Friday, January 19, 2007

Boots of Spanish Leather

I think it was last month, when I overheard my manager from Venezuela tell my other manager, that the reason why he came to this country wasn't because he wanted to fulfill some type of American dream, or because of the job opportunity, but because he needed a break from his girlfriend, who stayed back in Latin America and is still waiting for him.

And I feel bad for the poor Penelope, because she must be receiving no answers to her letters that beg for a response- letters that travel over the sea and that keep haunting my manager's sleep. So I discovered that my manager from Venezuela is here, partly because he got a job as my manager, and partly because he got scared of a woman he did not know how to, formally, break up with.

And I think it was last week, when my Mom who is in Argentina right now, called me on the phone telling me that she would stay a few more weeks in Buenos Ayres and that I “should not worry about her, or about the exact time of her arrival”. But how can I not? I remember that, three years ago, my mother traveled to Mexico and left me, my sister and my Dad clueless about her trace and about the time she would return. And I remember my Dad half-joking and half-being serious about how, maybe, Mom had “ran away with Pancho Villa” and would not come back.

So the moral of this stupid entry is that, not only do people drive away, or swim away, or fly away from other people after deciding that things will not work out between them, but that people can also desert other people without a previous warning and without, even, a single


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