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Blogs by Joseph W. Montaperto
SADNESS 6/16/2023 10:00:01 PM
Joey begins the breathtaking journey to Tijeras de Oro to Show Esperanza the monument of love he has created for her!! SADNESS
The next day I have off from The Fox Hole, thank God. I’ve already decided that I’m going up to see Esperanza after school, no matter what, and whatever happens, happens. Fuck it. I hop on that bus with a mission. Farting, burping, the whole mess, people gawking at me, making disgusted faces. I don’t care. I have two Polaroid pictures of the mural that I had snapped with my mother’s camera the night, or morning actually, that we finished it, nestled securely in my pocket. I want Esperanza to see what I’ve done for her, the tribute of my love to her. She’s just gonna have to forgive me for inadvertently breaking our date a while back. There’s nothing I can do about the past. I hesitate timidly at the front window of the shop, as usual, trying to summon up the guts to go in, and do this thing. There she is at her chair, cutting hair, her back to me, this time clad in her winter garb. She displays no skin for the first time since I had initially seen her, but still, she’s unbelievably hot! Maybe even more so now. Off-white angora sweater, black leggings or tights (I don’t know which), and kick-ass ankle-length, high-heeled boots. Stop drooling, asshole.
I skip inside, with apparently nobody noticing me. They’re all busy with their customers, and the meringue beat seems to be playing extra loud.
I ease my way into one of the chairs, waiting for her to turn around, both anxious and dreading what her reaction might be. Oh no! Oh shit! Not again. I can’t f***ing believe it. That look again. That same look as the other time I came up here, when she was on the phone and walked out. Her eye is drooping, the energy gone. Anger and resentment flash through me. She looks right through me, right over me, glazed, with no sign of cognizance.
It reminds me - painfully - that this is the look that started me off on this whole campaign to ‘prove’ myself to her. The whole reason I even get the job at The Fox Hole, risked my ass to paint the mural, practically the total reason I’ve done everything I did. Maybe to prove to her, in some subconscious way, that I could rescue her. Or maybe rescue myself. My first impulse is to just get up, and walk out right now. Another impulse is to scream at her. I suppress both. Who am I to say anything to her, anyway? A warm stream of sympathy, of empathy, suddenly melts into my heart, but still…I finally get up and go over to her chair.
“Hi, Esperanza…um - remember me?” I ask in my most hopeful, animated, and somewhat sarcastic tone
