Friday, September 7, 2012

Pinto Beans Trigger Writing

Pinto beans. The little hard, light brown, speckled things that was a part of every meal. Pinto beans. For the longest time, Pinto beans were a staple of my diet.  Ground beef and rice?  Don't forget the beans.  Pollo con papas? Don't forget the beans. Eggs and bacon? Don't forget the beans.  Froot Loops cereal? Don't be silly. But more than what the food tastes like pinto beans reminds me of something, someone, rather else.   It makes me think about the woman who would sit at the couch that was visible as soon as you opened my living room door. The woman who had a mole on her cheek and who would peel the rind of the oranges that she fed me as a child. Pinto beans remind me of her slippers and house dress and her white-white hair.  They remind me of a short woman with a tooth or two missing and the cane that she needed to walk. They remind me of novelas and sweet bread and hugs and mall trips. They remind me of times when I would be home alone with this woman; not a care in the world. She'd yell out from her spot in the couch "Betito!", that's what my family would call me, "ven y ayuda me!"  I would put down my power rangers or my wresters or my batman action figures and I'd rush down the short hall to this woman.  She'd give me her hand to help her up--she had bad arthritis and struggled to walk and get up--and we'd head to the kitchen. We'd sit on the modest light brown table with the table cloth and a plastic cover and she'd pour the beans out from their bag and they'd sprawl across the table like a cascade of water hitting the shore.  There we'd start to pick out the bad beans from the bunch: the broken ones, the ones that were to dark, ones that were too light, the ones that looked just plain ugly. We'd sit there for what seemed a long time, picking out the beans content with each others company.  When we'd finish, she would grab a container and pour all the beans into it. The clay pot filled with boiling water awaited the unsuspecting beans on the gas stove.  She'd pour them in and head to her spot on the couch. Soon, the aroma of pinto beans filled the air. The very same pinto beans that my were apart of every meal, the pinto beans that came by the pound, the very same pinto beans that remind me of a short, little, humble lady who loved me and cared for me: my grandma "mama".

Friday, August 3, 2012

The Reluctant

Here's the thing about being in a city like this. There isn't much to do. Sure, it isn't a small town by any means but it isn't exactly a metropolis either. We're in a weird transition phrase between small town and big city. I kind of like it to be totally honest.  So, really there's only two things to do after a certain hour: eat and drink--or in most people's cases: drink then eat.  So, there we were like any self-respecting twenty-some year olds with careers and no family: out at a bar in the middle of the week. Well, it was Thursday, so you can hardly blame us.  There's George, Pollo, and our two resident gays Jesus and Dhyago.   Everyone's there looking for....looking for...well, everyone's looking for something. Whether it's a one-night stand, the future wife or husband, or simply a good stiff drink. Everyone is at Hal's landing for a reason unique to that individual.  Personally, the reason our group was there is beyond us all. George had a live-in girlfriend much to his dismay. Pollo had one two--although she was scarcely seen and Jesus and Dhyago were I guess that leaves us all with the sole purpose of people watching and drinking. It's like being an old folk at the mall except a bit more boozy. Which is right up this groups alley!  Today was better than the typical Thursday at Hal's landing. There were--for once--a lot of beautiful girls at the bar and they weren't out numbered by different grades of cheap Polo cologne hitching a ride on a ghetto,faded, dude with a straight-edged cap on.  There were classy girls for the most part but being the city that it is, there were some "ghetto" girls as well: but they were still attractive, oddly enough.  Everything was going as normal. One person would get a drink, someone would yell out "Shots!" and everyone would take their shot glass and gulp down whatever concoction it was that the bartender decided to mix down their throat and scream "woo!"   Today, was different though. Despite all the normal events happening and then night proceeding as usual, there seemed to be an air of uneasiness about the place--an almost permeable sensation that something, somewhere in the bar was different. It was necessarily a bad thing, in fact, it almost felt like it was quite a good thing but at the moment that one noticed the sensation one couldn't decipher it's message.  The feeling remained throughout the remainder of the night. It lingered in everyone's subconscious and the bar's patrons' heads were noticeably on swivels.  Maybe, it was the unease of having an increased military presence in our airspace as of late, or the recent UFO sightings paired along with unexpected thunderstorms, or maybe it was the drug-cartel violence across the border in our sister city that had recently escalated that had everyone else in the bar uneasy. But in this particular corner of the bar, in this group of people we knew that this sensation didn't come from any of those things.  But none of us were sure, until the smell hit us.  A mix of expensive designer cologne and pure human attraction enthralled our senses and the straight men in the group all looked up in unison at each other as if to acknowledge what was already known.  She was here. That unmistakable scent of perfume and passion that emanated only from one body had crossed our noses and vined istelef into our...into my mind.   Heart rate accelerates, adrenaline fills my body and primes it for anything, eyes widen.and I scan the room.   Left, right, left, forward, back and then when all seems to have been a mistake, there is the unmistakable facade of the woman that has such power over the mind and heart.  The almond eyes, perfect lashes with dark, smokey eye shadow the mole under her left eye just above her full, pout lips. Lips that are accented only by a subtle lip gloss rather than an offensive lip stick. She's just been handed a vodka cranberry.  She thanks the bartender and brings the glass close to her face, wraps her lips around the straw and takes a drink.  She blinks seductively and and turns this direction.  She notices. She puts her drink down, brushes her luscious brown hair to the side and says one simple word:  "Hi".

