d have to leave everything and star over. Plus, the ladies love me here. I’m not sure what the gringas would think of me.”
Mabel laughs. She’d miss Pedro.
“What about you?” Pedro fixes his gaze on Mabel.
She looks at Pedro, then refocuses on the half-made soup. “I don’t want to be a chef so—”
“¿Estás chistosa hoy? You got jokes today? Didn’t you apply to some fancy school or something? What if you get in? Will you go?”
Mabel silently stirs the soup before her swirling the miso paste into white spirals.
“Okay, okay. I can take a hint.” Pedro gets back to the onions.
Mabel finishes the miso and covers the tub with the metallic lid that keeps it warm.
“Do you need anything else?”
Pedro looks at Mabel. “No, I’m good.”
Mabel moves to leave the kitchen.
“Mira, for what it’s worth, just because leaving isn’t for me, doesn’t mean it isn’t for you.”
Mabel smiles weakly and leaves the kitchen. Xavi is done with the bar and has moved on to setting the tables.
“What’s with the sour puss today?” Xavi asks without looking up.
He has the rather creepy ability to read a person’s energy without even looking at them.
“Is Pedro hitting on you again?”
Mabel laughs. “No, just thinking.”
“About?”
Mabel knows what Xavi will say, the same thing Lisandra would say. Would anyone ask her to stay?
“I don’t want to bore you with my existential bullshit. How’s dating been since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”
“Ugh, don’t even get me started.”
“Uh-oh, not great?”
“Everyone seems so thirsty, and I’m still traumatized from that jerk-off cheating.”
“I don’t blame you. At least he went to jail for a bit.” Mabel laughs recalling the incident Xavi recounted involving his ex-boyfriend’s insistence that they hike to a beach through private property.
The thought of Xavi, who never works out, running like a bat out of hell from the cops through a mess of sand, palm trees, and vegetation is hilarious.
“True that. Now, I just need the balls to get back out there.”
“If you ever want me to come out with you, I can totally wingman. Plus, a little moral support and backup are always good.”
Xavi smiles. “I’m going to take you up on that.”
“Now, back to you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your sour puss. What’s going on?”
Xavi never skips a beat.
“Bueno, yesterday I got—”
A table of two women saunters into the restaurant dressed and ready to party. The women have fresh blowouts, mini dresses, and what Mabel calls ‘fuck me’ heels. They must be celebrating something.
“Buenas, take a seat anywhere you’d like,” Mabel says.
Xavi sighs. “This conversation isn’t over, young lady.”
Mabel sticks her tongue out and heads to the duo’s table.
“Hey, can I get you guys something to drink? Maybe a little mojito to get the party juices flowing?”
The ladies giggle. It’s this type of charm that makes Mabel a successful waitress.
“Yes, girl, you know what’s up,” one of the women say.
“You got it.” Mabel heads to the bar where Xavi already has two mojito glasses prepped.
“You’re welcome.” Xavi winks at her.
“You’re such an eavesdropper.”
“It’s called anticipation and attention to detail. You should try it sometime.”
“Oh, is that so?” Mabel pinches Xavi, making him jump.
“Stop it!” He slaps her hand away trying not to laugh. “So unprofessional.”
“You know you love me.” Mabel gets to work muddling mint leaves, lime wedges, and sugar in the glasses.
“And I haven’t forgotten. What’s on your mind that you’re working so hard to keep from me?”
“Remember that public policy program I applied to?”
“Of course. What happened? You didn’t get in?”
“Actually, it’s the opposite. I got in, and I got the assistantship. My tuition will be paid for if I accept.”
“What? That’s incredible. Congratulations.”
He swiftly takes Mabel in his arms and twirls her around. She struggles in protest making Xavi release her.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“But you’re not happy about it. What the hell, Mabel?”
“What about Lisandra? My life here?”
“What about your dreams and how much you could do with that doctoral degree?”
Mabel rolls her eyes, grabs the completed mojitos, and heads to the table.
The ladies accept the drinks with smiles and promptly place their order, Chef Sushi Special for two.
“Ready for the weekend?” Mabel asks one of the women.
“That obvious, huh?”
“The blowouts gave you away.” Mabel winks.
The ladies giggle at Mabel’s flirtation.
“We’re celebrating Tamara getting a dope position at a firm in D.C. So, if you could bring a celebratory brownie at the end, that would be great.”
Tamara smiles. “You don’t need to tell everyone we meet today, Carol.”
“Yes, I do. I’m proud of you. It’s not like you could get a job here. Plus, you’re going to be working with immigrants. Speaking up for the little guy, and that shit is fucking heroic.” Carol hugs Tamara whose cheeks flush.
“That’s awesome, congratulations,” Mabel says, forcing a smile and tapping her pen to the notepad she uses to take orders. “Think you’ll ever come back?”
Tamara thinks for a minute. “I’d like to, but I don’t see why I would. There’s nothing for me here career wise.”
Mabel nods.
“Enjoy those mojitos, and I’ll be back soon with that sushi.”
Mabel quickly walks into the bathroom and locks the door. She goes to a stall, unzips her black work pants, and forces them down her curvaceous legs until they’re at her ankles. Down go the undies, and she takes a seat. She stares at her undies; it’s the Flash-themed pair Lisandra gave her for Valentine’s Day. Lisandra still hadn’t texted her back. She replies with ‘Okay. See you later, te amo’ and puts the phone away, quickly quelling the temptation to tell Lisandra everything over text. Textual impulsivity never helped anyone. No, this is an in-person conversation. Not that Mabel had any doubt about what Lisandra will say.
Could Mabel be one of those people that gives up everything for their goals? It’s not like she’d be gone forever. She’d come back, she always told herself. Once she got the Ph.D., she’d come back at put it to use bettering the sociopolitical conditions on the island, if she could find a position. All the budget cuts and the political climate are very disheartening, it’s no wonder people are leaving in droves.
A knock on the door makes Mabel jump.
“Yeah, sorry, coming.”
She quickly finishes her business, washes her hands and face, and unlocks the door. It’s Xavi.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry if I came on too strong. I’m just excited for you.”
