La Bestia and Other Stories
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University of New Orleans ScholarWorks@UNO University of New Orleans Theses and Dissertations Dissertations and Theses Summer 8-4-2011 La Bestia and Other Stories Jessica Viada University of New Orleans, [email protected] Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.uno.edu/td Part of the Other Arts and Humanities Commons Recommended Citation Viada, Jessica, "La Bestia and Other Stories" (2011). University of New Orleans Theses and Dissertations. 344. https://scholarworks.uno.edu/td/344 This Thesis-Restricted is protected by copyright and/or related rights. It has been brought to you by ScholarWorks@UNO with permission from the rights-holder(s). You are free to use this Thesis-Restricted in any way that is permitted by the copyright and related rights legislation that applies to your use. 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La Bestia and Other Stories A Thesis Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of the University of New Orleans in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts in Film, Theatre and Communication Arts Creative Writing by Jessica Viada B.A. Boston College, 2003 August, 2011 Acknowledgement To my writing instructors at the University of New Orleans: Rick Barton, Joanna Leake, Amanda and Joseph Boyden, Bill Loehfelm, and Randy Bates; thank you not only for your patience in teaching me how to craft a story, but also for believing in the work I created and supporting my vision. Thank you for opening your doors to me; I most certainly would not be the writer I am today without you. Thank you also to my peers for years of helpful feedback and critiques and for getting through to me over beers at Parkview when I was too stubborn to listen during class. To Jamie Amos and April Blevins: you will always be mis hermanas escritoras. To Cielo Castro, my number one homie, thanks for getting me to apply to graduate school. And of course to my mother and father, thank you for always believing in me and for being right more often than I care to admit. ii Table of Contents Abstract .............................................................................................................................. iv I. Real ...................................................................................................................................1 The Surf Lesson ...............................................................................................................2 Malt Shop Love..............................................................................................................20 Citronella........................................................................................................................23 Housekeeping .................................................................................................................33 Fire Season .....................................................................................................................38 The Fruit Vendor............................................................................................................57 The View from Monteverde...........................................................................................63 II. Real................................................................................................................................75 The Mason Jar ................................................................................................................76 Seven Lemons ................................................................................................................86 Totti ................................................................................................................................87 Divine Intervention ........................................................................................................98 Liminal Butterflies .........................................................................................................99 Conduction Anesthesia ................................................................................................114 La Bestia ......................................................................................................................115 Vita ...................................................................................................................................127 iii Abstract The following collection of short stories explores the notion of being caught between two worlds, of straddling physical, emotional, linguistic and metaphorical borders. I have chosen these characters in order to give voice to those who are often voiceless. The collection has been divided in two parts in order to challenge ideas of what is “real.” I argue that the emotional truth of a story is paramount, and this reality can sometimes be best achieved through unconventional means. Fiction, Latino literature, borders, border lands, symbolism, realism, speculative fiction, short stories, urban. iv I. Real 1 The Surf Lesson Goddamn, surfing‟s no joke. For the second time this morning, Marisol Reyes falls against the slick shore of Blackie‟s beach rubbing saltwater from her eyes and gasping for breath, her lungs straining to swallow as much of the air around her as possible. She‟s always making life harder than it has to be. She should be sleeping away the mornings of her summer vacation instead of choking to death; she doesn‟t have to work until two. But then she thinks of her mother spending her own days off in front of the T.V. watching novelas in her piyamas and clucking her tongue absently at the screen, too exhausted from keeping other people‟s houses to keep her own. Marisol will risk a hundred wipeouts before she ends up that way. The plastic leash linking Makai‟s longboard to the Velcro strap around her ankle tenses as the tide ebbs and threatens to drag Marisol back out and under. No jodás, not again. She claws her fingers deep into the wet sand. The leash goes slack, and Marisol rolls on her back, still coughing, to find Makai standing above her with the longboard tucked under one arm. The water dripping from his shaggy hair gleams like quicksilver in the pink sunlight. “You okay?” he asks. She sits up and forces a giggle. “I‟m fine. Let‟s go again.” “You sure? You look toe up, girl. You got kind of close to the jetty that time.” He hikes the board higher under his arm and gestures to the wall of jagged rock that separates their section of beach from the next. “Let‟s grab breakfast.” She glances at the line of Makai‟s left hip rising from his boardshorts and imagines what it would be like to trace that line of muscle with her fingertips. To be cradled in Makai‟s bed, sea salt and sweat mingling under the fluffy down comforter; that‟s Marisol‟s kind of morning. 2 Makai‟d be down for it; she can tell by the look on his face. He squints a lot, like the sun‟s already completely up, like maybe that way she won‟t notice him checking her out. She notices. But that‟s not what she came here for. She stares at the water. The ocean is still slate gray and glassy, and the marine layer hasn‟t yet lifted, making it impossible to distinguish the sky from the sea. One wave, and then they can leave. Blackies, Makai‟s friends say like a promise whenever they come into the shop. From behind the counter Marisol studies the boys and spreads cream cheese on toasted bagel halves. Their boardshorts sag low around their sun- tanned hips, and their hair is sandy and sun-streaked. Epic, they say to each other, eyes shining and far away, like they‟re still flying across the water. The swells at Blackie‟s beach are epic. When they come straight from surfing, they recreate their favorite ride with loose and relaxed gestures. They seem only half-present in their surroundings, some piece of themselves left boundless in the ocean. Marisol is dying to know what that‟s like. “Probably it hasn‟t even been two hours yet,” she says. “Seriously. I‟m fine, come on.” She sets her jaw and pulls herself up. Makai laughs and drapes his arm across her shoulders. “Whatever you say.” The water‟s so cold Marisol‟s feet tingle, and the sharp rocks and seashells that she tries but fails to sidestep remind her that her toes haven‟t gone numb after all. When they wade out far enough that the water reaches Marisol‟s thighs, Makai sets the board down. “Time to paddle out,” he says. Marisol climbs on and lies on her stomach. The wax she rubbed over the board earlier is gray and mottled with sand and feels rough against her skin. She pulls the T-shirt Makai lent her—a rash guard, he called it—down toward her hips and tries to adjust her swimsuit without him noticing. She should‟ve chosen a different one. Her blue gingham bikini, the one Julio says she‟s only allowed to wear in his presence because she‟s too young to look 3 like such a Mayan goddess, threatens to become dental floss in the rough surf. Makai climbs on behind her, and when she‟s nestled beneath him, he paddles his arms in long strokes toward the break. Julio had been off again with some crunchy-haired puta. Marisol knew because it was always the same. He stopped calling for weeks and then she would come home