13. The Rooftop Revolution of Selly Avilés #4
I know what they want: this is that nebulous, impossible thing called remarks. More than that, I know what they want from me. I can see it in their wide, starved eyes, their slightly open mouths, shiny with the glint of saliva and expectations.
They want me to bleed. They see me—my combat boots, colorful leggings and skirt, my puffy jacket, the oversized headphones around my neck, these piercings, and in each detail, they see some trauma to guzzle.
A whole feast of strife and dysfunction and systems failing, an arc of artfully rising above it all to join their ranks and make everyone feel a little better about themselves.
Clearly, there are gatekeepers here. People who could make or break me. They have that look to them, though, that if I offer up a little dollop they’ll guzzle me dry, and gush about how tasty it is while I lie there, empty.
And to be clear: I have the speech in the chamber and ready to go.
I’ve practiced it ten thousand times on my walks, in front of the mirror, to the dogs by the sea.
I’ve woven the threads, tracked the movements, divvied the whole thing into a three-part structure that brings it home with a resounding and heartrending callback to the top.
I say a few cursory thank yous just to buy myself some time.
My mom taught me how to story. She still does, every day.
It was that trip to Matanzas and the people she met along the way, or the day she saw that body in the street, or the tricks their first dog used to do.
And you’d be there, you’d be right there beside her watching it happen, then you’d jump in alongside her; you’d run with her to the body, the dust rising around your Sunday dress shoes, the air shrieking in your ear as your world exploded alongside hers and everything came apart for the first time.
You’d be beside her while she started to put it back together, too, with those two trembling hands and ten thousand people at her side, ten thousand dragon kites in the sky, and it would be stories that did it, that remade the world anew after so much death.
I don’t say any of that though. Woulda made a nice speech, sure, but that’s not for these grisly, devouring maws.
I crack a joke, still biding time, but it’s a good one for a change, and it gets an actual laugh, not a polite one.
And then I look up and my eyes lock onto the mountainous ass of that dragon straight ahead of me. It’s huge, the whole thing is huge.
An old friend indeed. Dragons guard treasure; they carry the wisdom of the world.
A warm hand wraps around my forearm; tails wap against my leg. Barnabas Hodge smiles up at me. “Do you see it?”
The space between the dragon’s wings is wide, there’s even a saddle there. Waiting. All we have to do is get to it. I smile, and in that single moment, a dizzying shift ripples through the audience. Their own smiles tighten, cords pulled suddenly tight against their sullen, drooping faces.
“What are you two plotting up there?” Laina Faxwell demands with a humorless laugh. “Let’s all just take a breath.”
I clutch Barnabas Hodge. Whisper, “Let’s do this,” and launch us forward, shoving people and folding chairs to either side as I go.
“Hey!” an old man snarls. “You can’t just—”
“Get your grubby hands—”
“Stop them!”
Even with the dogs growling and snapping in all directions, the crowd closes in.
I feel clammy fists slap against me, ancient fingers grasp desperately for purchase.
Worse: there are security guys approaching.
Hadn’t seen them before. They are all requisite amounts of beefy and business-meaning.
We might not make it. I can barely see the dragon through the clutter of bodies, open mouths, tight eyes.
The security guys move in a tight formation through the crowd.
I have nothing but five dogs and a whimsical old legend.
That’s not true.
I reach into my pocket. Wrap my fingers around the well-worn tennis ball. Whip it straight into the oncoming squad of biffs with a single shouted word: “BALL!”
Five yelping goblins launch forward as one. They topple the first guy, and he takes another down with him. There are still four more. “Singe,” I yell, because that dog is not like other dogs; she’s something special, and right now I’ll take anything.
Electricity crackles through the suddenly thick atmosphere, then lances in a bright bow across the rooftop. Singe yips twice and bright blue bolts explode outward with a crackle and boom, sends the rest of the heavies scattering to either side.
I pull Barnabas Hodge along with me as gently and urgently as possible.
The tuxedos are closing back in as I heave him up onto the dragon, then load up each dog and climb on.
I close my eyes and imagine what the skies must’ve looked like in those heady days of love and rebellion.
What Mamá felt, watching the endless parade of freedom float past overhead. How the world would never be the same.
We’ll make a quick stop to pick up an old aquarium, and then, who knows? The dragon is already rumbling and growling with new life, each ingredient in place, each story locked and loaded, and then we explode outward into the night and leave the past behind forever.