I really wish I could give names and locations but once you read what I’m about to say, I’m sure you’ll understand why I didn’t. I visited an elementary school recently (which shall remained unnamed) and was working with groups of 6th graders on getting them comfortable standing before people and speaking. My aim has never really been to create perfect orators or storytellers. I think it’s important that everyone acquires some level of comfort in speaking before others as a form of personal growth.

My approach is more interpersonal than academic and I’ve yet to have an entire class that didn’t accomplish my exercises, except until recently. So, I’m in this 6th grade class and I’ve got the energy right where I need it to be to accomplish 100% participation when I get to a young man who has his head down. He is refusing to make eye contact with me. Eye contact is an important part of my workshop and, without it, I’m partially powerless to communicate effectively. This is something that I also let the children know. Before you ask I will tell you; no the boy isn’t on the spectrum and not part of a culture that views eye contact from someone younger as disrespectful. That out of the way, now let me explain what happened.

I don’t like to single anyone out in front of the other students and so I took his desire not to make eye contact with me as a sort of plea to be left alone. When his turn came to go up in front of the class, he looked up and said rather abruptly, “I don’t want to do it!”

This was a first for me. I’ve been doing this workshop for about 3 years and I’ve “always” managed to get 100% participation. I asked him if he’d like me to move on past him, allow someone else to go and then return to him. He said no. I released my “100% participation driven ego” and let him know that it was alright, that I wouldn’t force him to do anything that he felt uncomfortable doing. It was definitely a blow to my sense of accomplishment but there was something about this kid that I didn’t want to disturb. It was in his eyes when he did finally manage to look up. I actually felt a sadness for him.

As I start to move on to the next student, the teacher, who has been sitting quietly at the back of the class, jumps out of her chair and starts shouting. I was actually shocked at what came out of her mouth.

She began yelling at the young man and said, “I you aren’t too afraid to sell drugs to other kids on this campus then you shouldn’t be afraid to get up in front of this class for the few seconds that Baba is asking you to do it!”

After berating him for only a few seconds longer (which really felt like hours) she turned to me and said, “Ok Baba, sorry to interrupt, you can have the class back now.”

What?!?!

I mean really!

What?!?!

I stood there dumbfounded! How do you segue from that back into the tone and rhythm of normalcy that was our initial pacing? I hate to admit it but I stood there thinking, “Kids in elementary school have money to buy drugs?” Yeah, that was my first thought. You know how you can’t help but draw a reference to your own experience? When I was in elementary school, if we had any money at all, it went straight into keeping the dental profession employed though purchasing and eating as much candy as we could stuff into our mouths. Drugs?

I know I looked like some sort of mannequin standing at the front of that class. I can’t even tell you how I pulled it together. Actually I’m not sure I did. I left that class and went to my car. I sat in my car for a long while. A really long while. Have you ever been struck by a reality that you, intellectually, think you know? I mean I’m not naive or anything but there was something about this moment that tore at me.

Drugs and children selling drugs in elementary school and we are arguing over budgetary issues and firing teachers. If this is where we are today, where will we be tomorrow after we’ve debated and destroyed the one place our nation’s children should feel safe if not at home?

I know I’m ranting a bit here, but this incident hit me hard and I might as well still be sitting in my car in that schools parking lot deep in thought.

How do we deal this issues such as this?

I’m not sure whether to play the old Carol Burnett goodbye song or the Mickey Mouse Club song. I’ll let you guys choose. It appears we have reached the end of this experimental-writing-creatively-in-Spanish journey. It also seems as though I may have survived with the exception of a few frazzled nerves and newly enhanced bags under my eyes.

We started this journey in March to see if I could make it through an online creative writing course based in Madrid. Rather than me give you a play by play on what it was like, I’m hoping a few of my classmates who speak/read English will chime in at some time to give you their impression of the frightened kid at the back of the class trying not to be noticed.

Before I started this exercise, I loved writing! Now? Well, I love it even more. One of the benefits of writing in a secondary or tertiary language is how much easier it feels to return to your primary language and write. I sat down the other day and finished the 1st draft of an entire chapter in one day. Do you know what a miracle that is for me? I actually have gained the confidence that I could complete a chapter a day if I just sit down and do it. Oh, realize this… when I say I’ve completed an entire chapter that is not actually a completed chapter. It’s a rough, really rough, draft. I usually go through 8 to 12 drafts before I feel comfortable presenting my work. The exception to this rule has been this class with it’s deadlines and parameters.

