Page 10 - GRANADA

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VANILLA AND DUST
by Lauren T. Davila
Luz feels something familiar about the middle-aged woman that sits slumped by herself in the back booth closest to the storeroom. Her blonde-white hair’s in a high bun, perfect enough to show that she used to dance, but off-center enough to let everyone know it’s been years since she was at the barre.
But Luz finds herself watching one curl hanging down that catches every time the air conditioner turns over. The man-made air breathes life into the strands, separating one from another until they hover far apart. Luz can’t tell what she is supposed to get from the sad woman and her abandoned wisp. Not yet at least.
Papa hands her a slightly dirty towel and a menu that’s barely laminated anymore and motions to the woman with his gnarled hands. Motioning to her to fix the situation in a way only she can. So, she grabs both items from him, skin brushing his gently, a kiss of family expectations and coffee grounds. He always wants her to move faster, make it better, grow up, do it all, so the shop can be hers. He says it’s her future that he worked hard for; she sees it as just another way to stay buried.
But with no way to express that besides screaming, Luz minnows around chairs and jackets which have fallen to the floor and an abandoned baby pacifier to get to the woman in the corner.