I’ll be the super-prepared Desdemona, knowing all my lines. I’ll square off with K.T. and look her in the eye the next time she has some ratty thing to say about my acting. So far I’ve survived two run-ins with her and lived. I might as well go for a third time and see how charmed my life is. As for Chico and Anthony and Juan, I’ll pretend they don’t exist except as Iago and Cassio and Othello. I park the car, get out and wait by the door, listening, looking into the shadows, my fist curled around my keys so I can use them as a weapon if I have to. A cat yowls and something with a long tail scampers across the driveway to dive under a dumpster. My throat closes and feels like it did when I came down with the mumps. I flash on a memory of Dad, sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing tiny spoonfuls of ice chips into my teeth, mouth, then stroking my hair and telling me I’m beautiful in spite of my bullmastiff jaws. “Carlie love, this is going to take time. Be patient. Take small pieces and let them melt slowly.
What do You think about The Princess Of Las Pulgas?
