Now we have a television and I want to say to him, marry it. Marry it, hire a maid and let me be la otra. Call me on the weekend to go dancing.
He believes it all: Hercules, Dr. Quinn and the novelas tras novelas.
Nobody on tv watches tv, do you see?
Their lives are more real than our own.
You are sitting there in the living room with your shoes on and your hat.
And the tv is off which is impossible.
And there are suitcases beside you.
You say you are leaving. That much I can see for myself.
You say you shouldn’t have come here in the first place.
You say I don’t love you.
You say you read that in my diary.
I don’t say anything.
Clearly, you have helped yourself to my words.
You say the driver will be here for you any minute and he is.
I say goodbye.
The first time you left me you snuck away like coward and I nearly died of grief and rage.
But you begged to come back.
Maybe I wanted to see you walk away like a man; watch you walk out the door with your shoes on and your hat.
Maybe I wanted to remember you as the back of a hat and two sets of white knuckles clutching your suitcases.