Friday, March 23, 2012

It trickled down my face and off my nose. That always made me slightly smirk as it tickled my nostrils on the way down.  There's always something special about feeling that first drop. It's almost as if the sky is giving you a personal invitation to experience what inevitably lies ahead.  The skies parted and drops of rain began to fall. Plop, plop, PLOP! they went all around me--precursors of what's to come.  Then the gushing torrents began. The wind began to pick up speed and my hair began to fly in its wake.  Thunder crackled and lightning flashed in the grey marble sky while small branches started to surrender to the wind and rain.  I stood in my yard soaking it all up. I felt a drop trickle down my face and off my nose.  I smirked.

Thursday, March 8, 2012


"You're unrealistic
you're stuck in a dream.
Your minds in the clouds
why can't you see? The things that you love
are all a big sham.
Your dreams, ambitions and goals, psh
grow up be a man.
Get your head back to the ground
you'll soon need to start settling down.
Find yourself a good girl
who's willing to stay
in your life for more than a day!"

I look at this form, in front of me so
tall, dark, ominous, who it was, I should have known.
Grey suit, black shoes, plain as arial font
his mustache, and his shadow's hat showed his face not.

But I didn't need to see it,
I knew him all along
26+ years you've waited,
for just the perfect shot.

"You think it's here? At 26? At 3 on the dot?
Sir, I think you're wrong, the times not wrought
of me, you've must forgot.
I care not what you think of me
or who you think that I should be!
I'll keep my eyes fixed on the stars
I'll send my dreams flaring out! 
Unrealistic, that's for damn sure
No realistic thoughts in here, you see
of that I'll guarantee.
Delusions grand!
Hah! I've got a plan!
or..really, more of a thing.
I'll do all the improbable, impossible,
i'll try just anything!
I'll call myself a dream, a fighter, and a king!
I'll be the best dabber, you ever did see!
But, grow up? Psh!
That's not the life for me.
Dellusions, grandeur, and time machines,
That's where I'll be!"

Fix squared jaw, looked down at me and straight at my bow tie.
He raised his eyebrow, clenched his jaw and started about face.
"Good bye!" I yelled a Cheshire on my face.
He slowly turned and grimaced
and looked me in the eye.
"I catch up with everyone, today was not your time.
A warning ,a grievance, foreshadowing if you'd like.
I'll join soon enough you'll see
I feel it creeping in.
I see it in those fearful eyes, that lump beneath your chin."

I swallowed hard and pursed my lips
I reached in my pocket, grabbed a bag and pulled it by its tips.
"Gummi worm!?" I asked with an annoying smirk
He merely grunted, and turned away, and vanished where he tread