Carlita

© 2002 Sandra Jean-Pierre

We’re supposed to be running away together. Away to the American dream of a house in the ‘burbs, successful work, a large yard, SUV and three gorgeous kids: an African-American boy with twists in his hair, a curly, red-headed Caucasian girl and an Asian girl with long, straight black hair. It would be us – the Bonnie and Bonnie version of Bonnie and Clyde.But she wasn’t here now, a quarter past three and she told me she would be here…if we are going to be making any kind of good timing she better get here soon… maybe she got caught in traffic.

We weren’t really going to be doing all those Bonnie and Clyde stunts, you know, like robbing banks and shooting people and stuff. No, we were just going to be ditching this piece of shit town and heading to some place, any place that wasn’t shoving religion down your throat and expecting you not to gag. I told Carlita we should head west and maybe stop off at Louisiana for a bit and then maybe New Mexico or if we were feeling especially lucky, maybe Vegas with the bright lights and gambling. But if we are going to be getting anywhere at any time… she should be here…I don’t want that 4pm traffic catching us.

Sometimes she gets scared like that, you know, where she gets so scared she freezes? I told her it would be fine; I’ll be there for us, like when her boyfriend Pablo found out we were fucking and he lost it. Couldn’t believe she was fucking a girl, much less me, una Negra. He beat her so bad, I had to take leave from the factory for two weeks to take care of her. He said he hoped we both fell off a cliff and died. I told him to choke on one of those Cuban cigars he stuffs in his mouth so much. Bastard!

We were cool, Carlita and me. I went back to work at the factory and she got on at the hotel doing the linens. We weren’t making much but at least we had a decent place to stay and food to eat and we could pay most of our bills. I didn’t mind that we couldn’t go out and do stuff but staying home was always better to me anyway. I got to show her what caring is really supposed to be like. I’d come home in the middle of the day and put some cube steak in the crock-pot, you know with potatoes and celery and carrots and seasonings, like a stew and some rice in the habatchi. I’d swing by her work and be waiting for her. We’d take our time going home, you know, to give her time to unwind and when she walked through the door, she would smell the food simmering and by the time she took her shower and changed, dinner would be served on the table. She always cried when we were doing the dishes, said Pablo never did these things for her. I would smile this goofy grin she always liked and hold her close to me with soapy hands, greasy shirt and all.

She’d be so tired though, ‘cause by the time I would be done with my shower she’d be asleep and most nights I would just hold her close to me but sometimes I would run my hands under her night shirt and stroke the soft hairs of her cunny. Sometimes she would squeeze her eyes shut and sometimes she would turn over and kiss me. When she turned over, I’d give her this sigh and pull her to me. I’d kiss her neck and shoulder and reach my hands under her shirt and pull it off. She’d look scared and I’d have to tell her things to let her know I wasn’t gonna do anything she didn’t want. I wasn’t gonna make it hurt, what was the point of that? I’d feel her thighs slide open and her hands reach around and hold my neck. I’d take my hands and hold both her boobs in them and just touch. She was always so full and soft and warm – it made me crazy! Sometimes she would reach around for me but mostly I would pin her open and taste her wetness and the hardness of her center. Slow, slow, I’d slide my tongue as far inside her as I could and I would hum. She thought that was funny but it always made her cum and she would always cry after. Always a smiling kind of crying that made my heart ache and tears well up in my own eyes.

After the first few times, she would be gone a few days. Just up one morning and she’d be gone. No note, nothing. She’d come back and I’d ask her where’d she’d been and what was going on but she would always wave me away. So I stopped asking and I’d just start making love to her more and more and different and different hoping she would like it enough to stay. She didn’t have to mention where she’d gone, I could smell Pablo and his cigars on and in her.But she said it was a moment of weakness, that he was trying to wear her down. But it couldn’t have been just one moment cause she got pregnant twice and had an abortion twice. I told her it would be all right, that we could be a family and take care of the baby but all she kept on doing was crying and all I kept on doing was hoping she would have the courage to leave him, for good.

Has anyone seen Carlita?! We were supposed to be running away together… away to live the Lesbian-American dream. It’s after six and driving at night is not always the best ‘cause I never got those glasses and these damn tears keep blinding me. Has anyone seen Carlita?!