A friend included a piece I wrote last year in Volume One of his new zine, Four Thousand Flavors. I haven’t seen the final product yet- I think I am going to swing by the release party on Saturday and pick it up- but it promises to be pretty cool (biased?). This is the blog for the zine. My contribution is untitled, and below.
It isn’t so hard once he gets used to it. The foot with wheels goes in the street; the one without hops along on the sidewalk beside it. There is trash in the street to watch out for, and motocicletas driven by distracted drunks. And, of course, in order to switch directions he must move to the other side of the road. Still, the trouble pays for itself: it feels like flying.
The other kids run to keep up with him, while he pushes himself along with ease. He is neither the oldest nor the tallest, but that no longer matters. Today he gets to be the leader of the pack. His jealous friends will get their turn, but for now they can follow in awe as he enjoys his new toy. Its purple casing is scratched and one of the laces is torn, but the silver wheels are as good as new. As he rolls along, the “wsshhhhh” of the wheels alternate with the “BAMP” of his rubber soles: wsshhhh, BAMP, wsshhhh, BAMP.
The sound is hypnotizing; every few minutes, more children appear out of nowhere to marvel as they run. As the pack grows, so does the leader’s confidence. The wsshhh, BAMPs become closer and closer together as he moves faster and faster. Soon, he has left them all in the dust. He glances back to be sure that he hasn’t lost his audience. He has not; they continue to trail behind him.
He sees it at the last moment- the glass bottle in the street. It completely obstructs his path. He cannot go around it. The wheels under his foot are moving toward it at an incredible pace. He cannot stop. The boy does the only thing he can do: bends his knees, pushes hard with his sneakered foot, leaps, and prays. ¡Válgame Dios!
With a WHAMP, he lands and stops. Did he really clear the bottle? Are all of his limbs in tact? Is his new toy alright? He pushes himself along slowly: wsshhhhh, bamp. Everything seems to be fine. Suddenly, he becomes aware of cheers behind him. He turns around to see his friends jumping, shouting, and running toward him. A grin breaks over his face as he slows to let them catch up with him. His friends slap him on the back and the group continues along.
A few gringos gawk behind them; some wear expressions of amusement, some of discomfort. Absorbed in his victory, the leader fails to notice them until one yells in his direction. “Oye, chico! Porque tienes solamente un… uno…” at a loss, she gestures at the single rollerblade.
He speeds away, laughing over his shoulder. He knows enough English to answer. “Why do you only have none?”
going puppy to puppy
A few months ago, my boyfriend’s then-roommate brought home a package of toilet paper intended for consumers with children of the potty-training age. On the TP, spaced five or six sheets apart, were puppies in various jungle scenes. The idea was simple: children were to follow the paw prints that separated the dogs until they reached a puppy. Once the child tore at the puppy, he or she would have acquired roughly five sheets of toilet paper, an amount the manufacturers declared average for one wipe.
We three (my boyfriend, his roommate, and I) took to the training-paper immediately. We were nearing the end of our undergraduate careers with no set plans for the future. There was so much we wanted to do; there was so little we knew how to do. We imagined potty-trainers and we envied them. How confident they must be! we thought, sure to find a guide dog at the end of those paw prints.
There are no toiletries to guide the recent graduate. Nor is there a standard amount of time between graduation and “what I want to do with my life.” More and more graduates are pursuing temporary careers, putting law school, etc. on hold. I am no exception. I plan, eventually, to enroll in a graduate program and get my Ph.D in Literature, but not quite yet. This blog will serve as a record of my time in the paw prints.
Jan
26
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