christopher de la Torre

I wish you could feel what I felt just then. Just now. It came and went. Like an afternoon shower. Like love. It was grand, a confidence, my feet lifted from the ground on 8th Avenue, sun shining so hard the sluggish walkers looked beautiful. And at the triangle park, catching a breeze so fine it carried the fragrance of flowers, the homeless no longer saddened me.

Nes, I’m wearing the green shorts you gave me. They look sharp, hip with my white Adidas and polo. I knew it might take a while to take them out. It takes a while, sometimes, for new things to fit, to feel comfortable and easy to wear, to compliment my state of mind.

There were two homeless guys fighting in the park, one resembled Prince. Violent movements with members flying and heads, however benign we all knew; they never touched, but with thrown word in either direction. Reminds me of arguments and swollen eyes, reverting back to what’s comfortable, what fits… for the moment we were straining our veins, refusing to be homeless, to pick up and leave, to be left alone. I have a bag full of clothes stuck in my trunk, full of clothes for goodwill.

I love him. And I’m ready to move on.

Dad, I’m feeling like a classic. Like an old Cuban, a khaki-colored linen button-down or ‘57 Chevy, or bossa nova when I was 18. A seasoned harmonica. A sailboat catching a descending wind from mountains above. A wind instrument in the basement.

These are connections, sacred. Human husks around me. Family. Fill in the space, occupy the space when I am gone. They buffer the expanse between us.

I don’t think I’ll ever like pigeons.

I’m still embarrassed to leave my wallet out face up on the counter, Virginia license gleaming. I can’t imagine ever living anywhere but here. Like my loyalty was misplaced while I was gone. Like I’m a traitor. Like there’s always some default, something to defend against. An. Adversary. I wonder if there will ever be a boiling point. A time when exodus is inevitable.

Will I ever find me? Who is that hopeless hick over there with the Virginia license? I wonder. I was born in Brooklyn.