🦋 Backstory
 The cloud formations over Oaxaca are more spectacular each time you look at them.
I've never been able to capture their grandeur on my camera, and I'm hardly enough of a poet
to describe them to you, you'll have to take my word for it. They roll in slow over
the mountains to the north-east, creep slowly toward the city, they pile up around the
edge of the sky. I can hear the thunder far off, I look nervously upward, wonder
if I can make it home before the rain gets here. I can already feel the first drops
on my shoulder.
Laura told me I was making a mistake, and she's probably right.
 It's raining a little harder now. I duck in to Hernán's cafe, I'll wait here until it
passes, it usually goes by in a half hour or so. (The thunder is louder than before --
it may last longer than usual this evening.) I order an espresso and ask after Hernán's
wife. He has a distant smile as he tells me Soledad is getting better, she should be
coming home Friday at the latest. I'm leafing through the book of poetry I've been
carrying around all day, I'm looking for the piece about la madre paralizada de la noche, it caught
my eye this morning, made me think about Soledad, when the lights go out. Hernán mutters
a curse and looks down the street to see if there is a blackout everywhere. For a few
minutes now it has been raining with the fury of Poseidon over Athens.
It was in this very cafe that Laura and I met, just a few months ago -- it seems like much longer.
I'm sipping my coffee in the darkness and trying not to think about Laura. The rain
is lightening up a bit, I'll head home before too long. I'm concerned about Soledad:
Hernán's wistful confidence seems false, seems forced, and I don't think she's going to
be back any time soon. The two of them have made this cafe my favorite place in the city
over the past year that I've been here -- maybe they're the closest thing to friends
that I've found here.
Laura's glad I came over but wishes I would have called earlier. Yeah, whatever...I'm not sure what to say here. So you're serious about going back to California?
Listen, of course I am. You're coming, too.
The firmness of her tone always startles me -- the line and contour of her body always catch me off guard. She takes my hand, gives me an inquisitive look and a squeeze, turns away to the book she was reading. I'm a little edgy right now (thanks to the espresso I guess, thanks to the glint in Laura's eye) and trying to figure out what I can say. What's holding me here? What future do I see? How the fuck can I justify letting her go without me? I'm responding with my own wistful, confident smile, trying to get her attention, mumble something about a friend up in Santa Cruz, maybe I could stay with him... But she's pissed off. I'm giving her too little too late, and we aren't really talking.
...I'm worried about Soledad.
She sighs, Yeah, I know,... She turns in the soft evening light. Not to mention her husband.
I look at her more closely, she's been crying. Catch her eye, I want to be with you.
Peter, it doesn't make any sense for you to stay here. What we have is what you're looking for.
...
Laura yawns and looks away. Suddenly I flash on an image of her and Soledad, the first time I saw her at the cafe, I know I'll be leaving Oaxaca with Laura and I know I'll regret it. What to say, what to say, I don't feel like I can tell her quite what's on my mind. I'm not sure how much I have left in the bank, exactly, I may have to lean on you some while I look for work... And she's holding me, leaning against me as she shakes her head, her brown hair is rubbing fuzzy against my cheek.
posted evening of Friday, September 7th, 2012
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