Celia and the Kite


Celia heard the tinkle of falling pebbles on the tin rof of old Julieta's shack. She tore her gaze from the dust specks dancing where the sun cut into the shadows by Julieta's wooden wall. Pebbles! Pedro Juan's signal. The pebbles rained on the tine and splashed into teh sun puddle. She saw Pedro Juan's hand reaching above the broken glass taht bordered the high brick wall. She turned her head. She saw beyond the wooden gate to teh chicken yard that therewas no sign of Tia Erasma. She ran to the wall. Each of her footsteps rose a cloud of yellow dust. She climbed the wall: one foot on old Julieta's tiny window; one hand against the wall oaf broken brick and stone; one foot on the tin roof. She reached her hand with care until she found Pedro Juan's among the sharp points o broken glass. She stood on the place in the wall where Pedro Juan had smashed the bottles long ago to make room for her feet. She jumped into Pedro Juan's arsm. Her worn day dress rained red brick shards on Pedro Juan's shirt. She dove into his oval eyes. They ran together through the labyrinth of fat tree trunks under the thick umbrella of broken tree branches. Nobody could hear them laughing.
They entered the darkness of the junkshed where Pedro Juan had set up his workshop. HIs father let him do whatever he wanted.