Re: [AyB. Cris y Mari]
Agua de violetas was a scent Cris associated with his ma, and his sisters' visits to Mott Haven. Powdery, light, feminine, but pungent. It was nostalgia pushed present. But, that was what alla this was, huh? Least for Cris. It was an exercise in long dormant memory. Course Marisol being here raised the ghosts in Cris' past, exhumed all that stuff that had happened a lifetime ago. But, just like she didn't feel bad 'bout nonea that, it wasn't like Cris blamed her. Him? If he'd been in her shoes? He'da found himself years ago, even if it was just to kick himself in the teeth, huh? Quién sabe. Maybe she was 'bout to do that.
Prolly not though.
She moved with purpose, and nonea it was 'bout enticement, ¿sí? See, now, that was how most girls in the barrio were raised. Just like all the guys like Cris were raised to call out to 'em and smile.—He got she was different. Mari. Cris got that it wasn't just her personality, huh? You could tell, just from how she held herself and alla that. Like she lived in a world apart or a world above, and alla that stuff 'bout fate? Yeah, nah, he knew the ways. Easy, he followed her, paper bag in hand, his eyes following his shoes on the stairs.—He glanced up when she spoke, his smile habit, huh? Nah, he hadn't been raised in Miami—Cuba either. But, every time he left the lil enclavea his upbringing, every time he wandered his way to Manhattan, he hadta smile. Make the gringos feel better 'bout him being 'round and like he wasn't gonna do nothing sudden.
Mari's accent was another bitta nostalgia. Her smile, though, it was something else. ¿Enigmática? "I wanted the girls outta the city," was how he answered. It was mostly true. "I didn't know you were here." Another smile. "I mighta thought twice about it." He was teasing. "Nah, my wife and me split, and I wanted time away. That, and there's gotta be less trouble Teresita can get into out here."