K.R. Reyna

The Night It Was Read

She was excited. Her hair up in rolos as she slid on the boots her mother had only let her borrow for this special occasion. At fifteen, she had just begun to branch out–making friends, building a life that was all her own. Her best friend, Ruth, had just moved to Oregon, and her absence was a new kind of desperation–one that longed for intimacy and made her reach for new people, new experiences. The phone rang. “Ma! Pick up–pick up! I’m taking off the pinchos! These stupid rolos won’t come off!” She stomped around her room, arms twisted overhead, tugging at her hair in every direction. From the kitchen, her mother shouted, “He’s coming up now. Apúrate and put on your coat. It’s cold and rainy. Llévate la sombrilla–and don’t lose this one. You always lose the nice umbrellas and then-” “Yessss, Ma! Ya–ya! I got it. Can you open the door, please?!” At that moment, a knock traveled through the apartment. Her mother opened the door. From the bedroom, Allie heard the high, bright voice her mother saved for people from church. Finally, her hair came free. She slid on the brown leather jacket her cousin Farrah had given her before moving into her own apartment. She loved it when Farrah gave her things and used them only for special occasions. “Alexandra! ¿Ya?” her mother called from the door. Allie stepped out and walked toward the door. “Ya. I’m ready.” She smiled shyly. “Hola, Rafael. Sorry, I took so long.”