“Friends, yes,” she watched as a strange look fell on Columba’s face.
“And I am always in your debt,” Iyala offered. “Just tellme what you wish, and I will provide it.”
“I…want a portrait.” Columba still could not seem to meet Iyala’s eyes.
“Always, Lady,” she bowed. “Your beauty knows no bounds. It is easy to capture your beauty…”
“A self-portrait,” she quickly interjected.
“Lady?” Iyala squeaked.
“O—ver…Over my bed.”
“You want me to paint a mural of you over your bed?” she repeated, confused.
Columba shook her head. “Of you.” She seemed to be steeling herself up to say something. “So that the first thing I see when I wake up is you.”
Iyala watched in wonder as Columba interlaced her fingers in her own, her pale, gold-tipped nails interlacing with her paint-stained hands.
“For as long as I have sunrises, I want to wake up and see you.” Once she finished speaking, Columba turned away, her courage faltering. “If—if you’ll have me.”
Iyala brought Columba’s fingers up to her lips and kissed them with reverence. “Then I will paint you suns. A thousand suns, a thousand sunrises. And every day, a sunrise together. As many as you want, my dove. For as long as you’ll have me.”
And, fingers still locked, Iyala followed Columba out of thetablinumtowards the bedroom.
The Hideaway (Stay with Me) by K.V. Monell
Alma, 1975, Puerto Rico
Despite this date with Vicé being weeks in the making, I didn’t think to bring a pair ofchanclaswith me in my school bag. That would have been too easy, I suppose. I remove the penny loafer hourglasses from my feet, tip them over and watch the sand fall, as I give in to the cool evening sand on the beach. I take off my bobby socks, and the sand embraces my feet. Freedom. As the sand slides between my toes, I wiggle them to acclimate myself to the grit. I march as fast as I can through the sand to get to Vicé. Partly because I am excited to see her, but partly, in a strange way, I feel as though I am running to our safe place to escape the hawk eyes of the Doñas, and Mami’s bloodshot eyes burning a hole through the back of my head. The swish and crunch of each step mimics my pounding heart. Red, and pinkmariposascrash into each other, and into the walls of my stomach.
When I arrive at our secluded spot, and see Vicé’s face, everything stops. The waves cease to crash. The seagulls go silent. My heart slows down. My breathing slows from the huffing and puffing, trudging through sand, and I am able to catch it. Themariposasin my stomach rest. I feel my face stretch into a smile, showing the gap between my teeth. The corners of my smile touch each of my warm, pink cheeks, making them pinker.
Vicé’s eyes soften, and she returns my smile. At her outstretched hand, I enter her magnetic embrace. As I lean into her, I can hear her heart beating. I feel my heart syncing up with hers, as we both watch the waves lap against the shore.
“Hi,” Vicé says quietly to me, like a prayer.
“Hi,” I say back, like an amen.
The waves make themselves known once again, againstthe shore. The warmth of the setting sun awakens the sounds of the beach, adding themselves to the hum of breath and beating hearts between us. We fit into each other; Vicé straddling me, as I lay against her warm body, her arms fasten me to her, around my chest. I hold on to her strong, lean arms, and in that moment, I am exactly where I want to be. Where I need to be.
“This feels like a dream,” Vicé says on a deep, calming exhale.
Everything inside of me agrees. I shift my weight and feel something sticking out of her pocket.
“Vicé, what is that?”
“Oh, nothing,” Vicé says with a little shift in position.
I grab some of her soft, amaretto skin, and gave it a pinch. I feel Vicé softly recoil behind me.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“To see if you still felt like you were dreaming,” I said, grinning playfully.
Vicé’s smile unravels her face into a lovesick grin. “Absolutely,” she says.
“What makes you feel that way?” I turn my head upwards to try and catch some of her face as she responds.
