today in West Chester, PA

Today for the first time in my life I picked up a hitchhiker. Maybe it was because he was dressed like my father. He looked to be around 75-80.
Slowly driving past him I remembered my sister’s 2.5-day love celebration (aka wedding, a couple weeks ago) and how, afterwards, I told myself I would try to be more generous to the realm outside my workplace. I also thought about David Sedaris’s, Roald Dahl’s and Jack Kerouac’s hitchhiking stories. (Now I wonder how could I have thought of all those things in about 10 seconds?)
I slowed down the car and parked the right side of the car on the sidewalk.
Probably he didn’t have a gun and was too weak to hurt me.
I put on my tough face, walked over to him, and asked him what was wrong?
He smelled like soap and was happy to see me.
He told me that he had a contact stuck in his eye and needed a ride to ER.
I asked him why don’t you take a taxi?
He told me because he didn’t have enough money and that the hospital was only 2 miles up the road.
I tried to remain skeptical. He pointed to his left eye. I looked at it and could see a blue lens in the upper corner.
For some reason I asked him if I could try to remove it.
He asked me if I was a nurse?
I told him no, but that I was frequently removing my own contacts.

The contact was in fact really glued to his eye, so I drove him to ER.

The end.

Moral of the story: hitchhikers always make for interesting stories.  And West Chester, PA needs better public transportation.

Meredith the Seamstress (a la Edward Gorey)

Meredith was deaf. She went deaf when she was six years old during a mild case of yellow fever. While she lay in bed that year, she learned to sew. Meredith was quick and precise, and by the age of seven she became the town’s seamstress, replacing Francis’s reputation of being “good with her hands.”

One Spring day she decided to take a leisure walk down the train track. The refreshing smell of the blooming flowers, soft sun, and a couple hand salutes from her fellow townspeoples made her feel confident and content. The train track hadn’t been in service since the time of her grandfathers. She was thinking about the legend of the ghost train and how she might sew it along the hem of a blanket.

The next day Meredith was found dead on the train track. The doctor's biopsy concluded that she had been hit by a train. Meredith must not have heard nor felt the train approaching. Some members of the town were heartbroken and suggested she have an open coffin and be draped in her sewing pieces. Several invitees took the occasion to purchase new clothes. While Meredith's mother felt the coffin garment was in bad taste, one attendant commented that it was symbolic of her unfinished talent.

The Story of Smallville

Part 1: Smallville

Today the sky is gray in the tiny town of Smallville, also known as the town of "Chestnut", not because it produces chestnuts (the climate in Smallville is much too dry and bitter-cold to cultivate chestnuts), but rather because, from afar, the brown rowhouses clustered together on top of this frozen hill resemble a chestnut, or so they say, for I can´t tell you for sure, as I am blind since birth.

summer heat wave

“Con este calor no puedo estar tranquila sin ducharme primero con agua fría”, se dijo sliding onto the bed con la piel soft smooth dry, without the sheets sticking.

I lost the bloc with all my ideas, I left it in the train station by the telephone both. I also forgot my fancy royal blue fountain pen with handmixed ink there. When I went back the next morning they were (obviously) gone. Who will have them now? Will they read them? Will they write a story with them? Will I have to start over? Will they like the unique colors of ink?

He lives in one of the million flats that I can see from my balcony. I don’t know which one. But he will asomar one of these days and wave to me. And I’ll wave back and then look down, recalling the betrayal, painful consequences, and short-duration of happiness. We will communicate like that for a few days, with hand gestures, exaggerated facial expressions, and binoculars. We have decided to meet down in the street. He’s a little taller than me. First we just look at each other up and down and then he gives the 2 cheek kisses which I think are silly for that encounter. Le digo que the cleaning lady annoys me. Me pregunta por qué in a somewhat high nasal voice. Le replico que she blamed me for the scratched stove. She's anal. We walk up to the park Guell behind our street. We share a street. It’s late evening and most of the tourists have left the park. I enjoy his attentive company, but is it merely because I am not busy at the moment? Is it because I’m not annoyed by the heat? If I were busy and sweaty would I want his company? These days have been a little dull with no work, no obligations, no studies, no one to help…Now I feel like I have a reason to wake up in the morning. I put my contacts on, brush my teeth and walk out to the balcony to wave at him.

I wait sitting out on the balcony. “5 stories up and 2 from the left”, I keep repeating to myself “5 stories up and 2 from the left” and counting to see if I have mistaken, all the balconies of his building are identical and sometimes I get his mixed up with the rest. But it’s clear. He doesn’t asomar from his balcony to greet me anymore. I think he found my physical and verbal honesty- vulgar, and my lack of skirts- unsexy.

--Travessera de Dalt, 2003