Thursday, February 26, 2015

Wanted and Unwanted Memories

For the first time in nearly 70 years, Ángel looked out of his window when he woke up.  The clear blue light of midmorning washed over him, painting him in a soft, flattering light.  Ángel had slept in through his alarm, he realized.  He quickly got dressed and made his way down the street.  New Hope was giving haircuts in exchange for donations, and the fundraiser was expected to be the largest of the year.  Ángel needed to attend.

Across the street from Ángel, a young woman gazed into the fountain, her hair floating on the breeze.

Ángel stopped.  He knew this woman.  He had seen her before.  The creaky cogs in his mind began turning, slowly searching his vast vaults for some connection.  Suddenly, he realized.  Hazel.  She had grown up at New Hope, playing and laughing and eating for nearly 10 years before Ángel’s eyes.  Another piece clicked into place.  She had been in the Home just a few days before, and he had caught a glimpse of her just as she turned a corner.  How stupid of him to not even think of it at the time.  Why had he never talked to her?

Ángel approached the woman to see if she might remember him, and there was suddenly a deafening screech of tires.  A blue bomber swooped low over Ángel, dropping its cargo over the Popular Front troops.  There was a smattering of gunfire and Ángel heard the scream of a man as the ground exploded next to him.  A dismembered body fell out of the sky onto Ángel, and he caved under the weight.

Ángel returned to the present and found himself kneeling on the sidewalk.  Once the noise had lowered to the excited hum of onlookers’ conversations, Ángel looked up and tried to process the scene.  It from people’s conversations, he gathered that a blue Subaru had come careening around the corner toward Hazel.  A young man had ducked in to push her out of the way, but had pushed her into Ángel.  She glanced off of him and went tumbling into a sinkhole in the middle of the road, where she was lying presently.

Ángel had not come for this.  He left and quickly ducked into O’Harley’s to recover.  The smoky room served to obscure his thoughts and dull his senses.  Ángel sat down next to a young man and ordered a whiskey.  The young man was inebriated and apoplectic about the rates on student loans.  He began to yell, and Ángel was overwhelmed by the noise.  He left the bar without even looking at his drink.


  1. Instead of becoming a bullfighter like your father, you joined the Spanish Popular Front and attempted suicide in 1939. Now, you work at New Hope Children's Home. Some major conflicts you are involved with are the police suspecting you of being involved in a narcotics ring, talking to Lane at the bar, and seeing Hazel on the street. Your motivation, in my eyes, is your relationship with death-- both your post-suicide sentiments and your current fear of the death of your physical body. Finally, your connections to the blog are numerous, and the main ones I found were your character interactions, inclusion of the blue subaru, mention of flying, and the police scene.

  2. This comment has been removed by the author.

  3. I love this passage: "They, the children and their hair, were all part of the great tragedy of life. Ángel had separated himself from the great tragedy of life. He had also separated himself from his hair. He was happy." The relationship between children and hair and the tragedy of life feels both important and very funny.

  4. Your relationship with the bar/alcohol confuses me. You always find yourself there, drinking whiskey. Is there something more there, or are the curtains just blue? Maybe you explained it, but I missed it. Awesome blog.

  5. Dream: You have a war dream that brings some sort of clarity and helps you get over your PTSD.
    Prophecy: You will be the cause of the death of a child.
    Improvement: You may have already had this in mind but talk more about your relationship with your father. I would like to no more about if he had something to do with you being drawn to the SPF.