[He says it lightly, with a half teasing smile on his face. But he quickly shakes his head in reaction to the rest of it all.
Nothing?]
We aren't just bones, 'melda. We're memories; cherished thoughts you know? People don't remember nothing.
[He is still turned around though he does sit on a chair and looks out over the swamp.]
Me? I work. Either at Torchwood just delivering things that living people can't touch, or working with Profe on his shows. Sometimes I'll go stand in the plazas they have in Fayren and listen to the stories.
That's true. I was stunning that young. I'd forgotten what I'd looked like. [she turns in the bath to rest her arms and chin on the edge of it, watching him, his back turned.]
I didn't think I noticed anyone was attractive back then. [save for one.
Her smile fades a little. Not all memories are cherished ones. She knows that. And she knows she is cherished, though she doesn't think she should be at times.]
People don't just remember one side. [but that makes little difference here] If all I were was a memory, it would be easier. Or maybe I'm a memory of my own.
[she doesn't know how it works. She listens to what he does and smiles more. It's so easy to forget with him. It's too easy. That's why she has to keep on guard, always. To know that everything will end in heartbreak and disaster as always it does.
[He does snicker at that, the memory of sunlight catching on dark brown hair, or how shadows dances across bare, dark skin. He gave a small, happy sigh.]
Of course you don't remember just one side, people aren't just one thing.
[Hector sucks in a breath, his vertebrae clacking together as he sits up straight.
It had been nearly a century since he had heard that nickname. Each syllabus weighing with so many old and long unrecalled memories. He swallowed, trying to shake himself up.]
Why do you even have those? [she's not surprised necessarily, though does wonder why he keeps them around.]
Don't wash my dress. You're not a servant. [and she doesn't want him to. It's too strange. Too much like a lo seinto gesture and she isn't here for that.
She sighs a bit and rests her chin on her wrist a moment, even that small pleasure coming to an end.
Oh well.]
I've worn it before but it doesn't suit me.
[she waves a hand and gets out of the tub, finding a soft cloth nearby to dry her bones on.]
[she can picture it, somehow. Both amused and a little horrified that he had to stoop to that so she just ends up feeling a little sad for him.
After all, who is the one to blame for driving him to this life-- this tiny little shanty.]
So I'll take them home and wash them and give it back later. Before you need it. I'm not having you wash my dress. [and she isn't going to wash it like this, though she has done that sort of thing before a very long time ago and nothing she wants to dwell on
She pulls on the skirt but its ridiculously long on her.]
Ay I'm going to drown in this. [and how will she keep it out of the mud]
You know, I'll just wear the old one back. [there's no point in trying to save any dignity right now. Anyway, who would care if she had it or not?]
[she folds her arms at the laugh, and nearly loses the skirt so she has to tug it back up again. Her ribs are exposed in the process but so what]
I look ridiculous.
[and she levels a look at him]
It's because you could never decide to stop growing. I don't know how you managed to get so big.
[she'd always liked that about him. That tall lankiness of his. Getting an idea, though, she pulls the skirt up over her ribs and holds it in place with an arm, with nothing else to use.]
There. This will do for now. [she's not going to ask him how she looks and instead chooses to take a seat, looking around from the gift she'd given him on his birthday]
There's half a second where his hands twitch when she moves. Memory served to have him worry that she would purposely drop the skirt. There wasn't anything really to look at but...it was a principle and he was still fumbly.
And he would always blush and stare in awe at his wife.]
I have a spare bit of rope?
[He still snickers though at the idea of that image before clearing his throat and looking towards the swamp.]
I...er, yeah! There's some ah, tequila left?
[And the basket, which was currently holding some herbs to dry on the small porch like overhang he had. The journal though was carefully stored in the trunk, wrapped in plastic to keep out the damp.]
I...have to thank you for that. I just, couldn't think of how to say it right.
[no. she's not going to get into it. Not even going to talk about how difficult it was to do all those things and care for Coco. How she had to call in her bothers for help because she wasn't strong enough to do it on her own. He couldn't help that he'd died and even if he should have never left-- He couldn't be entirely blamed for that either.
She had always known he would never be reliable. She had deluded herself otherwise and you can't be angry at a dog for barking. She shakes her head]
I'm fine. [the awkwardness reminds her not to get comfortable here. She can't afford to, not even for a moment.]
I'll have a shot if you don't mind.
