In the list of stories
perhaps I should not tell you... there is the one about a young girl
named Gabriela – I called her Gaby... she was fourteen... I was
seventeen...
No... I shouldn't... but
it is a story pacing those dark halls in my mind – like the
restless phantom whispers I should have let loose on Carmen... or
Veronica... seductions wrapped up in too much truth that I never
would have been able to escape the severity of it's reality... but I
did escape – didn't I... though... not with out scars.
And those un-whispered
words... they howl in madness some nights... they cry out in pain and
anger... and the anguish and regret have me turning over the
furniture... in my drunken fury... I slam chairs against the walls
and bring down the book cases like a raging angel on the day of the
slaughter... I kick in doors and smash the mirrors... I throw
computers across the room and laugh the way I would laugh if I was a
misunderstood writer abandoned by the muse... and I collapse to the
floor like those hundred little pieces of plastic and silicone that
was my laptop... all because the whispers I never whispered can not
find a home... and I refuse to let them wander the rest of the
palace of madness that is what is left of my mind...
And when I get tangled up
in the chaos of my discontented memories and the unconquered desires
of my youth... drowning in a hurricane of cheap tequila... making
bargains with vagabond spirits in the candle light for a little
inspiration to get me through the night... demons more than
enlightened celestials who would rather see me burn for all eternity
in the pits of Hell for the way I played the game – if nothing
else... but for nothing less than the love's I carelessly brushed
aside as I slipped into the shadows of another meaningless affair...
they lend no helping hand or offer any comforting words – these
cast away spirits - worthless in their own faith and so lacking in
dreams of glory that Lucifer himself has no use for them... but they
linger in my study... laughing and barking at me in the dark...
cursing me and taunting me...
But somewhere in those
howls... I hear her... somewhere down the hall... in one of those
empty rooms I here her singing – the same songs she sang all that
summer... so many summers ago... and I can smell the lotion on her
skin... and even if I catch a whiff of it these days on other young
girls... their beauty and youth do not compare to the thrills of that
summer... that summer of Gaby and the songs she sang in the heat of
1986.
It was my first summer
and my last... that summer that could not end... the one you cannot
let go... and you... my friend... know exactly what I am talking
about... I know you have a summer just like that calling out to you
too... waiting for you in the madness of your memories... It was my
first summer and my last... the only one that counts – it was the
beginning of my dreams and would greatly shape me into the man I
would become – though I was far from discovering that back then...
it was the end of the boy and the rise of the man... it was
Gabriela... and she is the reason why I ended up choosing the roads I
chose as a young man – she started the fire... she was the spark
that lit the flame... and no one has ever heard this truth until
now... but the story... is so personal and filled with unforgivable
passion... it is best left wandering in the silence... but... I won't
deny it... and... as it turns out – neither will she.
Gabriela was the
angel of temptation – the muse rising from the ruins of my rebellion... my
salvation from the storm... but... she was also the tempest... and I
wont tell you that it was love... on my part or hers... neither one
of us had any illusions of innocence about the other... nor were we
chasing it or in a rush to throw away what we had left... but neither
one of us was really sure just how much we wanted to know about the
world outside the garden... unfortunately... the world found
us.
Gabriela's family was
from the city of Chihuahua in Mexico and she was in El Paso for the
summer with her cousins. She was always with a group of people and
she would show up every where... at the pool, at the park, at the
movies... at the MacDonald's and at every house party and warehouse
party we could get into- she was there with her click of preppies...
I miss those 80's preppies – we called them “frezas” in
Spanish.
She was always snapping
photos with some camera - a Leica or a Polaroid and she was the best
dressed girl of the whole damn decade... she looked like a pop star –
the girl next door type pop star – I can't exactly recall the first
time I started noticing that she was popping up everywhere but she
had spotted me first – I was in her collection of photos before we
started chatting... she was the one that put the idea of modeling and
acting in my head – something I did pursue... but that's another
story...
That summer I had began
to hang out with a Latin crew – when I was not with my usual gang I
was with these other kids from Mexico who I went to school with that
stayed in El Paso for that summer and eventually that crew and
Gabriela's merged... funny thing is that even when I was out by
myself I would end up running into the girl - and she would be on
her own too... look, neither of us had time to waste that summer and
we hooked up quickly... don't even know how it happened... we became
a thing... I never introduced her to my regular gang – they knew
nothing about her but she of course knew who they were... because she
was everywhere that summer... and thinking about it, they had to know
who she was – she was the “it girl...” but they did not know
about her and I... (I don't think... ), but everyone on the Latin
side knew and some where not too thrilled about it... one of
Gabriela's cousins had major problems with me for whatever reason but
we never found out what and why... so we stopped caring about it...
and we carried on with this thing we had that we never defined and we
never labeled or classified and never even talked about – and when
others brought it up Gabriela and I would pretend to not know what
anyone was talking about... but really – we did not try to hide
it... what ever it was... because sometimes the moment was too much
for us, or we would be lost in it... perhaps I should just stop
there... before we get trapped in the severity of the reality of
it...
I would see her from time
to time after that summer for a few years – even after I started
dating Elsa – I would see Gabriela every where we went – we would
not speak... but would let ourselves get lost in the gaze... trying
to find an echo of that summer somewhere in the madness of this new
world we were trying to navigate through with out that Spandau Ballet
soundtrack that played in the background of our affair... or those
old friends that were there to keep us from drowning in the insanity
of that thing that - might have turned into love – had the summer
lasted just a little bit longer...
She married when she was
twenty... they are still together.
She said I could tell
that story... but knows that no-one outside of that gang... will get
it... because that summer was ours.
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