Casa Limon
I stood on 1st Ave and 39th Street.
I waited anxiously in the rain after Frank was taken. The whole neighborhood watched as he left all of his boats behind. People always came by looking for Frank, never with a particularly good expression on their faces. I didn’t know Frank but he always treated me fairly.
The white man came in occasionally, attempting to fix some of the damage from the past 80 years. The makeup would eventually wash off uncovering my true face but at that point, it would be too late. He always came by himself, then later accompanied by another, sometimes two. They always left though, finding something wrong with me or simply a reason why I didn’t meet their expectations - one could never get used to the moisture in the air.
A young couple showed up as they took one glance at me through the kitchen window and decided I was good enough. Eager to change my appearance, they dressed me up and transformed me into something I was not. I did not mind, it was the best anyone had treated me since Pastor Johnson and I do cherish the scar he left on my chest. They congregated regularly as the Sunday mornings became Friday nights and in a new light, there was purpose to my life again. The moisture became energy as the conversations began to materialize.
The cameras began to arrive as I once again would be transformed. Make me pretty, make me good enough. I am ready for my close up.
The tents began to feel heavier than Frank’s boats. The people started to fill the rooms and from one day to the next, I watched them forget about me like the rug over Pastor Johnson’s cross. I watched as Eddie told the cameras about Frank, the church, and the one time in ’92 where I supplied energy for Eddie to play dominos and make food for the entire neighborhood.
I was feeling tired, gutted and empty. The couple still came around but separately and at different times. It was Christmas Eve, she used me for vengeance as he used me for leverage. They tore down the facade that was built for the cameras and there I was, once again, in all of my glory. The rain continued as the grass began to grow back where the boats once were. Eddie’s brother said he won’t be coming back for a while and I sure don’t blame him - If only I could do the same.
One of them stayed behind and a new love blossomed but I knew my time was coming.
They sat there and jokingly argued about the difference between lima and limón, but I am neither. The water began to come in, slowly. Even the white man stopped showing up. Everyone always called Frank crazy but I’m starting to think he always kept those boats around for a reason. The pastor’s cross now glimmers like nacre through the broken window. They put me on stilts and it was not enough to keep me from drowning.
I stood on 1st Ave and 39th Street.