[she needs it. At his gratitude she waves a hand]
No te preocupes. You had to know. Have to know. Eventually you'll meet them. It might take a little for them to warm up to you but you'll charm them as you do everyone and they'll be more than happy to have music back in their lives.
[she sighs, looking at nothing in particular, mostly to avoid looking at him and the miserable state he's in. Or the miserable face he has right now or the apologetic one or just something she doesn't want to see for the benefit of the both of them.]
I don't think that it ever really left them. Music. Not until-- Well-- [she smiles, faintly, without happiness] --Coco was always the one to change our world.
[and at a price. and at a price she shouldn't've had to pay. But there is no undoing what has been done. No way to go but forward and repair it as best she could, taking on the consequences of her actions. And, if nothing else, she was able to endure anything]
[It is awkward, which he isn't sure if he prefers. Being yelled at or ignored, that he knew where to stand. But this? Civil and polite? It...was too new. Too different.
All the same he nods and moves towards a small cooler, one that Lea had gifted him. He pulls out the tequila and then fetched two mismatched shot glasses. Filling one he handed it to her, the repeated the motion with his own before sitting back and looking at the trunk.]
Coco...I missed a lot.
[He doesn't apologize, but he does regret. To himself and to the damned luck that had taken him so early in life.]
[that stings, though it does please her even if she can't be fully happy about it. Of course he missed Coco a lot. She had always known he would. It reminds her of the old days and the old nightmares she used to have of waking up to find Coco gone, of him taking her with him-- secreting her away sometime in the night or luring her down the street.
And who could blame him if he did?
And who could blame Coco if she followed?
Imelda knocks back the drink and gets up to pour herself another]
She missed you too. Twice she disappeared from the house and I found her wandering in the streets. She nearly got herself run over by a cart. [and if her arms hadn't been full of her crying child she would have smacked the driver's ears off for being so careless, even if she couldn't remember his face anymore. Though when a child wouldn't stay at home, who was really to blame?]
I don't think she ever stopped looking. Even after she was a grown woman always going out and looking down the road. Julio used to look with her.
[Imelda shakes her head, knocks back that shot too and pours herself another before she begins to pace. It's annoying since she has to hold the skirt up at the same time but it is what it is]
Of course I should have realized that you'd died. Of course you'd died. You couldn't even walk into a cantina without causing trouble.
But I thought that finally De la Cruz was a man enough to look after you--
[she snorts]
I should have known he wouldn't be capable of it. That I'd never see you again.
[granted at the time she wasn't sure if she'd wanted to see Hector again but the truth was that she had always thought of him too, missed him, looked for him, though she'd rejected that part of her to survive and it could stay rejected just so she could keep her head on straight]
He could have at least told me you'd wandered off. You would think he would have the courtesy to that much. But no, he was too busy making himself into a preforming poodle to even think about me.
[she scowls at nothing, twisting the glass in her fingers. ]
I knew he hated me but at least he could think of Coco. Our-- Your daughter.
[she could blame him for that and she would blame him for that but there was nothing to do about it now. It wasn't the first time he hadn't told her something because he didn't like her. She could have made that easier on him, she supposed, liking her. But she was hardly ever able to make a friend let alone keep one.]
I suppose should have tried harder-- [because it had been important to Hector if nothing else] -- but all he wanted was mamabichos to follow him around. [she shakes her head]
It wouldn't have worked. We're both too proud.
[hadn't she been warned about that before? More than once? She'd even taken pride in it. it was who she was. She had worked hard to get to where she was and had managed a successful business and a large family -- and in that had done well.
But just because she had done it didn't mean she was suited for it. If she hadn't driven him and De la Cruz away, maybe one of them would have talked to her. If she had been easier on Coco, maybe they wouldn't have fought so much.
But maybe she just wasn't suited for this life she had built for herself, pulling stone by stone out of the field and building the wall for her familia to stand atop of, to rise above, to become strong and beautiful and to keep going despite everything.
She hadn't been able to keep a friend, she hadn't even been able to keep a lover. Her familia for better or worse were stuck with her otherwise, who knew...?
But suited or not she had made it--and in concession of her pride, how could she blame Hector for not wanting to be trapped under the weight of it when she knew he had wandering feet. When the world held so much more appeal than a sleepy little town and herself.
He could have had his pick of women but trusting Hector to pick wisely was just asking for disappointment. Asking and getting in spades. She knocked back that glass too. Feeling the customary disappointing nothingness.
She momentarily wished she had used the potion again and then was glad she had not because that might prompt him to try to romance her again and it was hard enough not to break with those meaningless words that nevertheless felt like he was was squeezing her non-existent heart to shreds.]