What am I going to do now that the class is over? Well, I’m not going to Disneyland but a nap sure sounds nice. Ooh, a nice long, quiet, uninterrupted nap sounds sooo nice.

Thank each and everyone of you who decided to stick this journey out with me and read every single thing I threw at you. You are all officially saints who have earned an extra pair of wings to do with what you will.

Below you’ll find links to the last story if you’d like to download and read it. One in English and one in Spanish.

Quiero dar las gracias a todos, ojala que cruzaremos caminos el el futuro.

Besos y Abrazos para toda la vida mi gente.

Djeliba Baba the Storyteller

Unrequited (pdf.)

No Correspondido (pdf.)

The speech was a resounding success. Hundreds of people in the dimly lit banquet hall stood up from their chairs and tables to applaud the senator’s impassioned plea for change. The ovation and loud cheers spilled out of the banquet area with the senator and his wife as the doors were opened for them and they exited through to the main lobby. Two aids flanked each side of the senator and his wife, competing for his attention as they made their way to the front entrance of the hotel. The rain was pouring down outside and the most ambitious of the two aids sprinted out into the evening’s downpour, without an umbrella, to hail a cab for the couple.

They waited inside, the senator shaking hands and accepting congratulations while his wife stood passively by, smiling and nodding in an agreeable, affirming manner whenever someone happened to look her way. A cab arrived and the aids made umbrellas magically appear out of nowhere as they escorted the couple across the hotel entrance’s red carpet and swiftly into the cab. She had been spared the insult of being harassed by the falling drops of water thanks to the extreme diligence of the senator’s aids. She entered the cab first, as dry as she had been when nearly falling asleep in the banquet room during her husband’s rousing speech.

“To the Alex Hotel!” ordered the senator.

The cab slowly pulled away from the curb, rolling through a deep pool of water that threatened to enter the car as it carefully merged into traffic.

“What did you think of my speech?”

“It was wonderful dear, possibly your best to date,” she responded.

She always answered that question with the exact same phrase and in the exact same tone whenever he asked. He never noticed. The senator’s cell phone began ringing.

“I have to take this!”

Every call was an urgent one that needed to be answered. She nodded her well-rehearsed affirming nod, and turn to stare out of the window of the cab into the city’s darkness.

“Tell that asshole if he doesn’t vote for the appropriations like he said he would I’ll make sure he regrets it!”

The senator’s voice faded into a mist of sounds partially drowned out by the rain pelting the roof of the car and partially by the music playing on the cab driver was playing.

“First time in New York ma’am?”

The cab driver was speaking to her. No one ever spoke to her. She regained the fraction of composure she had lost staring out into the night and answered him. He had a thick Cameroonian accent. She loved foreign accents, they reminded her of her years in college when she met much more interesting people than she was meeting as a senator’s wife.

“No, I grew up here. This used to be my home,” she answered, still thoughtlessly staring out of the window into a rapidly passing obscurity.

“Well my father used to always tell me that home is anywhere your heart is,” spoke the driver.

A sudden, intense blend of heightened anticipation and hopeful exhilaration wash over her entire body. There was something familiar about the cab driver’s voice. She quickly turned away from the window and looked into the cabs rearview mirror. Instinctively she drew her hand to her chest as her heart began an unmeasured, frenetic pulsing. Her breathing became very shallow as she recognized the pair of dark eyes looking back at her in the rearview mirror. The senator continued with his phone conversation.

“Call Congressman Bradley and tell him that this offer has a short shelf life.”

She was gripped by an inability to speak. She struggled to catch her breath.

“Do you believe that ma’am?” asked the cab driver.

In the haze of confusion whirling around in her head, she could barely manage to say a single word.

“What?” was her barely audible murmur, but the cab driver heard her.

“Do you believe that home is wherever the heart finds itself?”

There was no mistaking the identity of the pair of beautiful ebony hued eyes returning her gaze in the rearview mirror. His name was Marcel. They had met in college, shared a love of insatiable desire and then, later, after graduating, they parted ways in a manner that left many questions unanswered between them.

“I don’t care if the subcommittee is dragging its’ heals on this, we need a decision by next week!”

