This was originally written in late 2021 as backstory for the female protagonist in “The Story.” Her mother and her character are loosely based on my cousin and aunt. The Story has no character names with the exception of Florence and one bit character named Jimmy. The Story leans heavily on the Aeneid and The Divine Comedy. Florence is where Dante composed his great poem. When Beatrice appears to Dante in Purgatory (Canto XXIX, 121-126), three maidens appear.

Three maidens at the right wheel in a circle
  Came onward dancing; one so very red
  That in the fire she hardly had been noted.

The second was as if her flesh and bones
  Had all been fashioned out of emerald;
  The third appeared as snow but newly fallen.

And now they seemed conducted by the white,
  Now by the red, and from the song of her
  The others took their step, or slow or swift.

The Story draws strong associations between the female protagonist and Dido and Beatrice. This was intended to make that connection between the kick-ass mom and her kick-ass daughter and the kick-ass grandmother. The red, white, and green in the Comedy is often cited as an explanation for the colors of the Italian flag. It’s worth noting the same colors on the Mexican flag.

This material, along with a great deal of other material, was positioned in a Part II in between the flow of two young lovers meeting and falling in love. We’re in 1990 with two college students who meet, discover their affection for each other and their connection, and they reflect and share for many pages about their common past. My editor hated it. The diversion back to the 40s and 50s was a distraction. This chapter was the female character sharing how her parents met in Albuquerque in the early 60s, but in close third person from her father’s point of view.

I had so much back story, I thought I would do what the Godfather films did: Start Part II with a deep dive back into the origins of the Corleone family in Italy. My Part II starts with a funeral.

So for now, this material is cut. But I love this scene. And Florence and the Hitching Post came up the other day at a family gathering. So, here’s the latest edit. Enjoy!

There were places like The Hitching Post in Kansas, bars with steak and potatoes for breakfast and beer and brawls for dinner with honkytonk for background music. The Hitching Post was at the dusty eastern edge of Albuquerque on Route 66.

“Boys,” he said, “Maybe Albuquerque won’t be so bad. This reminds me of home.”

After being drafted, he worried where he’d get stationed. He was surprised they sent him to New Mexico. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he told the sergeant, “I didn’t know we were at war with Mexico.”

Later, when they were married, she would tease him about it. 

“My husband fought in the war against Poncho Villa,” she’d say to people they’d meet. Then laugh and elbow him in the ribs. 

As his friends piled up around the bar, he’d see that woman for the first time in his life across the smoky dance floor of the Hitching Post. 

A band called The Sandia Mountain Boys was playing and couples were dancing. Tables were edged around the dance floor. 

She sat with three other women. Her hair was black, her skin was olive, and she was petite. She was wearing a white embroidered blouse and a green skirt with a red pattern along the hem that mimicked flames. 

What caught his attention was the way she laughed and pushed the girl next to her, making fun of her while the other girls laughed. 

“Hello!” he exclaimed looking across the dance floor. He was standing next to a local he’d befriended with his army buddies. “I want to meet her.”

“It’s not gonna happen,” the local said, laughing.  “Una manita. They don’t dance with white boys, especially white boys from Kansas.”

“Oh c’mon,” he said. “I gotta try. She’s gorgeous.”

“She doesn’t speak English!” his friend said. “Besides she probably belongs to some pachuco. Don’t fuck with those guys, son locos.”

“Well, get me a beer, I’ll grab a seat, and you’re gonna teach me some Spanish,” he said, eyeing a table. 

They sat down and he began his lesson. 

“Say this slowly after me,” his friend said. A couple of the other guys figured out what he was doing and snickered.

“Soy un pendejo grande,” his friend said slowly. 

“Soy. Ooon. Granday. Penda hay yo,” he said slowly. 

“Not ‘pen da hay yo,’” he said. “Pen de ho.”

“Got it,” he said and repeated, “Pen de ho.”

“This next part is easy,” his friend said, “De Kansas.”

“Yeah,” he said “What am I saying?”

“I am a gentleman from Kansas.”

The other guys were stifling their laughter, but the boy from Kansas was determined to meet the manita with the skirt on fire. 

“Baila conmigo,” his teacher said slowly. “Por favor.”

