Playing In Blue El Caminos
Red-butter-skin laid trapped behind her parachute dress even in the shower. Stepping in, her middle toe touched first, longer than the rest, leveling on the stone beneath the pelting water, that wasn’t a pelt, but only a trickle. Though, her skin took no notice, it clung to the sand in her pores, used it as jewels, glittering in the water poisoned by the garbage dump nearby. Stepping out, over the curbed tiles, she peeled the cotton up the pouting lip of her tummy, over her skull, housing her turntable brain. Challenging me, she stuck out her hip, laid a hand on it, propping her left side up.
Stop staring at me like that.
Yes, but you're burnt.
No. I'm just mad. There's a difference in the color. You'll see.
As I watched her, not even giving time to air-dry, she volleyed into bed, strands of her hair flying above her, a bowl of tossed spaghetti, bleached to the tone of see through. Lying face up, she reached her hand to the window above her, smudging the dirt on the glass, writing her name out.
If I ever die, and become prized to someone, I would expect them to write something like, An Ode to Odessa where they likened me to syrup, or sand. I think I would like that.
No you wouldn't, because then people would just think of you as something that needed to be wiped up off the table, something too sweet to eat by itself.
She laughed, her breath in-and-out, tripping on her tongue and landing on the comforter below her cheek.
Let's go out. It's dark and we're awake.
Odessa slipped the wet dress back over her head, and I felt the water droplets tapping on the bridge of my foot, until I followed her outside, sinking into the tracks she left in the sand. It was only nine, but finding nobody outside, Odessa ran onto the shell road, her laugh battling against the sound of the waves. As I caught up, she stopped, turned towards me and put her hand flat on my chest.
Let’s steal a car. Let’s get out of here. We can go wherever we want and no one will be able to find us.
Yes, and if we get caught, that’d be it, a lot less free than we are now.
Don’t be silly. We won’t get caught.
Odessa, you can’t be serious.
Odessa’s grin stretched quickly across her face and pulled back in as she started the walk towards town.
………………………………………………………………………………………….
Whistling, she ran her fingers along the length of the El Camino, and obediently I followed, tracing my finger along the opposite side, leaving a trail that was free of dust. As Odessa jimmied the driver’s side window open, I watched around us, only seeing blank circles where the streetlight hit the pavement. I heard the click of the lock, believing at first it was the cocking of a gun.
We’re in.
I scooted in the passenger side, waiting for Odessa to start the car. Her hands were tugging at the wires as the muffled slam of a door outside sounded.
“¡Eh! Ladróne! Gringa! Get outta that car!” The short man stood outside the car, his hands waving madly in the air while making futile attempts to open the passenger door. Odessa’s hands started moving even faster, her sharp knuckles bloody from rubbing against the coarse panel beneath the wheel, unable to find the spark.
You told me this was going to work! You said we wouldn’t get caught!
On the sidewalk, the man looked to a figure down the street and began yelling and pointing at the car.
Odessa, get out of the car and run. Odessa, get out!
The movement of her became still in the driver’s seat, even as I shoved at her. I watched from my left side as the police-man walked up to the driver side window. Odessa looked at me and smiled.
It’s okay. They’ll never separate us.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Policia de Tulum
Police Report
Date:04/03/1987 22:13:00
Responding Officer: Alvarez, Manuel
Incident: Tuesday April, 3, 1987, Juan Marquis of Tulum was seen on side of road yelling that his car, an ’87 El Camino, was being stolen. Officer Alvarez rushed to scene and witnessed Caucasian female in passenger seat screaming towards driver side. When Officer asked female to cooperate, female opened passenger door and ran in north-east direction. Female last seen on foot heading towards Boca Paila.
Stop staring at me like that.
Yes, but you're burnt.
No. I'm just mad. There's a difference in the color. You'll see.
As I watched her, not even giving time to air-dry, she volleyed into bed, strands of her hair flying above her, a bowl of tossed spaghetti, bleached to the tone of see through. Lying face up, she reached her hand to the window above her, smudging the dirt on the glass, writing her name out.
If I ever die, and become prized to someone, I would expect them to write something like, An Ode to Odessa where they likened me to syrup, or sand. I think I would like that.
No you wouldn't, because then people would just think of you as something that needed to be wiped up off the table, something too sweet to eat by itself.
She laughed, her breath in-and-out, tripping on her tongue and landing on the comforter below her cheek.
Let's go out. It's dark and we're awake.
Odessa slipped the wet dress back over her head, and I felt the water droplets tapping on the bridge of my foot, until I followed her outside, sinking into the tracks she left in the sand. It was only nine, but finding nobody outside, Odessa ran onto the shell road, her laugh battling against the sound of the waves. As I caught up, she stopped, turned towards me and put her hand flat on my chest.
Let’s steal a car. Let’s get out of here. We can go wherever we want and no one will be able to find us.
Yes, and if we get caught, that’d be it, a lot less free than we are now.
Don’t be silly. We won’t get caught.
Odessa, you can’t be serious.
Odessa’s grin stretched quickly across her face and pulled back in as she started the walk towards town.
………………………………………………………………………………………….
Whistling, she ran her fingers along the length of the El Camino, and obediently I followed, tracing my finger along the opposite side, leaving a trail that was free of dust. As Odessa jimmied the driver’s side window open, I watched around us, only seeing blank circles where the streetlight hit the pavement. I heard the click of the lock, believing at first it was the cocking of a gun.
We’re in.
I scooted in the passenger side, waiting for Odessa to start the car. Her hands were tugging at the wires as the muffled slam of a door outside sounded.
“¡Eh! Ladróne! Gringa! Get outta that car!” The short man stood outside the car, his hands waving madly in the air while making futile attempts to open the passenger door. Odessa’s hands started moving even faster, her sharp knuckles bloody from rubbing against the coarse panel beneath the wheel, unable to find the spark.
You told me this was going to work! You said we wouldn’t get caught!
On the sidewalk, the man looked to a figure down the street and began yelling and pointing at the car.
Odessa, get out of the car and run. Odessa, get out!
The movement of her became still in the driver’s seat, even as I shoved at her. I watched from my left side as the police-man walked up to the driver side window. Odessa looked at me and smiled.
It’s okay. They’ll never separate us.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Policia de Tulum
Police Report
Date:04/03/1987 22:13:00
Responding Officer: Alvarez, Manuel
Incident: Tuesday April, 3, 1987, Juan Marquis of Tulum was seen on side of road yelling that his car, an ’87 El Camino, was being stolen. Officer Alvarez rushed to scene and witnessed Caucasian female in passenger seat screaming towards driver side. When Officer asked female to cooperate, female opened passenger door and ran in north-east direction. Female last seen on foot heading towards Boca Paila.