Starts

Christopher Rubio-Goldsmith

Mostly you start this way, olive oil, cilantro, and chopped onions. The music
filled up loud horns clamps the room. The blinds, up because you are ready
to catch the sunset (but then you forget all about it) and you just shake
your head after the sun has toppled beyond the mountains.

You missed another moment. All old houses have a ghost that distracts.

Your faded friend arrives and opens your last cold beer. You two argue
about who makes better salsa. He includes a spoonful of sugar. You say that salsa is not un churro. He also says that a mariachi band does not need
an accordion. You both agree the survivor tells the story of the hero.

Then there is a silence and your finger dances up the scar on your friend’s
arm. It’s long and looks like a cable under a thin rug. All lives are extraordinary.
Even the normal times deserve a bass line and an exploding pinata.

Later your friend hoots an adios, rattles the doorknob and shudder
struts down the sidewalk. Tomorrow may arrive like two dogs
fighting over a small bone or a cat ignoring the toy mouse. It must
be more than standing, chopping, stripping, and screaming into
crowds of people with no ears. All of this business cannot just
end with everyone forgetting their hats and freezing in the warm rain.

Christopher Rubio-Goldsmith was born in Merida, Yucatan, grew up in Tucson, Arizona and taught English at Tucson High School for 27 years. Much of his work explores growing up near the border, being raised biracial/bilingual and teaching in a large urban school where 70% of the students are American/Mexican. A Pushcart nominee, his writings will appear in Drunk Monkeys, Inverted Syntax and have been published in Sky Island Journal, Muse, Discretionary Love and other places too. His wife, Kelly, sometimes edits his work, and the two cats seem happy.