“I know.” Mabel smiles.
“Lisandra is going to be excited for you too.”
Mabel’s smiles fades. “I know.”
“Well, let future Mabel deal with that. Right now, we have to be ready for the rush.”
Mabel nods and follows Xavi into the dining room.
After Tamara and Carol leave, another pair come in, a man and a woman. It’s Xavi who greets this time.
“Bienvenidos, donde gusten. Take a seat wherever you’d like.”
Xavi walks over and Mabel waits by the bar at the ready. She wants to have their drink order prepped by the time Xavi walks over. She’ll show Xavi anticipation.
“What are we drinking?” Xavi asks with a smile.
“Tienen Gasolina? Do you have Gasolina?”
Xavi stares back at him in silence as if to say, ‘Are you for real?’ With affordable pricing and seven-eleven percent alcohol content, Gasolina is every broke Boricua’s dream, a ready-made cocktail served in a pouch like an adult Capri Sun. It’s not something usually found in ‘nice’ restaurants.
“Disculpa, sorry, but we don’t have Gasolina. How about a house Sangría? They are the Happy-Hour favorite around here.”
The man nods satisfied. Mabel, who has been listening, gets two Sangría glasses out and fills them with fruit and ice.
“How’s that for anticipation?”
Xavi laughs. “Not bad, not bad.”
“Maybe we should start carrying Gasolina.”
“Oh God, please. Kiko can barely handle Pedro’s sofrito. Imagine if we tried to bring that ratchet krunk juice in here. His bougie ass would have a fit.”
After the Gasolina table leaves, three hours pass with no guests.
Mabel and Xavi decide to play Hangman on cocktail napkins while they wait for the supposed rush. Using her vowel-first strategy, Mabel destroys Xavi the first few rounds.
“Whatever, I didn’t stand a chance against you, doctor.”
Mabel squints her eyes and gives him ‘the look.’
“Okay, okay. I won’t say another word until you tell me you’re ready to talk about it.”
They begin another round of Hangman.
“So.” Xavi tries to act casual but fails. “Lisi, is coming by later, right?”
Mabel launches ‘the look’ again.
“Graci is coming with her, that’s why I know.” Xavi manages to repel the accusatory stare.
“Yeah, they should be here once Lisi gets off work.”
Mabel struggles to guess the right letters this round. There’s an ‘a’ and no ‘e.’ What could it be? So many consonants, so little limbs. She shuffles through five-letter words in her head. Scare? Brave? Mabel decides to try ‘r.’
“People will come eat before they start partying. We will get slammed after for sure,” Xavi ensures Mabel whose only concern is guessing the five-letter word.
“I don’t know, Kiko said the same thing during the festival of Las Calles de San Sebastián, and we got a whopping total of five tables that evening.”
The ‘r’ works out for Mabel. Now, what should she guess next?
“Let’s be optimistic. I need the money so I can afford school.”
Mabel finally looks up from the game. She knows how much that degree in event planning means to Xavi and how little his ex supported that dream.
“Okay, the Law of Attraction, right? If we think it and believe it, it will happen.”
“Right.” Xavi forces a smile.
A crowd of chattering people storm by the restaurant, their smiling faces and enthusiastic gestures demonstrating Friday night excitement. So much possibility, so much fun. Xavi and Mabel stand. Maybe all that chattering and excitement made them hungry? They watch longingly as the crowd walks by. Xavi sighs.
“It’s pointless. Let’s face it. No tips tonight.” He plops into a chair.
Mabel sits next to Xavi and shoves the cocktail napkin with their unfinished Hangman game toward him. As they’re about to restart the game, the restaurant door flings open. A gust of wind follows Lisandra and Graci into the restaurant sending a few napkins into the air like white specs in a snow globe. Mabel stares at Lisandra as she makes her entrance. Her cocoa skin, midnight hair, and green eyes always leave Mabel breathless.
“Graci!” Xavi jumps up and runs to Graci who welcomes him with open arms.
Xavi had once told Mabel that he’s inspired by Graci’s ongoing struggle with sobriety. The fact that Graci was still on track to open her bar—yes, you heard the right, bar—made her an OG in his eyes. Graci has unapologetic presence about her that is intoxicating.
“Xavi, how are you? Is Lola ready for her next gig? You know I’m going to want her performing at Loverbar.”
Xavi smiles. “She’s ready. It’s getting her there on time that’s going to be a challenge. When do you open again?”
“Next month if all goes well.”
“That’s so exciting.” Xavi hugs Graci again. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”
“Thanks.” Graci’s eyes water. “I am too.”
“If you need my help with anything, let me know.” Xavi puts a hand to his heart. “I got you.”
“Hey, you.” Lisandra looks at Mabel who’s still sitting with the Hangman cocktail napkin in hand.
Mabel had not stopped staring at Lisandra since she came in.
“Hola.” Mabel smiles and looks down at the floor, her stomach a flutter.
Even after a year of dating, Lisandra still made her jittery. Mabel walks over to Lisandra and kisses her.
“¿Cómo estuvo el trabajo? How was work?”
“Normal, people won’t stop talking about Roselló resigning.” Lisandra shrugs her shoulders.
“Like that will fix anything. We need a complete overhaul of the administration.” Graci shakes her head.
“Come sit down.” Xavi ushers them to a table. “The usual?”
“Yes, please,” Lisandra and Graci respond in unison.
Xavi serves them up some Shirley Temples, virgin, of course. Mabel sits next to Lisandra and listens as her love and Graci continue discussing the extensive corruption of the Puerto Rican and U.S. administrations. Mabel found Lisandra’s revolutionary spirit very hot. Every time she speaks of independence and overthrowing the government, Mabel is overwhelmed by the desire to jump her bones. Mabel often wonders if her ambition of acquiring her Ph.D. in the states bothers Lisandra. After all, according to her, the U.S. administrations had a massive role in landing Puerto Rico in debt. Does running to the states for better opportunities make Mabel a traitor in Lisandra’s eyes?
