“Eres tan vulgar Marusita,” Sol’s laughter bubbled to the top of her throat, swimming out in a howl. “what would your Father say?”
Maru squared her lean shoulders. “Maru José Montoya-Villanueva, what they teach you in American school?” she stuck her finger out, shaking it furiously back at Sol, a flashlight in the other searching the ground in front of her as a routine procedure. “Maru, eres una desgraciada, mal agradecida—” Her noteworthy performance was hiccupped by her startled gasp. “Oh, fuck!” She turned back to face Sol. “I found his eyes.” Sol raced over to Maru, a white box with its lid ripped off ingenuously hidden behind the half-ton dumpster at the front of La Farmacia, the faint outline of red lips on the side. The two corneas were positioned upwards smiling directly at Sol. They glistened like sea glass under the blistering sun.
Jennifer Fierro-Padilla
sangre nativa