Reply Thu 12 Nov, 2009 04:17 pm
Fernando De La Cruz was going to be late getting home from work again. His wife Maria would likely have supper on the table. He regretted the fact that he couldn't be there on time. Showing up on time was a type of demonstrative thank you to her, but he knew she would quietly accept his tardiness. Her nature was a blessing in their marriage. She knew that it was just part of the hectic life of a matador in bustling Madrid and she would forgive him, and he knew it too.

When he finally broke free of the downtown traffic, he rushed to the parking garage of the Regency Tower where he and Maria made their home. Fernando left the elevator as soon as the doors permitted his sturdy body to exit and he hurriedly made his way to their apartment. He hastily hung his montera on a spindle just inside their entry door and rushed to the small dining table, where supper was indeed waiting. Maria entered through the swinging door of the kitchen. “Sorry,” he said, “I had one that just wouldn't die.” “I understand," she said in the quiet voice that always brought peace to any situation. Ever since she was a peasant girl in her tiny village, she could sooth any situation with a few words. She was now a woman, but even with the thread-bare shawl she wore over her head, she was no less beautiful than the day he met her. He smiled to himself as he remembered the first time he saw her, selling bread on that dusty street corner. Just then, a clamorous knock at the door drew the couple's attention. It was the same knock they heard at lease twice a week, but it never failed to startle them. It was their neighbors the Petulengros. Fernando opened the door and they walked in, as usual, with heartily laughs and bold, almost theatrical movements.

Domingo had on his black vest with his guitar over his back and Consuela was in her beautiful red and black dress with a flounced hemline. Maria had already gone into the kitchen to get two more place settings when the boisterous guests made themselves a place at the table. Fernando sat down and continued eating as mustachioed Domingo began to retell a story Fernando had heard a thousand times before. Maria passed bread to Consuela as she interjected corrections to Domingo's tired story. At the story's conclusion the Petulengros began their characteristic laughter, as Fernando and his wife politely smiled back. A barely audible thump was heard near the entry door. Fernando looked over his shoulder to see that his montera had fallen off it's perch. The Petulengros instantly broke into song and dance.
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Type: Discussion • Score: 1 • Views: 593 • Replies: 3
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Reply Tue 17 Nov, 2009 08:32 am
I woke up one morning with this ridiculous story in my head--a couple of static, archaic stereotypes, placed in a modern and inappropriate environment.
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Reply Tue 17 Nov, 2009 09:05 am
It's a nice story, I enjoyed it, thanks for posting. Is there anymore to it please?
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Reply Tue 17 Nov, 2009 03:01 pm
No, I pretty much ended it with the Petulengros dancing at the drop of a hat.

I thought the story was funny, so I thought I'd test it with my wife. She's usually just rolls her eyes at my jokes, but I actually got her to laugh at the “I had one that just wouldn't die” line, so I thought it might makes others laugh.
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