Lisandra’s passion for politics and social justice is what drew Mabel to her in the first place. It all started a year ago when Mabel decided to attend a boycott at the University of Puerto Rico at Rio Piedras. Students were protesting a raise in tuition as well the cancellation of various degree programs. Lisandra was one of the speakers, that student behind the megaphone firing up the crowd demanding justice. Mabel was entranced. It didn’t take her long to decide that she would introduce herself after the boycott and invite Lisandra out for some coffee.
****
“I love what you said today?” Mabel said, latte in hand.
“Thanks, and thanks for coming.” Lisandra sipped her black coffee.
“Do you think the administration will listen, or is education doomed to a steady decline? Not to be a pessimist.”
“Oh, no.” Lisandra gently touched Mabel’s thigh. “It’s a fair question to ask.” Lisandra sat back in her chair and sighed. “I’m not sure they’ll ever listen, but we have to keep trying. That’s the only way change will come.”
Mabel and Lisandra sipped their beverages.
“What do you think it will take? You know, for them to listen.”
Lisandra thought for a moment. “Self-determination, and a complete overhaul of the administration.”
Mabel nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“Now we just have to make it happen, but that’s a tall-ass order.”
“If you’re on the case, there’s definitely hope,” Mabel said, winking.
Lisandra’s cheeks turned red.
****
Mabel smiles at the memory, wishing she could go back to that day, that beginning. After Graci and Lisandra down an appetizer, Xavi invites Graci out for a quick cigarette. He locks eyes with Mabel, as he heads out the door. This time it’s Xavi that gives her ‘the look.’
“What’s up with you?” Lisandra says, taking advantage of the fact that they’re alone.
“Huh?”
“You’re acting weird, distant.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” Lisandra smiles and strokes Mabel’s cheek. “Just tell me what’s up.”
Mabel places her hand on top of Lisandra’s.
“I got the assistantship.” Mabel’s heart pounds away in her chest.
Surely, Lisandra can hear it. Lisandra’s eyes widen and well up until tears threaten to spill over. She throws her arms around Mabel and squeezes.
“I’m so proud of you.” Lisandra whispers. “Y—you have to go.”
Mabel feels Lisandra’s body tremble softly.
“What about us, our plans?” Mabel’s voice shakes. “Changing the island together?”
“It’s not like you won’t come back, and we can handle a bit of distance.” Lisandra takes Mabel’s hands in hers. “Plus, a fancy Ph.D. in public policy will help our plans to change things here.”
Lisandra smiles, but Mabel doesn’t buy it.
“I told you about my experience with long distance.” Mabel drops her gaze. “I don’t want—”
Lisandra places a hand on Mabel cheek and gently raises her face so their eyes can meet.
“Don’t think like that. I’m not Norma.”
“I-I just don’t know.”
Mabel falls into Lisandra’s arms, and they hold each other in silence.
“Get a room,” Graci jokes, as her and Xavi come back inside form their cigarette break.
Mabel and Lisandra release and Graci must see[SC1] their faces glistening with tears.
“Is everything okay?”
“Mabel got the assistantship. Our baby is Ph.D. bound.” Lisandra wipes away the evidence of her true feelings.
“Oh, my goddess.” Graci walks over to Mabel and claps her on the back. “Well done, kid. I guess I’ll need to find some other hottie to sling the drinks at Loverbar.”
Lisandra and Graci leave promptly after they finish their meal. Both have work early in the morning, and Mabel’s shift isn’t over until 10:00 pm. The rest of dinner service proves slow, just as Mabel predicted. Not because there weren’t people in Old San Juan, they just weren’t in the mood for Chinese/Japanese fusion, apparently.
“Let me take you out for a drink to celebrate,” Xavi says.
“There isn’t much to celebrate, but what the hell.”
“Then we can drink our sorrows away together.” Xavi takes Mabel’s arm and ushers her out of JFusion.
Douglas’ has the usual suspects lingering around the bar. They are all very fascinated by a bachelorette party with six very drunk females in stilettos and short, tight dresses. Sashes droop from their bare, sweaty shoulders, and much to the delight of the bar’s straight, male customers, their skirts rode up with every hip swivel and shoulder shake. Their favorite bartender, Ceviche, is on duty.
“Wepa, mi gente, my people, how is life treating you?” Ceviche’s energy is contagious, and Mabel can’t help but smile.
“Significantly worse than it was treating me last week, Ceviche.” Mabel takes a seat at the bar and gestures for Xavi to do the same.
“You’re still breathing, right? God is good all the time, and all the time God is good.” Ceviche smiles while he whips up some grapefruit vodkas.
“I’ve never been partial to your god,” Mabel makes quotation marks with her hands. “But I suppose he can’t be that bad if he made you.” Mabel winks.
“You’re too good to me, Mabelita.” Ceviche serves them the grapefruit vodkas.
One of the bachelorettes drapes herself over the bar.
“B—bartender, a round of tequila shots, please.” Emphasis on the ‘ease.’
“Good luck with that mess.” Xavi nods toward the bachelorettes.
Ceviche winks and goes on his way.
“Permission to speak about the assistantship?” Xavi asks and takes a sip of his drink.
Mabel nods and sips her vodka grapefruit as well.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just make sure you don’t bail because you’re scared.”
Mabel takes another swig of the grapefruit vodka. She appreciates that Ceviche went heavy on the vodka.
“If you stay for Lisandra, your family, your life, fine. I get it. But don’t use that as an excuse to stay because your scared. That’s all I’m saying.”
Mabel wants to assure him she’s not scared, that staying is all about Lisandra and home, but she can’t. She chugs her drink.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, it’s okay.” Mabel relaxes her shoulders and rolls her neck around. “Tienes razón, you’re right.”
Xavi rubs her back and finishes his drink. They’re both empty, and Ceviche is still dealing with the bachelorettes. The one draped over the bar suggestively rubs his arm. Meanwhile, her friends giggle and not-so-subtlety whisper “get him, blowjob queen.”
“I’ll tell you who should be scared,” Mabel gestures toward the shameless flirting at the other end of the bar. “Ceviche. That bitch is thirsty.”
Ceviche looks at Mabel and Xavi with eyes that say, ‘help me.’ They laugh and shrug their shoulders.
