This morning, I have been working on this scene a little more for my novella "La Bruja del Barrio Loco", which you can sample a full version of in the Antojitos section. I am trying to humanize my main character, Elisa, based on the feedback I got from my editor, Elizabeth Marino. (Who is fucking brilliant if you need an editor. She's on FB.) The scene is a contrast to the horrible situation Elisa finds herself in, in prison, angry at herself, angry at her dead boyfriend. I'm trying to show the love-bond she has with her son, Alexander.
Oh, and I got some sage advice from my friend Eric Allen Yankee because I was debating whether I should use a pseudonym or not. He said only if I wrote smut, which I won't write. He is working on an RPG short story, and I am totally crafting a plot line to write one myself.
My little sister and son (8) are going to go ape shit for that!
Ø Ø Ø
The last time she had taken him to the park, which she did every chance she could between exams and assignments, he had made all of the moms laugh. They were a group of Lincoln Park Trixies, most of them, with their perfect blonde hair and designer outdoor wear. One woman always wore what Elisa thought was a Swedish name brand with the emblem of the light blue and yellow flag, tastefully placed on the shoulder. They always had their Starbucks latte mocha-whatevers in their shiny steel cups, a fancy phone in the other hand, while their children played on their own.
Elisa and Alexander had been playing for hours, mostly by Elisa chasing him around, barking like a high-pitched dog in heat.
His chubby little legs made Alexander look like a bobbing troll doll with a big curly mop that moved with the rhythm of his joy. It had been Elisa’s delight to hear him laugh, his laugh, that laugh that was so contagious it brought the most reserved stranger to crack a smile.
She had scooped him up and given him a long raspberry. He had said, “No doggie! Bad doggie.” He had run around greeting all the flowers, which Elisa thought was funny. Some of them even seemed to turn their heads toward him.
But when they had to leave, his face had contorted into what she was sure was going to be an epic tantrum. His body shook like a cheap plastic sun toy from the Dollar Store. Elisa braced herself, not for his fury, but for the judgement coming from the gueras. Instead, he had run to the middle of the mommy coffee latch, dead center. He had stuck up his little finger in the air, an emperor of justice. Then, he started going round and round to each of the moms wagging his finger, spouting an angry litany of gibberish, peppered with “bad mommies” between random breaths. The moms had laughed so hard, they cracked their perfect foundation, and Elisa thought she would never go back to that park.
She paused, scooped him up in her arms, settled him in his stroller, and walked home with a bounce in her step, barking every now and then.
Alexander clapped and continued with his gibberish making sure to acknowledge all the flowers on the way home.
Today, stretch your imagination. #Resist
Dr. Jesú Estrada,