As Marcel attempted to navigate the tumult of the stormy night, turning corners, slowing and stopping at barely visible lights, his eyes faithfully returned to her at unpredictable intervals in the rearview mirror.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear your answer ma’am,” he said.

“Yes,” she whispered, almost to herself, somewhat incoherently.

She struggled for something smart to say, something to alleviate the awkward stress of the moment. She desperately wanted to speak but no words would come from her mouth. She was lost in a confusion that was as surprisingly pleasant as it was discomforting.

“Some say that there is more said in silence than with words spoken aloud,” said the Marcel. “Do you think this is true?”

“Yes!” she quickly answered, loudly and without hesitation, brimming with an enthusiasm that startled her husband.

“Are you alright dear?” asked the senator as he cupped his hand over the receiver of his cell phone.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

The senator had already returned to his call before she could complete her answer.

She could see that Marcel was smiling a wide smile. He always smiled. This was what had made her fall in love with him in college, his smile, his eyes. He held up an old cassette between his thumb and forefinger, showing it to her as he continued looking ahead, driving. Marcel put a cassette in the cassette deck of his cab and turned up the volume. He still used cassettes! She smiled from somewhere deep within. He had always been quirky that way. In college he still had an 8-track while everyone else had moved on to cassettes and now, here in the digital age here was playing a cassette while everyone else had moved on to iPods. Marcel began singing the song from the cassette he had chosen, an old Bob Marley standard, “No, woman, no cry.”

“Please!” shouted the senator, “I’m trying to conduct business back here!”

Marcel continued secret serenade, boldly ignoring the senator’s plea for quiet.

Good friends we have, oh, good friends we have lost along the way, yeah!

She couldn’t control the involuntary smile rising up from within her. The deep resonance of Marcel’s voice made her body shudder in a very pleasant way she thought lost with age. She exhaled slightly as her body began to recall the passion of their shared moments.

Marcel sang out even louder, “Little darlin don’t shed no tear.”

Her heart pushed back at his singing in inebriated, uneven palpitations. She waited each second for him to return his eyes to her from the road in front of him. It was almost as if an eternity of time elapsed each time the road forced him to look away before he would eventually return her gaze in the rearview mirror.

Subconsciously, she began singing the song with him, but in a very low inaudible, respectful voice. Marcel grinned, as he was able to catch glimpses of her lips moving in sync with his in mirror.

No, woman, no cry;
No, woman, no cry. Eh, yeah!
A little darlin’, don’t shed no tears:
No, woman, no cry. Eh!

Irritated by the driver’s display of impertinence, the senator forcefully interrupted the chorus once again but no one heard him. His wife’s eyes were transfixed on the rearview mirror awaiting Marcel’s gaze to return from the road. Lost in his own world, the senator was unable to see what was happening in his presence. He returned to his call.

“Just another crazy New York night Stan, tell Joshua to return that call tonight, don’t wait until tomorrow!”

The duo’s singing got louder as they approached the Alex hotel.

Everything’s gonna be all right-a!
Everything’s gonna be all right!
Everything’s gonna be all right, yeah!
Everything’s gonna be all right!

As the cab pulled over to the submerged curb, other aids dashed from the hotel with umbrellas and opened the doors. Throngs of reporters, cameramen and writers were standing in the pouring rain outside of the hotel, waiting to elicit just a few words from the senator. The senator jumped out of the cab and stood up fully erect, reaching one of his hands back into the cab to help his wife exit. She didn’t emerge.

Everything’s gonna be all right! they sang

Now Marcel’s gaze wasn’t distracted any longer by his having to drive. She possessed his full attention. While Marcel sang, he made sure to punctuate each word that held special meaning with heavy annunciating.

O little darlin…

A joy she had not felt in years was filling her to the brim as she began singing louder.

No, woman – no, woman – no, woman, no cry;

“Honey, we’re here!” shouted the senator.

His voice was angry, which startled her but she remained euphorically defiant. The song was finished. There was something in her that wanted, no needed, to finish singing this song. She ignored her husband and continued singing, loudly.

No, woman, no cry;
No, woman, no cry. Eh, yeah!
A little darlin’, don’t shed no tears:
No, woman, no cry. Eh!