“I’m going to pee, be right back.”
Mabel gets up and makes her way up the spiral staircase that leads to the second floor of the bar where the bathrooms and pool tables are housed. Carefully, she follows the steps up. Many a fool has slipped and busted their butt on these stairs including Mabel. As the night progresses in Douglas’, the regulars always turn to watch when people go up and down the stairs. A resounding ‘ohhhh’ permeates the bar every time someone falls victim to the slippery stairs.
Mabel makes it up without incident which means she’s not nearly as tipsy as she wants to be. So many potential tears in the horizon. Thinking about goodbyes makes her stomach hurt. Luckily, there are not many people upstairs, the pool tables are empty, and there isn’t a line of ladies clenching their thighs desperate for a stall.
Sitting on the toilet, Mabel checks her phone. No messages. Lisandra must be asleep. She hopes she’s okay and not reeling over the news. Mabel types a message: Don’t you want me to stay? Her finger hovers over the ‘send’ button. Someone enters the bathroom with a loud stumble. It must be one of the blitzed bachelorettes. Mabel erases the message and finishes up in the stall. It’s the one that was hitting on Ceviche. The bachelorette attempts to fix her hair and make-up in front of the mirror. She sways on her heels while digging through her purse. The purse falls spilling contents all over the bathroom floor. Lipstick, condoms, powder, keys, gum, napkins.
“Crap,” the bachelorette mutters, as she squats down.
Unable to maintain her balance, she falls. Mabel hurries over and gathers the spilled contents of the purse. Then, she helps the bachelorette up.
“Thanks, you’re really n—nice.” The bachelorette hiccups. “Most w—women are bitches to me.”
“Maybe you’re hanging with the wrong women.”
The bachelorette is quiet for a second then laughs. “You’re blunt. I bet women hate you too.”
Mabel chuckles. “Not exactly.”
The bachelorette steadies herself and extends a hand. “I’m Susana.”
“Mabel.”
They shake hands. Susana looks Mabel up and down.
“Did you g—get off work or something.” She hiccups. “Cuz this,” she points at Mabel’s outfit, “does not read like going-out attire.”
Mabel laughs and washes her hands.
“Looks like you’re pretty blunt too. I see why you have trouble with the ladies.”
Susana frowns. “I’m sorry, that was so r—rude.”
“No, it was honest. Is it you getting married?” Mabel tries to calm her curls which have been frizzed out by the humidity.
Susana guffaws throwing her long, blonde hair back.
“Hell no. Not my bag.” Susana slurs her words. “What about you?” She points a wobbly finger at Mabel. “Do you have a special someone?”
“Yes, but I may have to leave her.” The sadness from before remerges.
First in her mind, then it spreads and spreads through her body like a virus.
“That sucks. Why?” Susana wipes at the mascara melting down her face.
“To get my Ph.D.”
“Whoa. Soon-to-be Doctor Mabel. That’s awesome.”
“I don’t know if I’m going.”
“Oh.” Susana messes with her crooked Bride Tribe sash.
Mabel sighs, looks at the floor, and prepares herself for the look of bewilderment and the encouragement not to let anything stand in the way of her dreams. Even strangers can’t wait to tell her what’s best.
“Let me guess. I’m crazy for not diving into this opportunity headfirst.”
“Huh?” Susana looks up from her sash which is still crooked. “Oh, not really. I get it.”
Mabel looks at Susana, her eyebrows raised. “You do?”
“Sure.” Susana stumbles toward Mabel. “People always try to tell me what to do. Don’t do another shot, don’t sleep with someone you just met, eat breakfast, ugh. It’s like, shut up and let me be me, you know?”
Mabel nods and readies herself in case Susana falls over again. Susana places a heavy hand on Mabel’s shoulder and tries to make her face look serious.
“Listen,” Susana hiccups. “I’m going to give you some m—million-dollar advice.”
Mabel leans in, ready. Susana hiccups again making Mabel jump. Susana laughs, Mabel rolls her eyes.
“Sorry, sorry. Okay, here it is for real.” Susana gets closer. “Do whatever you want.”
Susana disengages from Mabel, takes another look in the mirror, finally manages to straighten her sash, and heads to the door. She stops and turns before exiting.
“Look, it’s easy. I want another shot.” She hiccups. “What does Dr. Mabel want?”
Susana exits the restroom leaving Mabel in the same position by the mirror. Mabel looks at herself then takes her phone out of her bag. She pulls up the acceptance letter and reads over the words again.
“We’re pleased to offer you a Teaching Assistantship for the 2019-2020 academic year —”
Mabel smiles, puts the phone back in her bag, and leaves. She makes her way to that treacherous spiral staircase and begins her descent. Carefully, she takes it one step at a time. The regulars perched at the bar watch, wait for her to slip, but she doesn’t. She makes it all the way down sans incident.
Mabel creeps up on Xavi who is waiting at the bar with two, new drinks. She taps his shoulder, making him jump.
“¡Ay, santo! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Xavi places a hand on his chest.
Mabel throws her head back and laughs, long and deep. A new sort of relaxed energy permeates her body. She sits down, grabs the new drink Xavi has waiting for her, and raises it like an offering to Ceviche’s god.
“To doing whatever we want.”
“I can get behind that.” Xavi raises his glass. “To doing whatever we want.”
“Salud, cheers,” they say in unison, clink, and take a drink.
About Loverbar
This collection of short stories follows a group of queer Puerto Rican characters as they navigate post-Hurricane María life on the island. The characters fight to improve the island’s sociopolitical hellscape while dealing with personal problems such as addiction, toxic family, and transphobic violence. Amidst the chaos, the characters work to open a queer-friendly bar, Loverbar, a safe space for all.
The opening story, “Hurricane Karen”, places us in San Juan Puerto Rico the day before Hurricane Maria hits. It follows Graci, a struggling addict with plans to open her own business, as she tries to fulfill her work obligations, save face with her friends, and prepare for the impending storm while the voice of self-deprecation in her head, Karen, continuously beats her down.
