Miracle de amadres
“I remember when you let your greña caer and argued with that chemistry teacher about nuclear. I still don’t know what you were talking about, but you sounded like you knew more than him,” Meche told Boy one morning over coffee at La Buena Bakery.
Boy smiled.
“Remember? What were you talking about?” she asked.
“Oh yeah. It was about the difference between nuclear fission and fusion. He got his terms mixed up, and I pointed it out. He got mad and threatened to give me an F for the semester for talking back,” Boy said.
“Did he give you an F?” Meche said, looking over at her daughter at the counter and nodding backwards to ask if she needed Meche to bake more pastries.
Her daughter shrugged her shoulders to indicate the inventory was fine but shook her head to say she didn’t like her lingering so long with Boy.
Meche turned to look back at Boy, who shook his head.
“You became famous for that,” she said.
Boy smiled but continued to shake his head and closed his eyes briefly.
“That semester was crazy. I was being bused to the rich part of town in the afternoons to take higher math and science, and I ended up taking Chemistry II although I was taking Chemistry I in our school in the mornings. And I didn’t have the special calculator I needed for Chem II. But I stuck it out and survived,” Boy said mostly to himself.
Meche smiled.
“Everybody talked about it for a long time,” she said.
“The smart girls started noticing you. Until then, they used to make fun of you behind your back,” Meche said.
“Really? I didn’t know,” said Boy.
“They asked me about you, as if I was your carnala or something,” she said, her voice quivering slightly at the end.
They looked at each other silently.
“You kind of were my sister,” Boy said.
“Never was. Never wanted to be,” Meche said.
“Didn’t know,” said Boy.
“No? You were dejando caer la greña with everything else. The magic vato,” Meche said.
“I should’ve paid more attention to what was going on in the Southside,” Boy said.
“That’s not where,” said Meche.
After a brief pause in their conversation, she stood up.
“Pos I’m now going to dejar caer my greña for more pasteries,” she said as she walked back to the baking room.
Meche’s daughter, who’d been standing by the cash register behind the counter the entire time, gave Boy a sarcastic smile.
Boy slumped in his chair.
“I need to dejar caer my greña with Meche,” he told himself.
This story was made possible by generous donations from supporters like you. Please consider showing your support with a contribution today.