“Bi lar con mee go pour favor,” he said, pronouncing ‘favor’ like he was asking for one. 

“Bueno, muchacho,” he said to his buddy. “listas por amor. Vamonos!”

He had managed to find a cowboy hat since landing in New Mexico, and he pushed it back and started the walk across the dance floor toward her. The table of men he left behind were laughing by now and full of expectation for what was about to come.

When he got to the table the women all gave him a wide-eyed look, but he was focused on her. She looked him up and down. Her lips were red, and she smiled warily. Her green eyes locked into his blue eyes and they seemed to stay that way for a long time. His mind went blank for what seemed like an eternity as he stared into her eyes.

“Hoh la,” he started. “Soy oon granday pendayho de Kansas.”

He stopped for a moment and the two women with her were now laughing hysterically. Across the room, the young men watched their reaction, and they began to laugh hard as well.

He continued.

“Bi lar con mee go,” he said with some satisfaction. “Por favor?”

She revealed an incandescent smile and he felt as though his gambit had succeed. She stood up, and grabbed his jean jacket. She couldn’t have been taller than 5 feet, and she looked up at him earnestly.

“Hablo ingles,” she said. “I speak English. And yes, I’d love to dance with you.”

“Oh, wow,” he said. “Sorry, I didn’t know, they said, well, he said, you would only speak Spanish.”

“Your Spanish is lovely,” she said. “Where did you learn it?”

“Oh, my buddy over there,” he said pointing to the young man who was now standing up and looking at them with a wide smile.

“Oh, and he told you that I would only speak Spanish?” she asked.

“Well, yeah,” he said.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and walked toward the tall young man smiling. The young man’s smile disappeared as she got closer. By the time she got close his face had become quizzical.

She punched him in the stomach. He doubled over. And she leaned down and whispered into his ear.

“Quien es el pendejo grande?”

Now the other guys were beside themselves laughing. The young man walked backward toward the table and watched her saunter back over to their friend from Kansas.

“Now why in the hell did you do that?” he asked.

“Oh,” she said. “He will tell you all about it later. Let’s dance.”

The band leader was back at the microphone.

“Hey y’’all, let’s keep it going with one that was big one for Stonewall Jackson last year, it’s a bit slower, so find a lady and let’s get on the floor. This is called, ‘Life to Go.”

I’ve got a sad, sad story friend that I don’t like to tell
I had a home and fam’ly when they locked me in this cell
I’ve been in here eighteen years a long, long time I know
But time don’t mean a thing to me ‘cause I’ve got life to go

They started dancing.

“Where are my manners?” he said and introduced himself as they moved onto the dance floor.

“Me llamo Florencia,” she said. “But if the Spanish is too hard, you can just call me Florence,” she said, and laughed.

When they finished dancing, they found their friends had all gathered around the table. His Spanish teacher shook his hand.

“Congratulations on passing your first Spanish test here in New Mexico, Amigo,” he said. “Looks like you got the girl.”

When he found out how his friend double crossed him with his Spanish lesson, he laughed so hard he cried. They all did. They drank more beer.

“The town is called Lebanon,” he told her when she asked where he was from.

“Like in the Bible?” she asked.

“Yes, just like that.”

“Maybe one day I’ll visit.”

“And maybe you’ll take me up to Chee my,” he struggled.

“Chimayo,” she said. “Chee my oh. Yes, you can meet my mom if you’re brave.”

The piano player started to play Floyd Cramer’s Last Date.

“I love this one,” she said. “Another slow dance with me sweetie?”

“I’m not sayin’ ‘no’ to you, honey.”

They all danced and drank beer and she made them all laugh over and over. She held his hand. He wondered if he was moving too fast. He wondered who she was. When he looked at her, he didn’t miss home as much as he had before.

They stayed until closing time and the others kept their distance as they said goodbye outside.

“Hey,” he said. “I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.”

She looked up into his eyes and put her arms on his shoulders.

“This is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me,” she said.

And he did. Their friends were nearby in the parking lot and started clapping and laughing. He touched her cheek with the back of his hand.

“You’ve got quite the set of eyes,” he said. “I’ve never seen eyes like that anywhere.”

“You’ll be seeing more of them I hope,” she said, and kissed him again. “And they’ll be seeing you.”