Fruit of the Drunken Tree

by Ingrid Rojas Contreras

When there was no one around to see me, I opened the window and mooed at las vacas. They perked up their ears and stopped the swing of their tail, frozen in attention, listening; but they never mooed back.

I was frustrated because I was just a kid and why wasn’t an adult doing anything useful?

and I understood this was what you did for the people you loved. You sat with them in their pain.

All I wanted was to be in the proximity of someone whose life was going according to plan.