The point is, I can't forgive you for going. [because hard or not, it was still his responsibility]
But you deserved better.
[because as hard as it is to say and it hurts her pride to say, it's also true]
[His eyes widened. Twice? His little girl had gone off...twice? He felt the memory of his heart tighten with worry. But what was the use of it? This was the past. A past that was supposed to be his future, but...he shook himself off, turning to look at Imelda as she poured another glass.]
Imelda...
[He gave a shrug and finished off his drink, twirling the glass along his fingers. then stopped and sat up a bit straighter, looking at her a bit confused.]
Wait, wait, wandered off? We...I never separated from him. We, made it to Mexico City. That's where I-
[He pressed his lips together carefully, shaking his head and then placing the glass down.]
I...okay, look. I know you don't want to hear this, but...ay, Imelda. I was some chispero just trying to survive in Santa Cecilia. Whatever I could get, I would take...I never thought there was anything better for me.
[He sighed and glanced at her, watching the way the fog covered moon reflected off her bones. But it was so easy to see the woman he had fallen in love with. A dove caught by a monkey.]
Then you came along, and for once...for once I got the best thing in the in world.
[He hit his knee, staring out at the swamp. A few ghost flickered by but they never paid him any mind, but they did look eerie. Like thoughts floating out over the water. Lost thoughts...or words unsaid.
Quickly he turned toward Imelda, eyes wide.]
I got you. And like a real man,
[Said with all the sarcasm a Rivera could possibly hold.]
I ruined it all. Because I wanted the best for you, for Coco. I never stopped to think that...well. What use now, right? But even if you, just...please Imelda. It was my fault. The only thing you ever did...was love a pendejo like me.
I know who you were... [her voice came out tender, surprising herself.
And then the idiota had to romance her. How dare he. She takes the bottle instead, looking away from him and out into the swamp as she sips at it, for what little good it does. The best thing in the world? Ha. She'd seen far better wives. Women she could never be. Bitter old men used to tell her that there was a reason why he had left and that she should know her place. She hadn't cared what they thought, even if deep down, she knew they were right
She doesn't like the bitterness in his voice either. The sarcasm.
But he's wrong...though it takes her a moment to even speak as he says she loved him. That sucks all the air out of her and she hates that he knows it, hates that he says it, hates that he understands and yet-- walked away to look after them? Wanted the best for them?]
Don't tell me that's the only reason. [her voice is sharp now and she presses the back of her hand to her mouth, trying to hold it back. Trying to speak calmly]
Don't you dare say the only reason you left is to do what was best for us. Don't you dare.
No! [she stomps her foot. That's not it! It can't be it! Why would he go when all they needed was him?! When they could have had a happy home?! How could he leave and just say it was for their benefit?!
The bottle smashes to the ground and she breaks it with her heel, over and over, listening to the glass shatter and grind. She hates it! She hates it! She hates it so much!
So many years wasted! So much gone and not coming back!
All because she never asked. All because he never told.
All because--
No.
NO!]
AHHH!
[she storms through the estupido door and into the swamp, not caring if she sinks, not caring if she's attacked or lost or anything. Not even caring that she's not even dressed properly.
There is too much and nothing to be done about any of it]
[Old instincts crawl up his spine, but he grips his arms to keep from turning around. Its quiet for a long time after she storms out, and he doesn't move for much longer after that.
The sun was sparkling on the water when he finally moved, only to push a few of the large bits of glass away with a toe. A song catches in his throat, but he shakes it off. Letting it sink back into the dark cavity of his stomach.
There were other songs out there, other songs to sing and use...it had worked for Ernesto, hadn't it? He still had the shop to pay for; he'd been unable to give his family what they needed while alive...he wasn't going to ruin that chance again.]
Come on.
[He picks up the guitar, sits on the edge of the swamp and begins to play. Old songs, none his own but good ones. Ones that played to people's hearts and smiles.
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Re: 12/18 6pm
[He says it lightly, with a half teasing smile on his face. But he quickly shakes his head in reaction to the rest of it all.
Nothing?]
We aren't just bones, 'melda. We're memories; cherished thoughts you know? People don't remember nothing.
[He is still turned around though he does sit on a chair and looks out over the swamp.]
Me? I work. Either at Torchwood just delivering things that living people can't touch, or working with Profe on his shows. Sometimes I'll go stand in the plazas they have in Fayren and listen to the stories.
