“I, Miguel Julian Veracruz, take you to be my wife until the end of my life and beyond. I swear on the true cross of my ancestors who endured famine, who fought hurricanes, who sailed their ships through darkness and light into the vastness of the ocean, bible in one hand and sword in the other, to love you until the end of all worlds. My ancestors killed. May my love for you wash the blood from their hands. My ancestors burned down temples. May the fire of my love for you redeem them. May […]
Say yes, Clara, say yes, please!”
Miguel’s words cut the sky in two. The green of his eyes looked exactly like that of his Maria de Guadalupe medallion which he never took off. That beautiful silver Spanish ring, a family heirloom, worn by his mother on the fourth finger of her right hand, appeared on his palm out of nowhere.
Lightning struck the waters. A whirlpool of colors flamed the boat; the air was spinning around me like a tornado let lose over the face of the earth. My breathing stopped. I thought I was imagining everything.
Jacques asked in that deep, unmistakable voice of his.
“Where were you Clara?”
“In Miguel’s boat on the waters of the Atlantic. In the beginning it looked like an ordinary Sunday afternoon. Miguel ordered the boat out. I thought it was odd that he was not sailing it. He hired a captain whose wife cooked dinner, set the table, and brought a bunch of papers for us. I did not know what they were.”
“What did you say, Clara?”
Excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers” (draft)
imagine: Sofi photo; Shutterstock; [link]