"i'll make a story about this, it will about you and me. it will be about how we spent our last days here, when everyone else are celebrating the dead, for you and i will be amongst them soon. but we will always have nuevo laredo to run away from."
she said nothing. from the distance i could hear several mariachis revel in cantara of the gran calavera. its the second of november, wind chills drift to the bones of those whose running away from something. but god it feels so warm when i had her in my arms.
"i dont know whats gonna happen next, im scared." she whimpered. "if we go back to austin, everything's back to the way we were. justino would be furious if he finds out."
i pretended not to hear. gazing at the mirror where we were both standing - while it seemed forever that i was embracing her tightly. the cheap motel, the flickering lightbulbs, and the dusty fan, falling on a deep crescendo of an inevitable requiem. this could be for us, i thought.
"i never thought we'd ended up like this." she continued.
"its sad to know how such a beautiful thing could end up-"
"i wont allow it. this, to end. id like you to know that."
"we can run away. we can stay here. i love it here," she cried.
"and do what? your graduation is only a few months from now, after that, then we can leave bowie high. it shouldnt be that hard.. il try to do good with my writing.. i can try to get a job in a local paper.. we can start from there. "
"you dream so much."
"only because i dont want to wake up to find out that you are still with justino."
to taste the salty tears trickling in my mouth was overwhelming - i was crying frantically. i tried to collect myself and grasped her little face. her pallor similar to those of señoras de las sombras. her delicate brown eyes looked back at me telling me to brace for the worst. she held my hand and kissed me. her tongue tastes like the pot we smoked/stashed since pachuca de soto. it was surreal. pot. tongue. tears.
"your story, does it have an ending?"
"i dont know, i havent decided one yet." i said.
"promise me, that when you do, it should have a good ending. girls love good endings."
that was her making a joke. i paused and she took her bag, along the santa muerte doll that i bought her. she stood up from the musty bed and began powdering her face like some dark aztec ritual. she went back to the mirror and checked. all good. and then she went to me as if bidding goodbye. she stared at me, and in her eyes reflect all the moments, the very little time we shared, even the simplest details. the stupid jokes only we know about. god please not this way.
"youre not kissing nicholas sparks. this ones for real. probably it would end with you leaving this room. leaving me hanging. but let me tell you this - that my story will echo through the pages of my life. like a screaming wildfire. and out of the depths it will call out your name, even in my dying days."
"i sense a very good ending then. i hope though, that when im reading it - im reading your story with you on my side."
"our story," as i found my hands clasped with hers, praying to all gods of death and decay to sweep us away from this wicked earth.