“That Was Then This is Now”, a follow up to Hurricane Karen, sees Graci fight to stay sober in the aftermath of Hurricane Maria. Temptations arise as Graci organizes and plans a communal meal with her friends for those affected by the hurricane. When the itch becomes too much, Graci must choose between asking for helping and ensuring her dream of opening a business or succumbing to her addiction.
The third story, “Pinky’s Box”, changes the focus to Pinky, a transwoman who is excited about volunteering with the mayor of San Juan packing boxes of emergency supplies to aid the victims of Hurricane Maria. The experience and the mayor of San Juan are not what Pinky expect and tensions rise when Pinky notices the emergency supplies are not being shipped out.
“Gassed in Drag” follows Pinky and her friend Valeria as they participate in a demonstration protesting the governor of Puerto Rico,. The protest goes from peaceful to menacing and the crowd is eventually tear gassed by anxious policemen. Pinky loses Valeria in the mess and must navigate to safety alone.
In “Private Property,” Xavi agrees to a beach day with his boyfriend, Eduardo, in hopes of salvaging their deteriorating relationship. When they realize they must cross private property to reach the beach, Eduardo, furious at the increasing privatization of land by non-Puerto Rican entities, insists it’s their right continue. A hesitant Xavi complies only to make a startling discovery about Eduardo. When they are spotted by security, Xavi must decide whether to stick with Eduardo or save himself.
In “Stayin’ Alive”, transman Sammy must attend his grandmother’s birthday on the day of an important queer demonstration protesting the governor or Puerto Rico even though his grandmother refuses to accept his queer self. He manages to attend both events but not without a few mishaps. His father, while accepting of Sammy, has not been sufficiently supportive in the face of familial criticism and when his mother and Sammy finally collide, he must choose whether to please his aging mother or openly support his son.
“Rhythmic Resistance” brings us back to Valeria and Pinky. This time, Valeria is the focus, as she tries to navigate meeting men on a transphobic island. Valeria and Pinky attend a dance protest during which the governor of Puerto Rico finally decides to address the people. Valeria meets up with a new suitor at the protest and things turn violent when Valeria’s truth is revealed.
In “Slow Service,” Mabel must decide whether she’ll stay in Puerto Rico with her loved ones or accept a teaching assistantship in the US that would allow her to pursue her passion, a doctoral degree in public policy and administration; this would mean leaving her serious girlfriend, Lisandra, behind. Mabel seeks guidance from her close friends and partner, but it’s not until she has an unexpected late-night interaction that she realizes what she must do.
“The Show Must Go On” is about Lola Love and her fight to find employment and keep her family afloat during the COVID-19 pandemic. She comes up with a plan to make some money, but her mother is not supportive of Lola’s methods. Lola moves forward with her plan and, in the end, must confront her mother.
In “Casi Casi”, Graci returns in chapter eight. At this point, she has managed to get her business, Loverbar, ready to open. On her way home one night, Graci is assaulted and robbed of the rent money for the bar; losing the rent could delay the opening of Loverbar and leave Graci and her friends/employees in financial crisis. Karen comes back in full force as Graci tries to deal with the assault and robbery on her own.
In the epilogue, we see that Graci ultimately succeeds in remaining sober and making Loverbar a success where the rest of the protagonists end up working to some capacity.
The Ascent
A poet once told me I should write whenever I have strong feelings, so here I am, writing about my strong feelings. Sadness, Guilt, and Fear. The lowest frequencies. I’m at a low frequency. I wanna, gotta, get it up. My soul cannot be suffering from impotence this early in the game. Why, guilt? You’re not doing enough for family, for work, for people, for the world. Not enough, not enough, not enough. Mom and Dad need me, my nephews need me? My partner, my animals, the state of Texas. I don’t think I’m responsible for all of this now that I see it on paper. It’s ridiculous. I hate this, so I’m leaving.
fly.
high here I go, happy thoughts like Peter Pan, he says they make you
From low to
Was Peter Pan Buddha all along? Maybe Ghandi or Jesus. Peter Pan takes care of lost souls after all, the lost boys, his boys, those abandoned and lost needing a shepherd. Sounds pretty Jesus-like to me.
Happy thoughts raise your vibration, happy thoughts let you fly.
Perhaps that’s why waking up came easily, because I love Peter Pan, I was Peter Pan, I am Peter Pan. Forever straddling the line between the Matrix and actual reality.
For Wendy, the red pill was too much to stomach. What no one told her is that when you grow up your heart dies. Well, it can die.
The good news is that you can save it.
With happy thoughts,
with me, with you.
My name, your name.
There’s power in a name.
Say it.
Say it again.
One more time.
Good job, now, how do you feel? Better?
Good. Centered. Breathing, yes, breathing.
Deepen the breath, escape the mind,
NO, don’t escape, stay and change the terrain.
Terraforming my mind.
It looks better already.
A Señora Thing (Parasol)
13
Señoras walk the turquoise cobblestone streets with umbrellas in their paper hands. How funny, I think, as I embrace the warmth, they’re using umbrellas when it’s not raining. Why would anyone want to block the sun? Such a señora thing to do.
23
Parasols, not umbrellas, “sun blockers” in Spanish. They’re not for me. There’s no blocking my sun, my love, my everything. Fun, sexy, barely clothed, and covered in sand throwing laughter like pennies in a wishing well. As the Taíno sun sets the white sands and skies aflame, I think, If only, if only, it’d last forever.
33
Pass me a parasol. I toasted too much, so much that a part of me had to be removed. With my stomach in knots, I processed the betrayal. My sun, mi compañero, deemed my years of veneration insufficient and so claimed part of my flesh as a sacrifice. I don’t miss it too much.
Maybe those señoras from a childhood passed did the same. Maybe they caught on to the betrayal and pulled out their parasols.
43
I walk the turquoise cobblestone streets, not quite a señora but no longer a niña– Boricua Britney wishing the sun could hit me, baby, one more time. But it’s okay, hay tranquilidad en la sombra, in the shade. These days I venerate the eye of the night sky that requires no sacrifice. Wise and confident but still barely clothed, drenched in silver slivers of light that soothe years of solar suffering.
