Dolphin Magic

Chapter 4

Sand Piper

As she applied a clear coat of varnish to the last of the planks, she thought she saw movement outside of her front door, which she'd propped open to air out the fumes. But when she stepped outdoors, she saw nothing. Shrugging it off – she had better things to do than chase shadows – she took her brush and can to the back of the house to wash up for lunch.

The sound of the muted horns coming from the old record player brought her back in time, not to the time of the recording, which was decades before her birth, but to her youth. Her father, so handsome with his thick, black hair, dark, warm eyes, tobacco colored skin, dancing in the kitchen to the music, black beans and rice simmering on the stove. He moved his hips back and forth as he tasted the pot, seasoned with more cumin, some pork fat. His daughter sat at the Formica table, feet swinging as she sat atop the yellow plastic chair with 4 steel legs, working on a math paper.

"Pero Papá , por qué tengo que aprender inglés?" the young girl asked. "Hablemos solamente español."

Her father put down his spoon and approached the child, whose caramel hair spilled down her shoulders, and whose aquamarine eyes reflected her mother. It pained him to look into those eyes, but brought him such joy as well. He knelt down at her place and took her hands, pulling her to stand.

"Not anymore," he said, and startled the girl, who did not expect her father to speak in English. "Pepita," he said, "we must live here now. This is our home and English is our language. Now come, baila conmigo."

Often, the father smiled with sadness in his eyes, but not when he was dancing, and not this day when he danced with his Pepita to the music on the record player.

Some days, listening to her father's music made her weep with heartache, but on days like today when the sun shone yellow and warm in the kitchen, she danced on the wooden floor and was happy.