Mexico Journal: July 1, 2010

In the languid heat of the late Xalapa afternoon I awaken with a start. I struggle through the torpor, smell the air. No, the frijoles have not burned. I close my eyes and listen hard to their bubbling boil. I lay back into the mattress on the floor of Elissa's house and think how it would be nice to have a lover here, right now. But then I think, nah, too hot. But I close my eyes and envision him anyway. His shape shifts, my languorous desire is multi-form, ubiquitous, expanding. It belongs to nobody but the heat of the afternoon and my resting body.

San Juana and I roamed the city center today. She shopped and I watched. She purchased and I snapped photo details. We walked up and down the Callejón del diamante where the hippie artisans gather. I asked probing questions about their materials so she could innocently demonstrate her interest. She befriended a boy who took her to the supply store and he gave her a lesson. I wandered alone for a while. Not far. I peered in at the government buildings being converted, temporarily, into voting stations, ready for the (dubious) July 4 elections. I smiled at the world. Today was a good day.

In the morning we slept in. Then we made breakfast with Elissa: lentils with curry and mango, eggs with potatoes, onion and veggies. Last night Elissa and I talked late into the night. We wept together, we shared stories. One day, I tell myself, one day we will be healed. The world will be healed.

In the meantime I simply repurpose food. And I feel pleased with myself. San Juana and I stopped at the Thursday market. We bought flowers for Elissa. I remember when things were so hard for me and Kirsten would cook me a meal, bring me flowers to brighten my day. I am simply returning the favor to another friend. A brave, strong woman whose work I knew before I met her.

We buy fresh pineapple dripping with juice, peppers, cilantro, avocado, green tomatoes in their husks, onion, mamey. I come home and am industrious, enjoying a kitchen at my disposal with all the necessary accoutrements. I boil the black beans, left soaking since the morning, with onion, garlic and chile. I roast the green tomatoes and chile for a salsa verde. I disinfect the cilantro, I chop tomatoes, onion and chile and more for the beans. I set aside the ingredients for guacamole: ripe avocado, onion, garlic, tomato, chile, cilantro, lemon. I prepare the veggies to mix with the jamaica flower for the guiso. And I wear myself out.

That's why I nap. My back hurts and I want someone's hands digging into my unyielding muscles. I feel him, close to me, though I have taken my leave, though I know he reviles my lazy afternoon naps. I close my eyes in the shadow for a few more minutes before I get back up again to dirty my hands.