A Postcard

Dear Marian,
Buenos Aires reminds me of Depot Bay–the seafood restaurants, the fishing fleet, the sidewalks filled with vendors.

We have much to talk about.

This morning, the salt spray woke me up from my dream about you. I was riding you like a seahorse. You were galloping me around the ocean floor.

Do you miss me? Do you remember the day I left you?

It was two Tuesdays ago, and you were sitting at your desk, paying bills. We were done with fighting by then, I think. You had already crumbled my heart like a stale cookie. I think the moment you stopped listening to me was the afternoon before, when Carla called you, when Carla betrayed me.

I can hardly breathe in Buenos Aires, air perfumed with cigarette smoke and anorexic Argentinian women. I like my women like you, Marian, solidly placed on the ground, unafraid of food.

My uncle sends his greetings, asks me why you are not travelling with me. He thinks a wife and husband should be together. I tell him you hae a visa problem. I hope it will make him dislike you, but it only seems to intrigue him more.

Damn you, you are an intriguing woman, but your intrigue has destroyed me. I do not wish my best to you. I wish us to share the misery equally, as we have done with everything else.

Tomas

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Comments
One Response to “A Postcard”
  1. Natasha Beck says:

    I know you liked my character Carla,and now she shows up in Tomas' world! What a traveler!I like the descriptions of Buenos Aires,the feminist phrase wife and husband,and can picture the crumbled cookie. It's a shortbread and pecan cookie,coated in powdered sugar.

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