I see you looking at me and my parasol, your furrowed brow hiding questions about umbrellas, sacrificial flesh, and moonlight.
Don’t worry about it, it’s a señora thing.
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Leslie Lea
Lee Hultin found success in writing technical manuals from plumbing to technology that led her to a career in application development. After retiring early and looking for new adventures, she left Chicago’s cold winters and settled on Padre Island.
It's Five O'Clock Somewhere
I woke in the dark room. All the doors were closed, the drapes and blinds drawn tight. Jack didn’t like the sun waking him. He lay still sleeping by my side. I couldn’t sleep anymore and I had to see the sun, the light, the Gulf. I decided I wasn’t going to waste any more time waiting on Jack.
Outside, Marty was tinkering on the boat. It was red with white cushions, and his pride and joy. He had just traded up, his older boat for the used red one. It was bigger and more powerful than the old one, and seated eight, a definite boost over the four-seater older one. He had only logged a month on it and was still getting used to how it performed. He was having problems with the GPS working properly and a few minor issues with the motor.
Inside, I helped Jessica put the beer in the tote along with chips and nuts. “Let’s get going,” Marty said as he entered the sliding glass doors. Jack emerged finally, freshly showered and grabbed a cold beer. Jessica laughed and said, “A bit early isn’t it Jack.” Jack just smiled and said, “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” letting out a not so quiet belch while walking down to the pier. I grabbed my sunglasses, hat and hairclip, taking the tote on the way out the door. Jessica locked the lanai doors and walked the 15 steps to the boat. Marty was already in the boat yelling at Jessica, “Did you bring my sunglasses?” “Right here” she said, handing them to him. With everyone on board, Marty turned the motor on and backed out of the pier, put the boat in gear and drove slowly down the canal.
I never tired of the slow crawl moving past beautiful houses, looking at the landscape and imagining living in one. Some still had their hurricane shutters up, meaning it was a second home. I wondered what these people did for a living to have more than one house. They had perfectly manicured lawns with foliage discreetly hiding patios and swimming pools, jet skis and large boats in private piers, and they were so much bigger than my own house. Jessica remarked on a red, garden pagoda in one yard on the corner lot to the Intracoastal. “That’s new,” she said. “The couple who bought that house also owns a new Asian restaurant on Water Street.” Jessica always knew when something changed or who was home or who had bought or sold these beautiful homes.
Marty opened it up, and the little red boat was flying, the engine purring loudly. Three dolphins, attracted by the engine sound and the bubbles the large wake created, were following us. Soon they were jumping alongside, greeting us on this mostly cloudless day. I pulled my hair back and secured it at the nape of my neck with a large clip.
Marty turned right, slowing as he came to little patches of sand islands. They really weren’t islands, only what was left of sand bars moved by the sea and tide. It was the long way around the Island to the Gulf. Marty had said earlier we would stay close to shore since the forecast predicted a few storms. I didn’t mind, I loved being in the boat and taking a little journey around the Island.
Soon we were into the Gulf with the Island on our right. You couldn’t stay too close to the Island because of shallow waters and unexpected sand bars, so Marty moved a bit further out, still keeping the Island in sight. I moved upfront sitting beside him and opened the windshield windows. I loved putting my feet up and feeling the boat bouncing off the waves. The wind picked up and the waves were now becoming swells rising higher and higher on both sides of the red boat. I was laughing at each jump the boat made over the waves, coming down hard on the sea. Thrilled by the roller-coaster ride, my laughter got louder as the adrenaline pulsed in my veins. I looked back at Jack and smiled. He acknowledged me by raising a can of beer. He only liked sitting up front when the waters were smooth as glass.
To the west, we all saw it. Dark skies were rapidly moving east and in our direction. Marty sped up and Jack started to get nervous and said so. Jessica and I switched seats so she could help navigate and I sat beside Jack. Jessica was trying to get the GPS on her cell phone to work. “Let’s get back Marty. I don’t like the looks of that storm coming in,” she said calmly. Before she even finished her sentence fog appeared seemingly out of nowhere. I looked at Jack, a silly grin on his face, taking a sip from another can of beer. In seconds the fog covered the red boat and we could only see a couple of feet in front of us. Jack exploded, “Were all going to die.” I chuckled, “I fully trust Marty, and I think we are in capable hands. After all, Marty knows these waters and has been driving in the Gulf for over 15 years.” Jack’s face, reddened by the coastal sun from our few days of vacation, was now pale. He gripped the bar around the side of the red motorboat with one hand, his knuckles as white as his face, while keeping his other hand firmly around the beer can. “Marty, I don’t want to crash or die,” Jack voiced in a hoarse whisper.
I could see the side of Marty’s face: it was as pale as Jack’s. He said softly, “I’m not sure where we are. I don’t know if we are close to the Island anymore.” The swells and wind were lifting the boat in the air. We hit the water with a hard slap that shook the boat and lifted us from our seats. The fog was so thick I couldn’t see beyond the edge of the boat. Only then did I begin to wonder if maybe, just maybe we might be in trouble.
Dog and Butterfly
My ancestry is Russian, from the cold tundra north with a bit of German. You would have thought I wouldn’t mind cold weather, but I did. I have blue eyes and light hair. And I can sing. I often sang the song of my people. My birth mother taught me to sing the day I was born. She taught me the songs of our people and I have never forgotten them.
Not long after my birth, I was placed in a home. The home was cold, and I wasn’t treated well. I guess they thought I was a reject because my room was so cold. I was sold to a couple that had other kids. They were a lot older that me. I didn’t stay there long, because soon I was placed in a foster home. I don’t know why. No one ever told me.
I was transferred from home to home. The last one was nice. There were lots of kids my age to play with. I liked that home. I stayed there for about 5 months. It became very crowded with new kids. I guess they figured I needed to move on to make room for other kids. One day, I was picked up and put in a car. It was a long ride and there were other kids with me. When we finally stopped, I was led out of the car and up to two people standing in the parking lot. That’s where the transfer took place. Pictures were taken and I tried my best to smile. Then some paperwork was exchanged and signed. I had been adopted, again. Before I could say anything, I was put in another car with the two people and went for another long ride. I cried the entire ride.
