The next morning I was wrapped in his rumpled thick sheets when he said, "I really miss California. It doesn't really remind me of Puerto Rico, but I have always loved the ocean, on any coast."
"I've been to California but I've never really seen the ocean," I replied.
It sounded absurd, but it was true. I had been on several family vacations to California growing up, but for some odd reason I had never seen the ocean. There's even a strange family picture of me standing at the sign at the entrance of the Santa Monica Pier, but we never went in. I think it was because my mother said the ocean upset her, and she was terrified I would drown. I never even learned how to swim.
"What? You've never seen the ocean, mami? That's a sin," he laughed, as he looked up out of the window.
"Go home and get dressed up, and I mean hot, okay? Meet me back here in an hour, and I'll have a surprise for you."
I drove away, intoxicated by his attention and the promise of his surprises. My roommate was a hostess at a high end French restaurant, and I bartered with her until she let me borrow her prized pair of Manolo Blahniks.
I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, dabbing bronzing powder on my breasts with a large fluffy brush, and dabbed Coco Chanel behind my ears, my ankles, and that little sweet spot that separated my thigh and hipbone. I chatted excitedly with my roommate as I got ready.
"Don't get them dirty!" she screamed at me from the balcony, as I drove off, waving. I had somehow even begged and borrowed her two carat stud diamond earrings.
We drove to a small airplane hangar outside of the city. We pulled in and drove until he slowed down and stopped in front of a small Cessna.
"Surprise," he said.
The pilot was very friendly and greeted Rigo by name as we boarded, and after we had settled ourselves on the smooth white leather seats he came in and showed him a bottle of champagne. Rigo smiled at me for a second, and then at him as he nodded, yes.
I had never seen the world like that, and all I kept thinking about was that no one in my family had, either. I was high, so high. Every airplane experience I ever had had been so much trouble. I thought of the busied airports, the meticulous screenings, and the long lines. This was so trouble-free, the pilot offering us champagne and smiling, closing the small sliding door to the cockpit to give us privacy. I stared and stared in awe as the scenery changed underneath my feet.
"Where are we going?' I asked him excitedly. After a few hours when I looked out of the window I could clearly see bright blue waters getting closer.
A black stretch limousine waited for us as we exited the plane. The driver opened the door expectantly and showed Rigo another bottle of champagne. He smiled broadly, nodding, yes. I noticed it was the same kind.
We drove around the winding tourist laden streets in La Jolla and had dinner at an elegant seafood restaurant that had a tall glass wall separating it from the playful ocean. After dinner we walked along the beach for hours, pelicans and small sea birds squawking around us.
The wind whipped all around, and he held my face in his hands.
"Now you can never say you've never seen the ocean, mami." He kissed me, and I dropped the heels I was holding onto with my clasped hand onto the wet sand, and we put our hands, our arms around each other and held each other close, my beautiful boy and I.
We made love the entire flight home. It was so hot in there, the small windows on the plane fogged up, and him sitting bare assed on the white leather seats, sweat beads like rosary crosses running down his chest, covering his heart. I ran my long black hair down his face, his chest, his sex before the full devour.
The next morning when I awoke I searched for his warmth with my hand but the bed was cold. He was already up. He was on the telephone, his face twisted into an angry, fearful expression.
"No! No!" he screamed into the phone.
"Fucking bitches! Goddamn whores! Goddamn whores are gonna ruin my life!"
The morning news were on, loudly, and he was pacing up and down his living room.
I wanted to leave. I didn't want to be around for what was going on, but I couldn't get myself to say goodbye. I got up and slowly started to make him some huevos con chorizo and poured him a glass of orange juice. He sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at his embroidered handkerchief. I stayed the whole day, and he didn't object.
After a few hours I figured out what happened. Some gueras driving a huge load of cocaine up to Utah for them got busted. He acted like he was furious, but it was easy to see that in reality he was terrified, he was really scared. I felt numb, somehow just wanting to comfort him.
That night I don't think either one of us slept. Occasionally throughout the night I would wake up and he was shaking in his sleep, sweating, his stomach heaving up and down violently. Another time I opened one eye and I saw the bathroom light on, and heard him vomiting.
I dreamt of the ocean. I walked along the empty shoreline, the sky seemed red and angry. All I remember was feeling so small and so far away from God, and I screamed at the rolling waves, but could hear nothing but water crashing.
In the morning I saw the sun peeking out from behind his thick curtains and I fumbled out of bed, grabbed my toiletries out of his bathroom and said goodbye.
I don't know why but I didn't want to look at him anymore. I just couldn't. He made a small effort to say goodbye to me, kissing me lightly on the mouth and hugging my small frame. I hugged him back stiffly. He said he'd call me later. I knew I would never see him again.
When I got to my car I noticed something on the ground next to the driver's side door. It was a long stemmed red rose. It looked like the kind of rose men in tuxedo shirts sell in bars. I stooped down and picked it up, then stood there for a second, staring at all the silent door fronts, and the empty street before me.
My hand shook as I turned the key, and drove down that long stretch of glass houses and out of that neighborhood people died to live in.
When I got to my apartment I saw my roommate's car wasn't there, and I sighed in relief. I'd have to dab her shoes with white wine before she got home.
Walking further into my apartment I noticed the sound of an ignition running outside, but as usual I didn't lock the door behind me.
There was a darkened hallway that led to my bedroom. All of a sudden I felt the door open and a great force came up behind me. There was a violent push on my back and I fell face first into the carpet, burning my cheek.
"You stupid bitch," he said, as he stood above me.
"What are you doing here?" I was sobbing. "Why are you hurting me?"
He picked me up off the floor by my arm with one swoop. I was screaming, crying, and my arm was on fire. It felt like it had been ripped from its socket.
"I fucking warned you!" he screamed into my face. "I fucking warned you, you...stupid...bitch..." and he broke down, he broke down crying, holding me. He shook as held my face in his hands.
"It was supposed to be you last night baby. It was supposed to be you."
I was numb to his words, and stared blankly at him, unable to understand what he was saying. He grabbed me by my shoulders and shook me.
"I fucking warned you! Did you think it was a joke? What the fuck about my life has been a fucking joke to you, you stupid...bitch..."
"No...no," I sighed slowly.
It didn't make any sense; my life didn't make any sense. I caught a brief glance at myself in my bureau mirror, my face pale. My shoe was dangling off my bony ankle by a thin leather strap.
I sobbed and understood that an order had been made last night. By the grace of someone somewhere called God the man they called to pick Rigo up was My Monster. He had once told me that he checked every car that was parked on the street before any job. I had a habit of parking my jeep on the street a few houses down from Rigo's. When he got there he must have seen my car parked on the street, and couldn't bring himself to come inside for him. We both knew the rule, you take the puto and whatever bitch he's laying with. And just like that my life had been spared.
We lay down in my bed for the first and only time. When I awoke, he was gone. I looked to my bed stand, and he had left me a good-sized bag of marijuana. I smiled. He knew me so well, and knew I would need it.
I rolled myself a fat joint, and stood out on my balcony, smoking slowly as I watched blackbirds take baths in the neighbor's kiddie pool. I took a hot shower, and cried. I knew Rigo was gone, too.
I later found out Rigo had skipped town. No one could find him anywhere. Our last night together had saved his life, apparently, as well.
Griselda Liz Muñoz, who performs under the name La RaNa, is a Chicana poet and activist from El Paso. She was the first place winner at the Rasquache Festival Poetry Slam in 2006. Her poetry has been published in Mujeres de Maiz and Xochiquetzalli Anthology (Macha Feme Press, 2009).