The M.I.L.F. Man

I have a dream...

I ran a hand up Chas' back and sat down beside him on the couch. And he got hold of that hand and kissed it before returning his gaze to the mountains in the distance.

Every morning since we'd gotten home, we'd thrown open the balcony doors and just curled up on the living room couch to stare at the mighty Catalinas and just breathe in...breathe out...

We'd been lounging for hours that day. The first day we'd been able to convince everyone that we were strong enough to care for ourselves by ourselves.

"It's still surreal being here," he finally told me.

And I kissed his shoulder. "I'm still not here, to be honest."

He gave me a little back rub then. "That's the thing, isn't it? Down below they're shopping, doing lunch, talking about—what did we talk about? Before Nogales?"

I nestled in a little more. Had to be careful of all the little ouches, not just his side where the big wound was still healing.

"You're a lot more awake today, Papi. More yourself."

There was a little pause, before he said, "Myself..." Softly. Tentatively.

"Yeah, I hear you. I have no idea who I am anymore. For sure I'm not that girl that ran away from you that night."

He rested his cheek on the top of my head and said, "Well, I must say I'm very fond of the one who saved our lives the other day."

He kept telling people that. Kept telling me that, too. But the rest of the world, and I'm talking about the whole world, y'all, was talking about him herding those babies out of the flames.

Pictures and videos were broadcast and Tiktok'd and Facebook'd and IG'd and YouTubed and tweeted—my boy was a superhero. I teased him that we were going to have to design a logo people could beam up into the sky like that Batman one, you know? Lupita joked that it should be "a big D—pun intended." Given his former occupation and all...

He'd come busting out of the burning rubble with those kids clinging to him under a flaming mattress soaked with the mad flammable concoction that had rained down from those cans Big Beard shot at.

It was supposed to be their "Waco" moment. All those poor, brainwashed men, women and children going up in a blaze of glory meant to inspire all the other true believers to finally take up arms and establish God's new kingdom on Earth.

It was all in that Manifesto the media made fun of. The parts they'd never seen because they were so busy laughing at what they had read.

Two things saved us all from being incinerated. First, they'd overdone it with that stuff Big Beard ignited. So instead of just going up in flames, that building was blown to bits.

Beams and huge chunks of wood flew—one chunk pierced Chas' side. And most of one wall fell down on top of those mattresses the women had been sitting on. But everyone was able to haul ass out of there except the kids that Chas and Mama Bear ran back for.

And that's when they found the second thing: the tops of those picnic tables Chas had thrown up around the women were doors. Metal doors that toppled over and kept the mattresses from being totally soaked in that fuel. Which gave them time to fling the flaming wreckage aside, find the least messed up mattress and run those kids out of there under it.

He had some burns on his hands and arms along with that big old hole in his side. And a little scar by his temple that made him look all badass. In my eyes, anyway. Reminded me that our love had been fire baptized. Literally.