He had never encountered this sort of behavior from his wife. The senator ducked his head down into the cab just as the song was finishing, grabbing his wife’s hand. She scooted across the seat from her side maintaining eye contact. Just as she was about to exit the car she reached back inside to retrieve one of the business cards stuck in the divider separating the driver from his passengers.

The senator’s aids slammed the cab door closed and escorted the couple through the mob of press. The cab slowly pulled away from the curb and then stopped. She turned and watched. The cab then finally pulled away, driving off into the evening’s downpour.

The End

El discurso del Senador fue un gran éxito. Cientos de personas en el salón de banquetes estaban de pie y aplaudían apasionada por la petición del Senador para traer los cambios á los negocios del gobierno. La ovación y los aplausos siguieron el Senador y su esposa por las puertas del salón hacia la entrada del hotel. Dos ayudantes andaban a ambos lados del Senador y su esposa. Los ayudantes competían por la atención del Senador. Afuera del hotel la lluvia caía tan fuerte. Uno de los ayudantes corrió, sin un paraguas, por la entrada del hotel para llamar un taxi para la pareja estimada.

El Senador y su esposa esperaron dentro del hotel. El Senador se dio la mano de todos y aceptaba las felicitaciones del publico mientras su esposa estaba de pie al lado de él, sonriendo y asintiendo con la cabeza cuando alguien la mirarían. El taxi llegó y los ayudantes presentaron paraguas como si por la magia. Entonces los ayudantes acompañaron a la pareja, bajo muchas paraguas, a través de la alfombra roja del hotel, hacia el taxi. Entregaron la esposa del Senador al asiento de taxi sin una gota de lluvia molestarla. Ella entró el taxi tan seco como el tiempo pasaba en la salón de banquetes, cuando ella casi se ha quedado dormido durante el discurso de su esposo.

¡Tomamos al Hotel Alex! – ordenó el Senador.-

El taxi condujo, lentamente, de la acera y por una charca profunda de agua antes de uniendo la circulación.

-¿Qué pensaste de mi discurso?-

-Fue maravilloso querido, posiblemente lo mejor has entregado hasta hoy- respondió su esposa.

Siempre el la preguntó esta pregunta y siempre ella respondió en la misma manera, con la misma frase y con el mismo tono de voz. Su esposo no nunca hizo caso de sus palabras o pensamientos. El teléfono móvil del Senador sonó.

-¡Tengo que contestarlo!- dijo el Senador.

Todas las llamadas fueron emergencias y él no nunca las ignoró. Ella asintió con la cabeza en la manera que había practicado muchas veces antes en su vida con él y, entonces, volvió la cabeza para mirar por la ventana del taxi al oscuridad de la ciudad y la lluvia de la noche.

¡Mierda! –gritó el Senador en su móvil- ¡Digas el hijo de puta que no voy a esperar para su decisión!

La voz del Senador se fue apagando en una neblina de sonidos, parcialmente ahogado por la lluvia cayendo en el techo del taxi y la música del taxista.

¿Es este su primera vez in Nueva York señora? –preguntó el taxista.-

Ella estaba sorprendida porque el taxista le hablaba. Nadie nunca le hablaba.  Recuperó su compostura que había perdido mirando fijamente por la ventana. El taxista tuvo un acento duro de Camerún que se recordó de sus años como un estudiante en la universidad cuando ella conoció mucha gente muy interesante, de hecho más interesante que la gente que estaba conociendo como una esposa de un Senador. Ella le contestó mientras mantuvo los ojos hacia la noche.

-No nací aquí. Esta ciudad fue mi hogar cuando era una niña.-

-Pues mi papá me decía que siempre el hogar estará donde su corazón encuentra el amor.- respondió el taxista.

De repente, una mezclada de anticipación intensa y esperanza llenado de alegría se baño todo el cuerpo. Había algo familiar en la voz del taxista. Rápidamente ella volvió los ojos hacia el taxista y lo miró en el retrovisor. Instintivamente, sin pensar, ella puso una mano al pecho como su corazón empezó un pulso frenético. Su respiración se hizo un poco profundas al reconocer el par de ojos oscuro mirando hacia atrás en el retrovisor. El Senador siguió con su conversación por su móvil.

-¡Llame el miembro de congreso Señor Bradley y le digas que esta oferta tiene una vida muy corta!-

Ella había perdido la capacidad a hablar y estaba luchando para recobra el aliento.

