SoMa Literary Review

At Night

By Camincha

What's her secret? Dora asked herself, again, observing her friend in the bright San Bruno sunlight pouring into the dinette as they enjoyed a moment of coffee and conversation. What intrigued her were the dancing partners she got, young ones, very, very young. What's her secret? They went out together, to singles dances. Lunch. Single's get-togethers. Two Latinas, we take care of each other, Angustias liked to say.

Dora was fond of Angustias, in spite of the rosary of ambiguous phrases she always recited in sets of three in Spanish and English: What a life, no? What a life, no? What a life, no? ¿Qué vida, no? and What are we going to do with this life? ¿Qué vamos a hacer con esta vida? and There is nothing we can do, right? No hay nada que podamos hacer, ¿verdad? and No use, then. No hay remedio, entonces. The rosary was never ending.

Yet, Dora liked her. Angustias had a laugh that erased the effect of her phrases with one long sonorous outburst. Fluent in Spanish. Lived nearby, big pluses that made it easy to keep up their friendship. And she enjoyed dancing!

That Saturday, summer afternoon the bright sun of San Bruno had warmed up the tiny dinette. The two women were savoring their coffee, surrounded by its hazelnut aroma and the strong, pungent fragrance of jalapeño cheese that filled the quesadillas and the bacon fat Angustias had coated the skillet with. To make them more sabrosas, she laughed. And they were tasty. Enjoying the moment, they were going over their lives as single women. Angustias’ divorce was only three years old. She had being married for thirty years. And she had a lot to learn.

Thirty years down the drain! Angustias exclaimed, again, with emphasis, telling Dora how low she felt. I know I had to. But, its the pits being "alone." You know!

Dora softly, It will change, will get better, you’ll make friends. Get a boyfriend. Smiling mischievously, two?

Paying her no attention, Angustias went on, I need a man to make decisions for me, to solve my problems. I can't go on alone. But I'm also afraid. No. Terrified, of intimacy, a new relationship. You know! She underlined it all with a deep sigh and shaking her abundant, stylish, glossy mane recited, What are we going to do with this life? Three times. In English and Spanish.

Dora thought, first of all, she should always remember, why? she had to get a divorce: Her husband's abuse, physical and psychological of her and their sons. But instead of reminding her opted for listening. Besides, trying to give her advice had been a waste of time. At moments like this all that was left was to listen to her sigh and repeat her ambiguous phrases. On impulse, she leaned over and took her friend's hand. Come on. It's done. You have your whole life ahead of you, to enjoy, to live well. It'll be alright. It'll all work out. And we are going dancing tonight. Yes!

What a life, no? was Angustias answer.

Stupid question. Beginning to lose patience, Dora smiled. Well, only one, at least for now. She braced herself for the rest. And reminded herself of the times that she had presented a counter attack with industrial doses of Positive Thinking, without results. Angustias——the name suits her——had only become more anguished. Some of the lines on her face had become deep furrows. Specially...And that was the other side of the coin. The other side of Angustias, her furrows. Those deep furrows. Like the one that run on the right side of her mouth to the edge of her chin. It was obscene. It looked like a scar, like a seam badly sewn. Like the surgeon got mad and placed a few stitches in bad faith or had to add thread halfway through too many times and made too many knots.

And those very prominent knots, were what Angus- tias——after Dora left——saw reflected in the bathroom mirror where she went looking for an aspirin because she also felt knots in her stomach and between her shoulder blades. Their conversation had brought to the present thoughts she hadn't had in a long time: She had been only sixteen when her father's friend and associate had taking an interest in her. Her father, who was at a loss at the sight of her: Not pleased at all with his only daughter, the child who had become a woman overnight. Whose new appearance made him deeply uncomfortable. Had taken to criticize her constant- ly, You laugh too much. Change, that is inappropriate. Stop that cackling.

Angustias walked to her bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed started to cry. Sat down with her head in her hands and sobbed: He sold me. He gave me in marriage to a man just like him, cruel, greedy while they solidified their fortunes. For what? So I'll end up in this tiny two bedroom house, working as sales clerk in Macys, after thirty years of hell. ¿Qué vida, no? ¿Qué vida, no? ¿Qué vida, no? She said to herself.

SO THAT NIGHT, at the Elks Club in San Mateo, Dora looked for Angustias soon as she arrived. Had decided to meet there instead of sharing the ride. Something about working schedules not coinciding.

Doea surveyed the crowd. It was festive. Everyone dressed up. The women had had their hair done. Wore the latest fashions. Make up. High heels. Nylons. The men, some in coat and tie. Many had opted for a more casual look of sport shirt and cardigan with carefully creased slacks. Cigarette smoke mixed pleasantly with scents of different colognes and perfumes. The music had a seductive rhythm. Dora began to relax and found the smile she had lost to the day's problems. It also helped she concluded, the dim, half lights. The semi darkness of the dancing hall that filtered, softened visual shocks. Baldness could hardly be detected nor wrinkles in complexions faded by bitterness and disappoint- ments, it trimmed the fat ones who made their lives palatable with the only satisfaction they had left. True. The illusion didn't last, but it did make the time the dance lasted, hours of easy flattery, recreation, hope. Sometimes, even romance.

Someone took her hand and Dora was gently pulled into the dance floor by a guy with twinkling eyes and a bright smile. She liked him right away.

I'm looking for my girlfriend. She shared.

If you want to, we can go looking for her. He said gallantly.

No, she smiled. Maybe later.

From a distance she thought she saw her. No. It couldn't be. That woman was about twenty. Only a coincidence. Dora concentrated on dancing, on her partner. And suddenly in one of those turns with all the whirling around she came face to face with the young woman. It was Angustias! She was dancing in the arms of a very, very young, good looking and well build guy. What's her secret?

The women hugged and kissed on both cheeks, introduced their partners. Great music, Angustias laughed.

Ah! that laughter. Dora watched amazed, at how different Angustias looked. For when she laughed in that carefree manner, traces of the beauty she had been showed up again. Her eyes shown like burning coals and when she shook her abundant, stylish, glossy mane. It could be appreciated, her hair of a good haircut. Shiny. Shoulder length. Lose. And stylish, And her dancing! Danced better than many. Her lips and eyes smiling. Her body nimble denying those ambiguous comments of hers. Dancing transformed her. She became a young woman happy and flirtatious.

A FEW WEEKS later, another night, another dance, again in the semi darkness of the dim lights, Dora marveled, this time at Pat, a mutual friend. Pat had lost thirty pounds and she was seeing her for the first time. And just like Angustias had told her, Pat's skin was smooth, no wrinkles. Amazing!

During the next afternoon of coffee and conversa- tion Dora, tired of Angustias' little phrases. Her rosary that day was never ending, What a life, no? What are we going to do with this life? And, There is no remedy, right? So to change the conversation, she burst out: Doesn’t Pat look wonderful? Her skin, like a twenty year old, so smooth in spite of losing all that weight.

Dora, You're so kind to your friends. You also confused me with someone else the night of the Elks Club dance! Don't you know? At night, we all look twenty? And Angustias’s laughter filled the room. And she laughed. And she laughed. And she laughed.

Also by Camincha on SoMa Literary Review :

Warmbodies: Yolanda, Man in the Shadows, Paradise Is Where You Find It, Daydreams, I Don't Write Anymore, What You Don’t Know Can Hurt You, Blue Eyes, I Love This Dress, Blank Pages, Warmbodies, Suburbia, Hope and Justice, The Sorcerer & Pussy cat, pussy cat

Camincha is originally from Miraflores, Lima, Perú. Today she lives in Pacifica and is the author of the novella As Time Goes By.