this is for amy.

Santa Maria´s big party is happening right now, come if you want. The parade yesterday morning was lovely, cute children, lively propaganda, and a healthy dose of creepy clowns. Last night, Amy, David, Stephanie, Miguel and I decided to check out the procession to the Catholic church, and then the music in the town center. The procession was neat; there were lots of fireworks and the men carried the images of two virgens on their shoulders. It was calm and tranquilo. We walked to the center of town and listened to the sharp wooden sound of the marimba, the music was good. No one was dancing, and no one clapped when the songs were over. A drunk man stumbled toward us, speaking words that only he could hear, and making hand motions. My best bet was to avoid eye and body contact. We continued to listen to the music. I felt the ground beneath my feet bounce a little, not from the music. I looked down and just in front of our row of friends, this man fell down and hit his head--hard. I could see the blood on the ground, and he was not happy. Miguel told us not to mess with him, because he would blame us for his misfortune. He laid on the ground, getting stepped over, for the next 20 minutes or so. Trying to distract myself, I was tapping my foot. A man standing next to me said, you feel like dancing? Awkward person that I am, I said, yeah, thinking that we were making small talk. No, he wanted to dance. That´s fine, I thought, until, while dancing, I realized that this guy probably has a wife, and I am the only one dancing here, with this 45 year old guy. Uncomfortable. The song ended after a few minutes, and I was relieved. He asked me to dance the next, but I was resistant. Then this big guy was like, no she´s dancing with me. And then this drunk guy stumbled up and blurbled into my face about how he likes to dance and would I dance with him. I picked the first option. The thing about the music is that sometimes it goes on forever. This was especially true last night. I swear the second song lasted 20 minutes. The worst was when I saw my brother Juan Cornelio laughing and taking a picture of me with his cell phone. Very uncomfortable. I can´t quite communicate the awkwardness of the situation. There were 300 people watching, two pairs dancing, and me with Mr. Forty Five, who happened to be about as tall as my chest. I got a lot of crap from my family. It doesn´t matter. It builds character, they say. And being so close to the fireworks was worth it. Seeing the original gunpowder is inspiring.