12/18 6pm
That's true. I was stunning that young. I'd forgotten what I'd looked like. [she turns in the bath to rest her arms and chin on the edge of it, watching him, his back turned.]
I didn't think I noticed anyone was attractive back then. [save for one.
Her smile fades a little. Not all memories are cherished ones. She knows that. And she knows she is cherished, though she doesn't think she should be at times.]
People don't just remember one side. [but that makes little difference here] If all I were was a memory, it would be easier. Or maybe I'm a memory of my own.
[she doesn't know how it works. She listens to what he does and smiles more. It's so easy to forget with him. It's too easy. That's why she has to keep on guard, always. To know that everything will end in heartbreak and disaster as always it does.
They are bad for one another.
Very bad for one another.
And she is a cruel woman, she knows.
She knows and knows and yet--]
Teto...
Re: 12/18 6pm
Of course you don't remember just one side, people aren't just one thing.
[Hector sucks in a breath, his vertebrae clacking together as he sits up straight.
It had been nearly a century since he had heard that nickname. Each syllabus weighing with so many old and long unrecalled memories. He swallowed, trying to shake himself up.]
Ah, s-si?
12/18 6pm
And she will regret this. They will regret this.
But maybe... perhaps... right now...
She will live up to her reputation.
She smiles at the straightening, so familiar even though the bones are and aren't, and runs her fingers along the rim of the tub.]
I was wondering... With my dress covered in mud... I don't know what I'm going to wear...
Re: 12/18 6pm
[It was a distraction, for him at least, but he was going to take it. His mind was going to places it shouldn't and this was at least physical.]
I managed to get some. Eh, not really your style...or color but you can wear it while I wash yours?
[He's at an old trunk he'd scrounged up in Fayren, digging through and pulling out some more English looking skirts. He eyes the green one.]
Actually, I can't remember you wearing green.
12/18 6pm
Don't wash my dress. You're not a servant. [and she doesn't want him to. It's too strange. Too much like a lo seinto gesture and she isn't here for that.
She sighs a bit and rests her chin on her wrist a moment, even that small pleasure coming to an end.
Oh well.]
I've worn it before but it doesn't suit me.
[she waves a hand and gets out of the tub, finding a soft cloth nearby to dry her bones on.]
Give me whichever you want.
Re: 12/18 6pm
[Now he does roll his eyes.]
i'm not a servant, 'melda, but you'll have to wash two dresses if you wear the clean one and wash this one. And I only have three skirts.
[He glances between the dresses, before shrugging and handing her the darker red medieval skirt.]
Lemme get you the shirt...part. It's weird too.
12/18 6pm
After all, who is the one to blame for driving him to this life-- this tiny little shanty.]
So I'll take them home and wash them and give it back later. Before you need it. I'm not having you wash my dress. [and she isn't going to wash it like this, though she has done that sort of thing before a very long time ago and nothing she wants to dwell on
She pulls on the skirt but its ridiculously long on her.]
Ay I'm going to drown in this. [and how will she keep it out of the mud]
You know, I'll just wear the old one back. [there's no point in trying to save any dignity right now. Anyway, who would care if she had it or not?]
Re: 12/18 6pm
[He eyes the skirt and then turns towards her, the awkwardness from before forgotten for the moment.
It was pretty voluminous...and she was short.
He snorts, trying not to laugh out loud.]
N-no it...it would fit you, just fine.
12/18 6pm
[she folds her arms at the laugh, and nearly loses the skirt so she has to tug it back up again. Her ribs are exposed in the process but so what]
I look ridiculous.
[and she levels a look at him]
It's because you could never decide to stop growing. I don't know how you managed to get so big.
[she'd always liked that about him. That tall lankiness of his. Getting an idea, though, she pulls the skirt up over her ribs and holds it in place with an arm, with nothing else to use.]
There. This will do for now. [she's not going to ask him how she looks and instead chooses to take a seat, looking around from the gift she'd given him on his birthday]
Did you get what I left here last time?
Re: 12/18 6pm
[He's old, let him sound old for a few moments.
There's half a second where his hands twitch when she moves. Memory served to have him worry that she would purposely drop the skirt. There wasn't anything really to look at but...it was a principle and he was still fumbly.
And he would always blush and stare in awe at his wife.]
I have a spare bit of rope?
[He still snickers though at the idea of that image before clearing his throat and looking towards the swamp.]
I...er, yeah! There's some ah, tequila left?