¿Cree que señora? –preguntó el taxista.-

Una bruma de confusión estaba girando alrededor de su cabeza y, por eso, no pudo hablar ni encontrar su voz.

¿Qué? –ella murmuró pero, todavía, el taxista la oyó.

¿Cree que el hogar estará donde su corazón encuentra el amor? –preguntó de nuevo el taxista.-

No cabía duda de que la identidad de los ojos ébano volver su mirada en el retrovisor. Su nombre era Marcel y ellos habían conocido hace muchos años cuando asistían la universidad. Durante estos años, como estudiantes, habían conocido y compartieron un amor insaciable y, luego, después de graduarse, se separaron de una manera que dejo muchas preguntas sin respuestas entre ellos.

¡No me importa si el subcomité está dando largas al asunto, necesitamos una decisión para la semana próxima!

Como Marcel navegó su taxi por la lluvia torrencial y la oscuridad, sus ojos volvió con fidelidad a intervalos impredecibles al retrovisor.

-Lo siento, no oí su respuesta señora- le dijo.

-Si- susurró ella casi incoherente.

Ella luchó por algo inteligente o interesante a decir pero nada vendría para ayudar aliviar la tensión del momento. Ella urgentemente quería a decir algo pero ningún palabra vendría de la boca. Se perdió en una confusión que fue tan agradable como lo era incómodo.

-He oído que mucha gente se dice que hay más significados en silencio que en millones de palabras se hablaron en voz alta. ¿Qué crees tu? – le preguntó Marcel.

-¡Si!- Ella respondió rápidamente y en una voz alta lleno de un entusiasmo que capturó la atención de su marido.

¿Estás bien cariño mío? – El Senador le preguntó, poniendo un mano sobre el receptor de su móvil.-

-Sí, estoy bien.- le contestó.

El senador ya había regresado a su llamada antes de que ella pudiera completar su respuesta.

Ella pudo ver que Marcel sonreía tan grande en el retrovisor. Ella recordó que el siempre sonreía. Su sonrisa y ojos fueron las cosas que se habían enamorado a él en la universidad. Marcel levantó un casete antiguo entre el pulgar y el índice para mostrárselo en secreto. Entonces él puso el casete un la pletina de su taxi y subió el volumen.

¡Todavía él esta utilizando casetes! –ella pensó a su mismo.-

Con esta pensamiento ella sonrió de algún lugar profundo dentro de su alma. Desde la primera vez ella lo conoció a Marcel, él había sido una manera distinta de todas las demás. En la universidad tocaba 8-pistas mientras todos los demás tocaban casetes y, ahora, en esta era digital, el tocaba casetes mientras todos tienen iPods. Marcel comenzó a cantar la canción de la casete. Fue una canción de Bob Marley llamado No, mujer, no llores.

¡Por favor! –gritó el Senador- ¡Estoy intentando de hablar de negocios aquí!

Marcel lo ignoró y continuó su serenata secreto.

Good friends we have, oh, good friends we have lost along the way, yeah!

Ella no podía controlar la sonrisa se eleva desde dentro de ella. Mientras ella escuchaba Marcel cantando, la profunda resonancia de su voz la tocó. Mientras él cantó, ella empecía a sentir algo en el corazón que pensó que había perdido hace muchos años con su juventud. Ella exhaló un poco como su cuerpo comenzó a recordar la pasión de sus momentos compartidos.

Marcel cantó con más fuerte –Little darlin don’t shed no tear.-

El corazón saltó con cada palabra Marcel cantó. Las palpitaciones de su corazón era desigual ahora. Ella esperó cada segundo para la vuelva de sus ojos en el retrovisor desde la carretera. Parecía casi como si una eternidad de tiempo transcurrido durante los momentos que Marcel obligó a mirar el camino antes de volver, finalmente, su mirada en el retrovisor.

Inconscientemente, ella comenzó a cantar la canción con él, pero en una voz baja, casi inaudible. Marcel sonrió como pudo ver brevemente los labios moviendo en sincronía con la suya en el retrovisor.

No, woman, no cry;
No, woman, no cry. Eh, yeah!
A little darlin’, don’t shed no tears:
No, woman, no cry. Eh!

El Senador se irritó por la impertinencia del taxista y interrumpió el coro una vez más con avisos pero nadie lo escuchó. Los ojos de su esposa estuvieron traspasados en el retrovisor, esperando para la vuelva de la mirada de Marcel. El Senador estaba totalmente ajena a lo que lo rodeaba y volvió a su móvil.

