Moose and Goose

Chapter Seventeen

Andrés and Judith sit cross-legged in his bed, each eating half of the Swiss roll-like delicacy he refers to as Golfeados.

"So why did you come to America," she asks once she finishes what's left in her mouth. "Not to be rude, but wouldn't Venezuela be better than here?"

"It was. I had everything before CAP – Carlos Andrés Pérez – became president," he explains stoically. "I was among the few rich people in my neighborhood, and I had everything a boy or a man could ask for."

"What happened?" His shoulders jerk back as he huffs through his nose.

"Mayhem. It was like an American blackout in my town. Houses were broken into, and children were ripped from the streets dozen by dozen – women fell prey to the chaos too." He takes his gaze away from her and returns it to his Golfeado. She knits her brows, listening intently to his story. "Isabella – my girlfriend at the time – she, uh, left with her family one night, and we never figured out where she went."

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry." He sighs as she places her left hand on his right knee.

"It's fine. At least, um, I have memories and a picture of her," Andrés says, then he looks at her. "Would you like to see it?"

"Of course." She removes her hand and observes him leaning toward his shared nightstand, which sits between his and his roommate's beds. When he opens the top drawer, her eyes widen as she notices the three boxes of black condoms neatly stacked against the left, one of which is open.

He pulls a Polaroid picture from beneath a pack of double-A batteries and moves closer to her so they can both examine it.

A young lady with loose curls down to her armpits stands beneath a Magnolia tree, hands folded behind her back and a smile that puts one on Judy's face. Her skin is darker than Judith's, but the floor-length earth-toned peasant dress she's wearing complements it.

"She's stunning," Judith tells him, then squints at her face. "Does she have a mole above her lip?"

"Yeah, she'd get compliments a lot because of it. This was the picture I took of her before she passed; I wanted her to see herself the way I did." He turns his face to her as she looks at him. He looks at her lips and then into her eyes. "Do you have any pictures of your ex?"

"No," she responds with a sad scoff. She looks down at what's left of her pastry. "David wasn't big on pictures. He was superstitious when it came to that. If you get caught on camera, you lose your soul."

"That's ridiculous – and kind of funny at the same time." Andrés smiles at her. "Do you want a polaroid of us? I think this moment should be remembered."

She gives him a friendly smile and nods. Andrés stands up, and Judy's gaze is drawn to his dresser at the foot of his bed before he walks toward it. He takes his pastel blue Polaroid from his top drawer and places it on the surface between an aloe vera plant and a framed picture of a bowl of fruit, then carries it to his bed.

"Where do I look?" He scoots closer to her and extends his arm to position the camera with them in the frame.

"Don't look at the flash; look at the lens thing," he instructs her. "After three, we say cheese, and I'll snap the picture."

They recite it together. His index mashes the button, and a bright yet swift light warms their smiling faces.

The square picture slides out of the bottom of the box and into his lap. Judith lifts it into her free hand while he places the camera on the nightstand.

She hands him their photograph, which he vigorously shakes back and forth, a gentle breeze caressing her cheek. They examine the image once the color has settled on the face.