[And the basket, which was currently holding some herbs to dry on the small porch like overhang he had. The journal though was carefully stored in the trunk, wrapped in plastic to keep out the damp.]
I...have to thank you for that. I just, couldn't think of how to say it right.
12/18 6pm
[no. she's not going to get into it. Not even going to talk about how difficult it was to do all those things and care for Coco. How she had to call in her bothers for help because she wasn't strong enough to do it on her own. He couldn't help that he'd died and even if he should have never left-- He couldn't be entirely blamed for that either.
She had always known he would never be reliable. She had deluded herself otherwise and you can't be angry at a dog for barking. She shakes her head]
I'm fine. [the awkwardness reminds her not to get comfortable here. She can't afford to, not even for a moment.]
I'll have a shot if you don't mind.
[she needs it. At his gratitude she waves a hand]
No te preocupes. You had to know. Have to know. Eventually you'll meet them. It might take a little for them to warm up to you but you'll charm them as you do everyone and they'll be more than happy to have music back in their lives.
[she sighs, looking at nothing in particular, mostly to avoid looking at him and the miserable state he's in. Or the miserable face he has right now or the apologetic one or just something she doesn't want to see for the benefit of the both of them.]
I don't think that it ever really left them. Music. Not until-- Well-- [she smiles, faintly, without happiness] --Coco was always the one to change our world.
[and at a price. and at a price she shouldn't've had to pay. But there is no undoing what has been done. No way to go but forward and repair it as best she could, taking on the consequences of her actions. And, if nothing else, she was able to endure anything]
Re: 12/18 6pm
All the same he nods and moves towards a small cooler, one that Lea had gifted him. He pulls out the tequila and then fetched two mismatched shot glasses. Filling one he handed it to her, the repeated the motion with his own before sitting back and looking at the trunk.]
Coco...I missed a lot.
[He doesn't apologize, but he does regret. To himself and to the damned luck that had taken him so early in life.]
Hey.
[He holds up the shot glass.]
Toast? it's...well. It's been a while?
12/18 6pm
And who could blame him if he did?
And who could blame Coco if she followed?
Imelda knocks back the drink and gets up to pour herself another]
She missed you too. Twice she disappeared from the house and I found her wandering in the streets. She nearly got herself run over by a cart. [and if her arms hadn't been full of her crying child she would have smacked the driver's ears off for being so careless, even if she couldn't remember his face anymore. Though when a child wouldn't stay at home, who was really to blame?]
I don't think she ever stopped looking. Even after she was a grown woman always going out and looking down the road. Julio used to look with her.
[Imelda shakes her head, knocks back that shot too and pours herself another before she begins to pace. It's annoying since she has to hold the skirt up at the same time but it is what it is]
Of course I should have realized that you'd died. Of course you'd died. You couldn't even walk into a cantina without causing trouble.
But I thought that finally De la Cruz was a man enough to look after you--
[she snorts]
I should have known he wouldn't be capable of it. That I'd never see you again.
[granted at the time she wasn't sure if she'd wanted to see Hector again but the truth was that she had always thought of him too, missed him, looked for him, though she'd rejected that part of her to survive and it could stay rejected just so she could keep her head on straight]
He could have at least told me you'd wandered off. You would think he would have the courtesy to that much. But no, he was too busy making himself into a preforming poodle to even think about me.
[she scowls at nothing, twisting the glass in her fingers. ]
I knew he hated me but at least he could think of Coco. Our-- Your daughter.
[she could blame him for that and she would blame him for that but there was nothing to do about it now. It wasn't the first time he hadn't told her something because he didn't like her. She could have made that easier on him, she supposed, liking her. But she was hardly ever able to make a friend let alone keep one.]
I suppose should have tried harder-- [because it had been important to Hector if nothing else] -- but all he wanted was mamabichos to follow him around. [she shakes her head]
It wouldn't have worked. We're both too proud.
[hadn't she been warned about that before? More than once? She'd even taken pride in it. it was who she was. She had worked hard to get to where she was and had managed a successful business and a large family -- and in that had done well.
But just because she had done it didn't mean she was suited for it. If she hadn't driven him and De la Cruz away, maybe one of them would have talked to her. If she had been easier on Coco, maybe they wouldn't have fought so much.
But maybe she just wasn't suited for this life she had built for herself, pulling stone by stone out of the field and building the wall for her familia to stand atop of, to rise above, to become strong and beautiful and to keep going despite everything.