-Sólo otra noche loca en Nueva York Stan, le diga a Joshua a volver las llamadas esta noche, no espere hasta mañana.-

El dúo se hizo más fuerte cuando se acercaron el Hotel Alex.

Everything’s gonna be all right-a!
Everything’s gonna be all right!
Everything’s gonna be all right, yeah!
Everything’s gonna be all right!

A medida que el taxi se acercó la acera sumergidas del hotel, nuevos ayudantes con paraguas abrieron las puertas para el Senador y su esposa. Multitudes de reporteros, camarógrafos y escritores habían esperado en la lluvia por la oportunidad a grabar unas de las palabras del Senador. El Senador saltó de la cabina del taxi, alcanzando una mano atrás para ayudar su esposa pero ella no salió.

Everything’s gonna be all right! they sang

Ahora que ellos habían estacionado, Marcel no tuvo las distracciones del camino a arrastrar su atención. Ahora él y ella mantenían los ojos en el retrovisor y cantando.

O little darlin…

Una alegría que ella no había sentido en muchos años la secuestró.

No, woman – no, woman – no, woman, no cry;

¡Cariño, estamos aquí! -gritó el Senador.-

El Senador estaba enojado y esto la asustó a ella pero permaneció eufóricamente desafiante. La canción estaba terminando. Había algo en ella que quería a completar la canción. Ignoró a su esposo y continuó a cantar, pero ahora en una voz más alta.

No, woman, no cry;
No, woman, no cry. Eh, yeah!
A little darlin’, don’t shed no tears:
No, woman, no cry. Eh!

El Senador no nunca había visto este tipo de comportamiento de su esposa. El agachó la cabeza en el taxi y la preguntó a ella a venir inmediatamente. La canción estaba terminando cuando él cogió la mando de su esposa. Ella estaba manteniendo la mirada de Marcel en el retrovisor mientras que se deslizó sobre el asiento del taxi. Antes de salir el taxi completamente, ella paró para recuperar una de las tarjetas de negocios en el separador entre el taxista y sus pasajeros. Rápidamente los ayudantes cerró la puerta del taxi y acompañaron la pareja a través de la turba de prensa. Marcel condujo el taxi de la acera un poco y se detuvo. Ella se volvió y observó. Finalmente, lentamente, Marcel se fue manejando, por el aguacero en la noche.

Fin

Emanuel carefully crept through the old door, trying to keep it from creaking as he entered the dark living room late at night, hours past his curfew. Incredibly, he had managed to get the door opened, and closed, without it emitting a single sound. Just as he began contemplating how he would navigate the noisy wooden floorboards, he heard a soft, gentle voice.

“Emanuel turn the lights on please.”

“Grandma?”

“Turn on the lights Emanuel.”

“Grandma why are you sitting here in the dark?”

Draped in an overcoat, the old woman sat quietly in a long flannel nightgown and house slippers, her, somewhat emaciated, wrinkled hands gently folded over the top of her purse resting on her lap. As Emanuel turned the lights on in the living room, she began swaying back and forth in her rocking chair, putting pressure on the aged wooden floorboards which caused them to sing out in a rhythmic agony: creak, creak, creak…

“Grandma…”

“Emanuel, curfew done passed a long time ago.”

“Grandma, we need to talk about this curfew stuff!”

“Naw, naw, naw boy…  ain’t nuthin needs discussin. You s’posed to have your behind in this house and in your bed by the hour I done told you. Ain’t nuthin needs discussin other than that!”

“Grandma I’m a grown man now and “men” don’t have curfews!”

“Boy… 15 ain’t grown! Trust your granny, I done had my share of grown men over the years and I’m here to tell ya, 15 ain’t shit. Now go on over there and sit your “thinkin-ya-grown” ass down and listen to what I got to tell you.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Emanuel you know for far too long we ain’t had nobody but you and me?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And when you was a baby shittin yourself, I was the one wiping that nasty ass, wasn’t I?”

“Uh… yes ma’am?”

“Well Emanuel, when you don’t falla the rules of this here house, you startin to shit again… but this time you shittin on me.”

“Grandma!”