The person who drove the car was older and the other person was young, not a kid, but not old. Finally, the car stopped, and we all went into this house. It was bigger than my foster home and warm. I even had my own bed, something I relished after sharing in the foster home. The younger person left after a couple of days, and it was just the two of us.
She always made me things I loved to eat and played with me every day. We took daily walks outside. I was called the dancer by neighbors and people we passed because during our fresh air walks, I danced on the sidewalk down the street. I danced to tunes in my head I had heard some time back. We went to the playground daily, often twice a day. The park was filled with other kids, some older, some younger and some my age. Some of the older kids were bullies, but I always stood my ground. She didn’t like this as I was often scolded but she also scolded the bullies, which made me smile. Memories of my past faded into this new life.
Then winter came and it was very, very cold. I wasn’t used to these winters. They were cold and very long. We still went to the playground every day even in winter. I loved playing with the other kids. We chased each other in a game of tag and sometimes had races to see who was the fastest. She even played ball with me, a game I loved even though it’s a boy’s game and I’m a girl.
And then we moved to a warmer climate close to the ocean. We moved to the Island before I turned four. It was a long trip, but I didn’t cry once. The car pulled into a garage and I didn’t want to get out. I screamed and cried and pretty much threw a hysterical tantrum. The garage was empty and cold. It reminded me of the first time I was placed in foster care when they took me to this room with basically nothing in it. I thought she was abandoning me and putting me in another foster home. She finally understood and backed the car out of the garage. We walked into our new home through the front door. I couldn’t have been more proud of our new home. There were lots of rooms and big back yard.
We went on daily walks along the beach, once in the morning and again in the evening. I really didn’t like getting my feet wet but loved walking on the beach. People often stopped us to say how beautiful I was. I liked those compliments, they made me feel proud. I always walked after with my head a bit higher and an extra dance in my steps.
We had a pool in our new home, but I never went in. I just didn’t like being in that much water. Even on our beach walks, the surf would sometimes rush in up to my belly. I quickly ran out of the water. Walking on the sand was much nicer.
I cried a bit on that long night’s journey to Laredo escaping from the Hurricane. Hurricane Harvey it was named. The road, one lane in each direction, was so dark with only a blinking light from an occasional tower in the sky lighting the evacuation path. When we arrived four hours later, I screamed and cried when we started up the open stairs to our room. It was on the second floor even though we had requested a first-floor room. I had never seen stairs and didn’t know what they were and where they led. People came out of their rooms looking to see what was going on. We went back to the front desk as she explained we needed a ground floor room or one accessible by elevator. Two people behind me testified to hearing my screams. We got a ground level room. We had to move the next day to another ground floor room. I don’t really know why. But I was really glad to not have to go up those stairs again.
We came home and neighbors helped take off all those metal shutters so we could get into our home. We had no electricity for the first night back and once we opened the doors, we couldn’t close them. She called this man who came over and fixed the doors. The electricity came back on and life returned to normal again.
She taught me to be gentle with tiny flying things. But I still chased the dragonflies, damselflies, and birds every day when she wasn’t watching.
One day she opened the back door slowly eyeing what was on the deck. She went over to it closely looking at it. Was it a moth or a butterfly? Its wings were upright against the deck and she remembered moths spread them flat out against the surface when resting while butterflies folded their wings together. It was missing a leg but still had both antennas. She held it gently in her hand and showed it to me.
She moved it to a safe place, first by the Bird of Paradise bush. Then to the Ixora that hadn’t been planted yet and was still in its growing pot. The butterfly moved from leaf to leaf each day. Finally, it moved to the bottom of the plastic tub and yet it moved around there too. The next night, the temperatures dropped below freezing. She wanted to save that butterfly but didn’t quite know how or what to do. We checked the butterfly each morning and it was still alive. Then one morning it just spread its wings and flew away.
We settled into a routine of great food, treats and lots of snuggling and love. We walked on the beach every day, in the morning and again just before sunset. We watched movies together on the couch, sitting side by side. Sometimes I lay across her legs or with my head in her lap.
I loved breakfast and dinner with treats in-between. Weekend breakfasts were always extra special treats, especially when I got eggs. Cucumbers, chicken, watermelon and sometimes blueberries were my favorites. But I only ate the blueberries if they were sweet. Otherwise I spit them out on the floor. She wasn’t pleased about me spitting food on the floor, but she never chastised me.
She got me my own bed, several in fact, but I preferred to sleep with her which she let me. Her bed was big, in fact huge. I could spread out on it, often on an angle. Sometimes I would place my body against hers with my head on the extra pillow.
One day she noticed a small lump on my chest and took me to the doctor. The doctor immediately put me in the hospital and performed surgery to remove the lump. It was cancerous but the doctor had removed all of it. Or so we thought. I began to have shakings as I called them. I never told her about them and did my best to hide them from her.
It wasn’t long before I could no longer hide the shakings. One morning I fell into the pool. She rushed me to the doctor again. He gave me some medicine after several tests. But the seizures, as the doctor called them, started to come on more rapidly and I was scared. She rushed me to the emergency room that night at midnight. Brain tumor the doctor said. Brain tumor, brain tumor, brain tumor; the words echoed repeatedly in my mind. What did it mean?
The doctors gave her some medicine for me to stop the seizures. Only the medicine didn’t work. I got worse and it was a bad time as the sun rose in the morning. We went back to my regular doctor that morning.
Shiloh Morrighan Hultin, a beautiful blue-eyed, cream colored Siberian Husky Shepard, passed away peacefully at 8:36am on January 14, 2019. She was 8 and half years. Lee was at her side holding her gently.
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Nowadays, no one remembers anything about Wallis’ first wife, Mollie Madray, except Mama. As a child, she’d spent a lot of time with her Uncle Wallis and seen a large portrait of Mollie. The portrait had hung in the Big House which Wallis and Lou Ella had designed and built in 1894.
