kids all around yelling at their parents and talking back and coming in late and stuff. I wouldn’t even know how to do that. I guess I’m pretty lame.
No, you don’t sound lame. I get tired of hard-headed, big-headed boys who think they’re so bad that they can’t even take time to be nice to their mama. I like the way you talk about your folks with respect. But didn’t you ever just want to run singing into the moonlight and do exactly as you wanted to do? Sky dive naked from a plane? Eat ice cream for breakfast and broccoli for dessert?
I like your attitude! Yeah, I guess I’ve thought about doing that kind of stuff. I’d like to swim across the Nueces River, at the widest crossing, in a thunderstorm, at midnight! How’s that?
You’re getting there! Do you have clothes on for this swim? Are you carrying anything?
No, I’m naked as a newborn rat! And I’m carrying a backpack—no—two backpacks! And they’re full of medical supplies, which I must deliver or the lives of the children of Mexico will be lost! And it’s cold—at least fifty below zero!
Now you’re talking! I think I’ll be in that warm little yacht next to you—the one with a motor and a heated cabin and a fully stocked kitchen—in a coat, sipping cocoa, watching you swim!
You make me do all that, and you sit sipping hot chocolate while I freeze my naked buns?
It’s your fantasy! I’m having fun watching you.
You’re silly. And it’s so much fun to talk to you. Want to hear another fantasy? It’s a little scary.
I’m ready.
I imagine two sixteen-year-olds, a little different on the outside but sharing something on the inside, on a beach. I imagine them touching each other in the moonlight on that beach. It wouldn’t matter if it were a thunderstorm, or a hurricane, or fifty below zero—it wouldn’t matter because they wouldn’t notice. They’d only see each other. He would whisper soft phrases of Spanish love songs into her ear, and she would tremble in his arms because even without knowing the words she’d know the meaning, she could feel the tenderness of his lips on hers. And the world would stop for those few moments while they stood there in the shadows of the night.
Wow, Julio. You have a way with words. I had that same fantasy many nights, while trying to get to sleep. I imagined that young man and that girl standing on the beach, on a mountain, in a crowded room—no longer alone, but together. I have imagined the feel of his lips on mine. I have imagined how safe I would feel in his arms. I don’t understand it—I don’t want to. But I know it is real and powerful and wonderful. I’m not sure what to do with these feelings—I’ve never felt like this before. But I want to be with him.
Romiette, you are my dream.
Julio, my dreams are sometimes terrifying.
I will protect you.
From my dreams?
Maybe I will be there for you in your dreams.
I have to go. My mother wants to use the computer. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Call me. Better yet—write me. I love the way you say things. Good night.
Good night, Romiette. Sweet dreams.
25.
Dream
Romiette washed her face and quickly slipped on her pajamas. She couldn’t stop smiling. She hurried to bed and snuggled under the covers onto the cool, soft sheets. She plumped two pillows behind her head, and hugged one in front of her. She reached up, turned off the light, said a quick thank-you to the darkness, and let herself think of Julio. How could someone she’d only known such a short time so completely fill her thoughts? He was clever, and kind, and smart, and oh, so good-looking. His eyes sparkled, his grin was infectious, and his voice—his voice was … She drifted to sleep, smiling, thinking of Julio, his voice echoing in her dreams.
They were running, fearful, in a place she had never seen. She was hot and sweating, but the air was cold. The sky was black and green with slices of bright yellow. Was that rain or blood that was pelting her, soaking
No, you don’t sound lame. I get tired of hard-headed, big-headed boys who think they’re so bad that they can’t even take time to be nice to their mama. I like the way you talk about your folks with respect. But didn’t you ever just want to run singing into the moonlight and do exactly as you wanted to do? Sky dive naked from a plane? Eat ice cream for breakfast and broccoli for dessert?
I like your attitude! Yeah, I guess I’ve thought about doing that kind of stuff. I’d like to swim across the Nueces River, at the widest crossing, in a thunderstorm, at midnight! How’s that?
You’re getting there! Do you have clothes on for this swim? Are you carrying anything?
No, I’m naked as a newborn rat! And I’m carrying a backpack—no—two backpacks! And they’re full of medical supplies, which I must deliver or the lives of the children of Mexico will be lost! And it’s cold—at least fifty below zero!
Now you’re talking! I think I’ll be in that warm little yacht next to you—the one with a motor and a heated cabin and a fully stocked kitchen—in a coat, sipping cocoa, watching you swim!
You make me do all that, and you sit sipping hot chocolate while I freeze my naked buns?
It’s your fantasy! I’m having fun watching you.
You’re silly. And it’s so much fun to talk to you. Want to hear another fantasy? It’s a little scary.
I’m ready.
I imagine two sixteen-year-olds, a little different on the outside but sharing something on the inside, on a beach. I imagine them touching each other in the moonlight on that beach. It wouldn’t matter if it were a thunderstorm, or a hurricane, or fifty below zero—it wouldn’t matter because they wouldn’t notice. They’d only see each other. He would whisper soft phrases of Spanish love songs into her ear, and she would tremble in his arms because even without knowing the words she’d know the meaning, she could feel the tenderness of his lips on hers. And the world would stop for those few moments while they stood there in the shadows of the night.
Wow, Julio. You have a way with words. I had that same fantasy many nights, while trying to get to sleep. I imagined that young man and that girl standing on the beach, on a mountain, in a crowded room—no longer alone, but together. I have imagined the feel of his lips on mine. I have imagined how safe I would feel in his arms. I don’t understand it—I don’t want to. But I know it is real and powerful and wonderful. I’m not sure what to do with these feelings—I’ve never felt like this before. But I want to be with him.
Romiette, you are my dream.
Julio, my dreams are sometimes terrifying.
I will protect you.
From my dreams?
Maybe I will be there for you in your dreams.
I have to go. My mother wants to use the computer. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Call me. Better yet—write me. I love the way you say things. Good night.
Good night, Romiette. Sweet dreams.
25.
Dream
Romiette washed her face and quickly slipped on her pajamas. She couldn’t stop smiling. She hurried to bed and snuggled under the covers onto the cool, soft sheets. She plumped two pillows behind her head, and hugged one in front of her. She reached up, turned off the light, said a quick thank-you to the darkness, and let herself think of Julio. How could someone she’d only known such a short time so completely fill her thoughts? He was clever, and kind, and smart, and oh, so good-looking. His eyes sparkled, his grin was infectious, and his voice—his voice was … She drifted to sleep, smiling, thinking of Julio, his voice echoing in her dreams.
They were running, fearful, in a place she had never seen. She was hot and sweating, but the air was cold. The sky was black and green with slices of bright yellow. Was that rain or blood that was pelting her, soaking
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