fitzcarraldo
it’s friday night and i’m heading home. i’m on the top level of a double decker reading the book my friend e lent me. it's the blue fitzcarraldo version and i keep it in a zipper bag as to not damage it.
in front of me theres a little girl sitting with her dad. she’s wearing a tiara. i’ve taken this route home five days this week. i was going to come home early but walked by the junior common room just as a bachata class was starting and thought it too much of a coincidence to pass up. i regretted it a little bit because the teacher put on the music only intermittently and sometimes i was left without a partner. in the middle i ran across the room to another solitary person. people had split into leaders and followers, the steps reversed for each. i found myself completely disoriented trying to dance the other part, and shifted bodies for everyone I came to; some girls pretended to be nonchalant but really cared about getting it right, some fumbled along and laughed.
the girl and her dad get off at the next station and so do i. i wave to her and she stares at me dubiously before lifting her fingers. her father doesnt make eye contact but she slowly warms. their bus arrives and she waves at me through the window until it pulls away.
tucked in the side pocket of my backpack is a jar of chili oil my friend jubilee got me today. when she hands it to me she turns away smiling.