He thinks about that, of playing in the plaza, Imelda passing him in the street. He thinks of the way she'd look at him, like she really saw him in a way no one else did, past the torn clothes, past that the music, at him. He thinks of climbing over her the high gated wall around her garden, crashing into the bush, much to her absolute bewilderment and exasperation. He thinks of watching her with her brothers and her family out and about, noting that the pang of jealousy he often felt observing families was dimmed a little by the fondness he saw in her and then felt mirrored in his heart. He thinks of the times when she got swept up in the antics between him and his old friend, and the time it was just them, here, at the school. That time when they were going to take on the world and fate and everything else, just them alone. He thinks of playing just for her and of the dances he wanted but never got to have. He thinks of her, long braid trailed down her back, standing straight, and past the expression that others would misinterpret as being cold, that hint of a smile. In his mind, that smile spreads across her face as she looks at him. Then, as she always had to do, she turns around and walks away, fading into the background of his home that he was always pulled from, that never really wanted him, but he came back to all the same. Because she was there.
"Yeah. Doesn't change anything," He says, and his voice and expression are far off for a moment. It's the only thing sparing Cliff from having that bit of pink noticed. The song he never finished settles in his mind. He should ask his older self if they ever finished it.
Then before, he's too lost and Cliff gets tired of waiting, he snatches out three different gummy worms. He pops two in his mouth, then holds the other one above his lip like a mustache. He shows that off and eats that one too.
"Not as good as Tía's chapulines, but much better for making mustaches with," He declares.
no subject
He thinks about that, of playing in the plaza, Imelda passing him in the street. He thinks of the way she'd look at him, like she really saw him in a way no one else did, past the torn clothes, past that the music, at him. He thinks of climbing over her the high gated wall around her garden, crashing into the bush, much to her absolute bewilderment and exasperation. He thinks of watching her with her brothers and her family out and about, noting that the pang of jealousy he often felt observing families was dimmed a little by the fondness he saw in her and then felt mirrored in his heart. He thinks of the times when she got swept up in the antics between him and his old friend, and the time it was just them, here, at the school. That time when they were going to take on the world and fate and everything else, just them alone. He thinks of playing just for her and of the dances he wanted but never got to have. He thinks of her, long braid trailed down her back, standing straight, and past the expression that others would misinterpret as being cold, that hint of a smile. In his mind, that smile spreads across her face as she looks at him. Then, as she always had to do, she turns around and walks away, fading into the background of his home that he was always pulled from, that never really wanted him, but he came back to all the same. Because she was there.
"Yeah. Doesn't change anything," He says, and his voice and expression are far off for a moment. It's the only thing sparing Cliff from having that bit of pink noticed. The song he never finished settles in his mind. He should ask his older self if they ever finished it.
Then before, he's too lost and Cliff gets tired of waiting, he snatches out three different gummy worms. He pops two in his mouth, then holds the other one above his lip like a mustache. He shows that off and eats that one too.
"Not as good as Tía's chapulines, but much better for making mustaches with," He declares.