The Wall of Winnipeg and Me

by Mariana Zapata

And I thought I was badass when I managed to carry all of my grocery bags to my apartment in one trip.

The Wall of Winnipeg stared down at the much smaller man, and in a voice that was as close to a cool, unattached statement as possible, he said, “Touch my wife again and I’ll break every bone in your goddamn body.”

“You don’t ever have to worry about me not wanting you somewhere. Got it?”

“That’s my girl. That’s my fucking girl.” “What are you doing here?” I practically bawled into him. “I missed you.”

“How do you not know that you mean the world to me? I haven’t made it clear enough?” “I don’t know,” I stuttered. “Do you love me?” His gaze was so intent the entire world seemed to stop. “You tell me. I never stop thinking about you. I worry about you all the time. Every beautiful thing I see reminds me of you. I can’t finish my practices in Colorado without wishing you were around,” he said in a steady tone. “You tell me what I feel.”