Part 51
Joyfully she walked me into the forrest, befriended me to the trees, and left me to die.
The years I spent in Colombia, my young heart enslaved, yet she had fangs, y yo con dientes de leche.
I loved the proper Colombian social moves from afar, because up close I had more in common with Lucho, el lava perros, and their housekeepers.
I was now a fish out of water again, but for different reasons.
In Miami I was a Marielito, spoken of in hush tones, as a second class citizen, by my own people.
In Bogotá, I was this coño, carajo, cubanito, that didn't fit into the country club culture.
We romanced, the sex was good, as young sex can be.
I loved her so, she carved a canyon in me.
The issue in Latin America, and Colombias Achilles heel, is their social cast system. These sobrinos of El Gabo, resent their station in life, they believe in the pursuit of blue bloods.
I who had arrived in Miami with two dusty dimes, my aunt had rescued from the top of my grandparents escaparate, was not the kind of dna mixup, these elitist mountain dwellers had in mind.
I still remember the day the promise ring slipped out of my hands, and landed on the floor. Alone in a sea of metal and stone the ring on the floor was an ominous sign, summer came and with it my love tragically banished.
I had no chance with this onyx haired goddess. Now looking back on it, I blame her less, I too would have chosen better than me.
She broke my heart, in a forever broken way.
The luster that would have made her, social climbing amazonian friends salivate, was at her feet, yet she was in bed with me.
Exhausted we caved into each other, the stickiness of sex wrapped us up in a cocoon, we where one for the next eight hours.
To be continued.