“Hush now boy! Just hush and let a old woman testify.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Now you “know” I love you don’t ya?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And you “know” I’d do just about anything for you don’t ya?

“Yes ma’am.”

“And it’s because I love you that I’ma give you a choice you need to make tonight Emanuel.”

“Grandma please, I’m tired!”

“Boy I done taught you better than that! Don’t you raise your voice at me! Don’t you interrupt grown folks when they talkin!”

“Yes ma’am.”

“For the past year now you been peacocking round here talkin bout you’se a man and breakin all ma rules and so I went out and got a lil somethin for you.

The creaking of the rocking chair stops as grandma opens her purse.

“Jesus Christ grandma what are you doing with a gun?”

“Don’t you take the lord’s name in vain boy! Sit yourself back down in that chair and I’m gonn tell you what it’s for. Are you listening?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I been thinking that If you willing to walk over an old woman like me who ain’t did nuthin but love you for your whole life then lord only knows what you gonna be willin to do to folks out in the world. Emanuel I love you too much to let you make a complete mess of your life.”

“Grandma, you scaring me.”

“Oh then that’s good grandbaby, real good cuz I was startin to think you had lost the good sense that god gave ya.”

“Grandma I’m listening, please stop pointing the gun at me. If you wanted to get my attention then you got it!”

“Shut up and sit still! As long as you sit still and listen to what your granny got to say, you ain’t got nuthin to be worry’n about.”

“Grandma your hands are shakin, you’re really scaring me.”

“Them hands shaking is just old age talking to me. You got a decision to make grandbaby, and if you make the right one you gonna get a chance for old age to talk to you to.”

“Whatever you want me to say is what I’m gonna say grandma, you just tell me what it is that you want me to say but please stop pointing that gun at me!”

“Ah I guess you ain’t a man no more huh? Look at you sittin there wettin yourself like when you was a baby. Boy you better straighten your back up in that chair and listen to what your granny got to tell you!”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Emanuel, you got a choice to make and I’m just the lord’s messenger here to help you make the right one is all. You can decide to follow the rules of this here house or… you can choose to make your walk through the Pearly Gates tonight. Now, stop all that shaking and snifflin and be the man you been struttin round here talkin about. Make your damn choice boy!”

“I… I… I… I choose to follow the rules of your house grandma.”

“Lord Jesus, lord Jesus… I prayed the lord would guide you to the right choice. That was some wise decision makin Emanuel and I’m proud of you for having the courage to make the “right” choice.” I’m gonna put this thing away now.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Don’t go getting too comfortable just yet. A house ain’t a home unless its’ got rules and me and my purse gonna be here sittin, waitin on you the next time time you choose to break curfew.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I know you been out alley-cat’n and probably didn’t eat so I made you some of your favorite chilly and cornbread. It’s on the stove in the kitchen. Go ahead and have you some and then get to bed.  I’ve got to go lay these tired old bones down for what’s left of this night.  I love you grandbaby.”

“I love you too grandma.”

The end

Después de una noche lleno de fiestas, bebidas y muchos amigos, Manuel entró por la puerta sigilosamente y la cerró. La sala fue oscura y él había violado el toque de queda. El empezó a pensar en como navigar el piso hecho de madera cuando escuchó una voz suave y dulce que le hablaba.

-Manuel enciendas la luz por favor.-

-¿Abuelita?-

-Enciendas la luz Manuel.-

-¿Abuelita por que estás sentando sola en la oscuridad?-

Envuelto en un abrigo, la anciana estaba sentando tranquilamente en su mecedora. Debajo del abrigo, iba vestido en un largo camisón de franela y zapatillas. Sus manos, delgada y arrugado, cruzaron sobre un bolso en su regazo. Mientras su nieto estaba enciendo la luz, la abuela comenzó a balancearse adelante y atrás en su mecedora. El movimiento de su mecedora puso mucha presión en el piso de madera y, con cada movimiento adelante y atrás la madera del piso lloraba en rítmica: cric, cric, cric…

-Abuelita…-

-Manuel tu has violado el toque de queda de nuevo y por muchas horas esta noche.-

-¡Si, si, si Abuelita… pero tenemos que hablar de sus reglas y este toque de queda!-

-¡No, no, no mi nieto… no ha de charlar de nada. Tu tienes un toque de queda y lo has violado. ¡Eso es todo!-