She hadn't been able to keep a friend, she hadn't even been able to keep a lover. Her familia for better or worse were stuck with her otherwise, who knew...?
But suited or not she had made it--and in concession of her pride, how could she blame Hector for not wanting to be trapped under the weight of it when she knew he had wandering feet. When the world held so much more appeal than a sleepy little town and herself.
He could have had his pick of women but trusting Hector to pick wisely was just asking for disappointment. Asking and getting in spades. She knocked back that glass too. Feeling the customary disappointing nothingness.
She momentarily wished she had used the potion again and then was glad she had not because that might prompt him to try to romance her again and it was hard enough not to break with those meaningless words that nevertheless felt like he was was squeezing her non-existent heart to shreds.]
The point is, I can't forgive you for going. [because hard or not, it was still his responsibility]
But you deserved better.
[because as hard as it is to say and it hurts her pride to say, it's also true]
Re: 12/18 6pm
Imelda...
[He gave a shrug and finished off his drink, twirling the glass along his fingers. then stopped and sat up a bit straighter, looking at her a bit confused.]
Wait, wait, wandered off? We...I never separated from him. We, made it to Mexico City. That's where I-
[He pressed his lips together carefully, shaking his head and then placing the glass down.]
I...okay, look. I know you don't want to hear this, but...ay, Imelda. I was some chispero just trying to survive in Santa Cecilia. Whatever I could get, I would take...I never thought there was anything better for me.
[He sighed and glanced at her, watching the way the fog covered moon reflected off her bones. But it was so easy to see the woman he had fallen in love with. A dove caught by a monkey.]
Then you came along, and for once...for once I got the best thing in the in world.
[He hit his knee, staring out at the swamp. A few ghost flickered by but they never paid him any mind, but they did look eerie. Like thoughts floating out over the water. Lost thoughts...or words unsaid.
Quickly he turned toward Imelda, eyes wide.]
I got you. And like a real man,
[Said with all the sarcasm a Rivera could possibly hold.]
I ruined it all. Because I wanted the best for you, for Coco. I never stopped to think that...well. What use now, right? But even if you, just...please Imelda. It was my fault. The only thing you ever did...was love a pendejo like me.
12/18 6pm
And then the idiota had to romance her. How dare he. She takes the bottle instead, looking away from him and out into the swamp as she sips at it, for what little good it does. The best thing in the world? Ha. She'd seen far better wives. Women she could never be. Bitter old men used to tell her that there was a reason why he had left and that she should know her place. She hadn't cared what they thought, even if deep down, she knew they were right
She doesn't like the bitterness in his voice either. The sarcasm.
But he's wrong...though it takes her a moment to even speak as he says she loved him. That sucks all the air out of her and she hates that he knows it, hates that he says it, hates that he understands and yet-- walked away to look after them? Wanted the best for them?]
Don't tell me that's the only reason. [her voice is sharp now and she presses the back of her hand to her mouth, trying to hold it back. Trying to speak calmly]
Don't you dare say the only reason you left is to do what was best for us. Don't you dare.
Re: 12/18 6pm
I never said it was the smartest reason. It was a mistake. I thought it was for the best, but I was wrong. I realized it and tried to go home.
[He pokes the tequila glass with his toe. Heaven and Earth.]
but bad luck...
[Hector stood up suddenly, moving towards the open part of the cabin.]
All I can say is I'm sorry. It won't fix anything, for...either of us but...I am.
12/18 6pm
The bottle smashes to the ground and she breaks it with her heel, over and over, listening to the glass shatter and grind. She hates it! She hates it! She hates it so much!
So many years wasted! So much gone and not coming back!
All because she never asked. All because he never told.
All because--
No.
NO!]
AHHH!
[she storms through the estupido door and into the swamp, not caring if she sinks, not caring if she's attacked or lost or anything. Not even caring that she's not even dressed properly.
There is too much and nothing to be done about any of it]
Re: 12/18 6pm
The sun was sparkling on the water when he finally moved, only to push a few of the large bits of glass away with a toe. A song catches in his throat, but he shakes it off. Letting it sink back into the dark cavity of his stomach.
There were other songs out there, other songs to sing and use...it had worked for Ernesto, hadn't it? He still had the shop to pay for; he'd been unable to give his family what they needed while alive...he wasn't going to ruin that chance again.]
Come on.
[He picks up the guitar, sits on the edge of the swamp and begins to play. Old songs, none his own but good ones. Ones that played to people's hearts and smiles.
He needed to talk to the Profe again.]