After Tommy had shown us the bullet hole, Mama and I went back through the long hallway into the Big House. She’d pointed to a spot above the staircase. “That’s where Lou Ella hung the big portraits, one of herself and one of Mollie. Mollie was wearing a long pink dress, and Lou Ella was in black.”
Now, three years after that visit to the Wade Ranch, I know more about Mollie and more about the barriers that can separate a young couple. Mollie and Wallis wrote to each other while they were courting. Mollie’s letters must have been saved by Wallis and then by Lou Ella. I’d found the letters in a satin envelope along with some old family photographs which had been given to me for safekeeping.
Mollie’s fifteen letters tell the story of the growing intimacy between her and Wallis. They reveal a self-confident and attractive young woman who was reluctant to enter into a shallow relationship. She’d already experienced one broken engagement and didn’t want another.
Fig. 4 Mollie's first letter to Wallis
May 29, 1891, page 1
In 1891 Mollie was two years younger than Wallis and lived in Mathis with her family. At one of the dances, she’d gone to, she’d been voted “most popular girl” in Mathis. In May of that year, she received a letter from Wallis indicating his desire to marry her. She wrote back, “I propose waiting for several months, giving each time to know more about the other before entering into an engagement.” They began to see each other frequently, usually at church, and they would correspond until the next Sunday or until they managed to meet again.
One of the barriers Wallis and Mollie encountered in their relationship was the Nueces River between them. It often flooded, and crossing it would’ve been impossible on horseback or with a horse and buggy. A ferry had been there since 1877, but it didn’t run in bad weather. In September 1891, Mollie wrote, “So [I] guess you have had plenty of rain. We heard the river was up until today, so Joe and I would not start over to see you all: seems as if fate were against me getting over there.”
After six months, Wallis was beginning to grow tired of the difficulties in seeing her, and he saw her apparent hesitation as another barrier. When he stopped answering her letters, Mollie began to worry about losing him. She sent a letter, saying:
I’ve concluded to write and ask if you have forgotten my existence. Thought probably some other girl is ahead of me. And should [I] not wonder if there was? There being so many more attractive than poor little me. I do not wonder at your withdrawing your affections for you have certainly been sufficiently tried.
Their correspondence resumed. Mollie began to understand she was in love with Wallis when, at the conclusion of an argument between them, she’d noticed he was crying. “I did not realize how it would hurt you until you cried. I felt I knew you better than ever before.” When Mollie realized how much she cared for him, she began to write more openly. On Christmas Eve, Mollie wrote, “I feel somehow as if you had found another girl. It ought not to make any difference with me, but I really do feel jealous. I sometimes think I care for you more than I thought I did.”
In January of 1892, Mollie had finally made up her mind to marry Wallis. She wrote, “If you have not forgotten what I promised the evening we went riding, come tomorrow week ‘on Sunday’, and I will tell you something, unless you have learned to care for some other girl, then of course I can’t.”
By February 9th, Mollie had given Wallis her answer, and she wrote to assure him:
“Now Wallis, I have given you my promise, and don’t you think for a moment I will break it…You spoke of having the marriage earlier than June! I can’t promise to yet but may consent for it to be the latter part of April. . . . I have not yet mentioned anything to Mama or Papa or anyone. Will soon tell Mama.”
Mollie’s letters also tell of visits to friends and family, visits which often stretched into weeks. And now that Mollie was engaged, she became the object of teasing. “I think I will go home Tuesday or Wednesday. I have been having a very good time here … They tried to tease me a little about you but were not at all successful.”
In a letter written in March, Mollie explained about some comments from friends and relatives who had tried to influence her:
Wallis, you do not blame me for answering you the way I did! Did you? I just tell you I did not know you enough to know my own mind, and I had a good deal to work against too: you have been told things on me and so have I on you. But I would not believe until I found out for myself. As to your talking, I have found out that the more I know you, the more you talk, true, you do not talk as much as most young men; but I am not afraid of your not talking enough. What you don’t talk, I will make up for you.
Molly wasn’t swayed by the gossip, and by March 19, she was counting the days until their marriage. “The time isn’t two months off now last Friday.” But the biggest barrier of all, Mollie’s health, soon became the couple’s overriding concern. Her first mention of measles occurs in late March. “I guess next Sunday I will have the measles, for Davis has broken out with them today.” She’d been right and soon was sick herself.
Mollie was optimistic about her recovery even when she was very ill. On April 19th, she wrote, “This is the first day I have sat up in 5 days. If it were not for the fevers, I think I would have been well by now.” In the April 19th letter, she tells him, “I am so weak, more so than when I was sick with fever last summer. I guess you begin to think what you heard about me being an invalid is about so. Sure has been that way for the last three weeks.”
The last letter from Mollie was written on April 26, 1892. She was getting ready to go back to the doctor and was expecting a quick and full recovery. It seems though that Wallis was quite worried. He’d asked Mollie if she believed in prayer, and she’d answered, “Indeed I do. Would be a poor Methodist if I did not and was taught from a child to kneel down and say my prayers every night.” It seems that Mollie and Wallis did marry late in May at her parents’ home in Mathis.
There’s another letter that was saved in the packet with Mollie’s letters. It’s from Mollie’s mother. She’s writing after the wedding and expressing worry and concern:
Dear daughter,
I am sorry that you are having fevers again. Be sure and tell Dr how you have been and felt all along since you had the measles. If I come, I will be at the train. You and Wallis come Saturday if the river is low enough.
Mollie’s poor health continued, and she died only months after the wedding. Wallis buried her in the Wade Cemetery on the Ranch where he would later be placed next to her. His second wife, Lou Ella, would be buried on his other side. Mollie’s tombstone says simply:
Mollie Madray Wade
1868-1892
Today, that tombstone, half-covered by cactus, and the 15 love letters written in a clear flourishing hand are all I know that’s left of Mollie Madray.
Fig. 5 Mollie Madray’s gravestone
Wade Cemetery, Jim Wells Co., Texas
I notice my watch. I need to get on to the Farm. The lines from Psalm 103 come to me.
As for mortals, their days are like grass: they flourish like a flower of the field.
The wind passes over it, and it is gone…
Lu Ann Kingsbury Photo Gallery