-¡Abuelita, tienes que escucharme, soy un hombre y los hombres no tienen toques de queda y eso es todo¡-

-Nieto, soy una abuela pero también una mujer. He tenido muchos hombres en mi vida y puedo decirte, por seguro, que todavía tu no eres un hombre. Solamente tienes 15 años. Ahora siéntate y me escuchas a lo que tengo que decirte.-

-Si Abuelita.-

-A lo largo de nuestras vidas Manuel, solamente hemos tenido uno al otro. ¿Verdad?-

-Si Abuelita.-

- Y cuando tu era un bebe yo limpiaba la mierda de tu culo. ¿Verdad?-

-Ah… si Abuelita.-

-Ahora Manuel tu no eres un bebe pero siento como tu estás cargándote a tu mismo de nuevo por no seguir las reglas de mi casa.-

-¡Abuelita!-

-¡Cállate niño! Mantengas el silencio y me permitas a hablar sin interrumpirme.-

-Si Abuelita.-

-¿Mi nieto tu conoces que te quiero mucho si?

-Si Abuelita.-

-Y por eso voy a darte la oportunidad a tomar una decisión esta noche.-

-¡Abuelita estoy cansado! ¿Podemos charlar más tarde?-

-¡No… tu vas a hablar conmigo con respeto y no levantes la voz en mi presencia!-

-Si Abuelita.-

-¡Desde el año pasado tu caminaba a través de mis casa como un pavo real y estoy cansado… estoy tan cansado! Piensas que tu eres un hombre y, por eso, sientes como tu puedas violar todas de las reglas de mi casa.-

El ruido de la mecedora termina y la abuelita abre su bolso.

-¡Jesús, María y José… Abuelita porque tienes una pistola!-

-¡Siéntate niño… siéntate y voy a decirte porque tengo esta pistola! ¿Estás escuchándome ahora?

-¡Si, por supuesto Abuelita, estoy escuchando!-

-Yo pensaba en algo muy importante Manuel. Si tu molestaras y no dará el respeto a una anciana como yo, una mujer que te quiero mucho, entonces molestaras y no dará respeto a alguien en este mundo.-

-Abuelita tengo miedo. Tu me pegas un susto de muerte a mi.-

-Bien, muy bien porque comenzaba a pensar que tu había perdido la capacidad a entrar en razón.-

-¡Abuelita, estoy escuchando… por favor no me apuntas con la pistola!-

-¡Cállate y siéntate! Si tu quedas en la silla y no muevas no tendremos ningún problema.-

-¡Pero Abuelita tus manos están temblando! ¡Me asustas Abuelita!-

-Son manos de una anciana y ellos siempre tiemblan. Tu tienes que elegir entre dos cosas y si tu eliges correcto entonces vivirá a ser un anciano.-

-Dime lo que quieres que yo digo Abuelita. Diré cualquier cosa que tu me digas pero por favor no me apuntas con la pistola.-

-¿Qué paso Manuel… nada mas tu eres un hombre? ¿Me escuchas ahora si?

-Si, si, si… Abuelita.-

-Manuel tengo dos preguntas para ti. Puedes contestar afirmativo un o al otra. Si tu elijes incorrecto, entonces tu vas a recibir un abraso de nuestro salvador Jesús Cristo esta noche. Su tu elijes correcto, entonces puedes vivir. ¿Me entiendes niño?

-Si Abuelita.-

-Bueno Manuel. Aquí están mis dos preguntas: ¿Prefieres quedar con el aire en su cuerpo por seguir las reglas de mi casa o prefieres a morir esta noche?

-Entiendo Abuelita, entiendo bien y elijo a seguir las reglas de tu casa.-

-¡Ah Dios mío… he rezado por muchas horas que tu elegirías correcto! En ese momento tengo mucho orgullo en ti y ahora voy a poner esta pistola en el bolso.-

-Gracias Abuelita, muchas gracias.-

-Todavía tu no descanses niño porque siempre mantendré mi bolso cerca. ¿Me entiendes?-

-Si Abuelita.-

-Bueno. Yo sé que tu tengas hambre así que cociné algo para ti. Esta en la cocina en la estufa. Comas tu y entonces te acuestes. Yo tengo que acostarme ahora. Estoy agotado. Te quiero mucho Manuel.-

-También te quiero mucho Abuelita.-

Fin