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The Blonde
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by Rocio
Part I: The Meet
I first encountered the beautiful young woman at the bar on a Friday night. I walked in and immediately noticed her, no one else in the room mattered, no one else existed. I had just experienced love at first sight; from now one she will be my entire life.
I stare at her from across the room, she is sophisticated, educated, pure, and mesmerizingly beautiful. I am way out of my league, and I know it, but I go for it anyways.
Everything about her draws me in. Her silky long blonde hair resembles the light color of an Acapulco beach, smooth, transcendent, and all I want to do is sink my hands in and get lost in the warmth of her sand. Her smell, that sweet smell of freedom that she promises, freedom I long for, freedom I desire and need. Her long, lanky legs remind me of the agricultural rows from the farmlands back home. They are perfectly straight, my eyes travel for miles trying to find the end, but the end to those beautiful legs is not in sight. Her eyes are caramel, with the ability to teleport me through time. I see New York’s statue of liberty, and immediately find myself in awe of the Golden Gate Bridge only to blink and find myself staring down at the depths of the Grand Canyon.
My feet have turned into blocks of solid lead as I attempt to approach her. My insecurities battle with me as they momentarily hold me back. I wonder whether she notices my lack of muscle, and whether she questions my manhood. The dark brown shade of my skin act like a date stamp, proof that I spent countless hours in the field. My callous hands are a tell that I am not a businessman, but instead, that I take care of business. I have hazel eyes with sprinkles of gold scattered throughout. Through them I have seen the injustice of poverty play its toll on my neighbors as they wait in line at the tortilla factory. I have seen the cruelty of social justice, and the disappointment look that spreads through our sorrow faces as we discuss politics. These insecurities are monsters that make constant appearances in my dreams, but today, like all the other days, I fight them off, determined to move forward.
As I march towards her, determined to make her mine, I forget to look back. The long, tiring journey ahead of me doesn’t discourage me because I painfully take my fist step. I leave my friends behind at the door, not explaining to them what my plan is, not even saying goodbye. My eyes are locked in on hers, the game plan hasn’t really been thought out, but I am clear that the goal is to impress the dangerous predator I approach.
Part II: Dating
I find myself on the dance floor with her. The disco ball adds to my excitement, and the strobe light in the corner of the club is matching the pace of my racing heartbeat. We are dancing, she takes a step left and I take a step right. I struggle and hesitate to match my rhythm to hers as it becomes apparent that she is the one leading in this dance. I let her take control because defying her will only spark a fight, and right now, all I want to do is seize the moment.
My smile expands from coast to coast as I look at her sashaying in front of me on the dance floor. She is my precious blue diamond, rare, raw, a true gift from nature. Her beauty and flaws light up my world. The envy of others around the club is obvious as they stare her down like hungry dogs. I don’t mind, because I blissfully smile their way at the end of the night when I surrender my hand to hers and walk home.
The smell of lavender greets me as we walk into the apartment. Picture frames in the living room remind me of the great moments that I have shared with her over the past two years. I sink into the off white couch in our living room as she heads to the bedroom and gets ready for bed.
As she walks away I become suddenly aware of how unconditionally in love I am with her. She has made me a better person. I go to school and have three jobs in hopes of providing a better future for her. She has given me the motivation, and inspiration to make me strive for my dreams. I make compromises with her everyday as we both learn to live together. I have faded my accent away in order to blend into her world and traded tamales for turkey at Thanksgiving. I work double shifts and come home to take her out dancing because I am a sucker for her smile. She has introduced me to love, made me a better person, and pushed me to be better. I owe her my life.
Part III: The Battle
I come home from work, my arms feel like they are going to fall off and I am certain that my feet have developed new blisters. I melt into the couch because the bedroom is too far for me to reach. It’s six a clock and she will be home soon, I am thinking Chinese takeout for dinner tonight because I am too tired to cook. I hear the sound of keys in the hallway and know that she has come home. She walks in with a rosy nose, chapped lips, and swollen eyelids.
“Is it true?!” she says demandingly.
“Let me explain….”
“Explain that you are a criminal?
You’ve been lying to me all this time!”
“I didn’t want to lose you.”
“You just did.”
She walks out the door. Her dismissiveness burn inside of me, the pain is unbearable. She always gave it to me straight, not being careful of my fragility.
My mind is sprinting. Was I born inferior? Is my destiny tainted? Tainted because I was incidentally born on the wrong side of the boarder? I always believed that one had to prepare for anything or end up with nothing, and now America is gone. Since I first encountered America I had convinced myself that nothing but perfection in everything I did could encounter my fundamental imperfection of being born undocumented.
To America I am just one man in the world, but to me, America is my world. I am not ready to let America slip away with my dreams, I open the door, and run after her.
