Mending the Dream
Will it ever be the same?
The Mexican Grill
The terracotta oven catches my eye as my boyfriend and I shop in the Mexican border town of Algodones. I worry about getting mugged and our money stolen, so I’ve limited the cash we carry and clutch my credit card tightly.
As I’m appraising the unique clay grill, the shape, the ethnic symbols etched into the front, the arch opening with space inside for wood or charcoal, a man approaches to help seal the deal. He asks us to come inside his jewelry store to complete the purchase.
He wants to sell me silver earrings along with the oven. I watch intently as he reaches into a small refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of Patron and two shot glasses. We are to toast our purchase and maybe loosen my grip on my credit card.
My hand trembles as I reach for the jigger, my heart pounding in my chest. Everything about this is wrong: a foreign country, my credit card, drinking tequila with a man I do not know. I look over at my boyfriend who’s not drinking, he smiles and nods—he wants the Mexican grill as much as I do. We complete the transaction, neither of us bargaining. Our salesman offers to have our new clay oven carried in a hand truck to our car parked at the border.
Paying full price does have benefits.
I run my tongue over the residue of alcohol on my lips sealing the memory of our first major purchase as a couple, in a border town in Mexico, in the back room, with a bottle of tequila.
For years our Mexican grill sits on a stand a testament to our love and adventures out West. Then a storm comes up one night and in the morning our treasure lies in pieces in the grass. We are heartbroken but I’m determined I can mend it back together. After all, I am a seamstress.
The Seamstress
The fairy tale prom dress, light yellow, empire waist with flounces around the hem, the leisure suit in blue poplin finished with a fabric belt, the Roman shades in the living room, all simple sewing projects, but they pale compared to putting a dream back together after it lies shattered in the grass.
The Mexican grill now sits on the patio, stitched together with wire. “It will never be the same,” the voice whispers as I gather the shards and begin to mend the dream; a drill, a spool of copper wire, a will of iron, a talisman of love or death? In a crevice a flash of green appears, a sprig, a leaf, new life, unbroken love.
Vivid! Good job mending
Love this!