Reservoir Bitches: Stories

by Dahlia de la Cerda

That’s why I left home. So I wouldn’t get beaten for wearing padded bras and red lipstick, or letting my hair grow down to my waist. So no one would call me a bastard when I was being a bitch.

Shot to death in her room. There is no room of one’s own when men think our bodies belong to them.

So, La Huesera lives somewhere in your soul. But where is your soul? In your brain? La Huesera lives in your brain? Anyway. She’s this old lady who can imitate the sound of any animal.

Her job, as you probably guessed by her name, is to collect bones. Long story short, it turns out that La Huesera has a special hobby, which is to collect the bones of wolves. She finds them and saves them. Once she has a full skeleton, she lights a fire and assembles the wolf’s body. Then she sings. She sings and sings. And then—what sorcery is this?—flesh and fur cover the bones, and the wolf is off and running down the street. But wait, that’s not even the craziest part. The craziest part is that as the wolf runs, howling at the moon, it transforms into a woman. A woman who sprints away laughing.

Being La Huesera saved my life. Pretty freaking ironic, if you think about it, but in the end you did save me. Like always. Even if only part of your ashes are under my bed—your greedy mother wouldn’t give them all to me—the way I see it, your bones have been gathered. I hope someday I get to hear you howling in the night.